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Wes:I hate card games. But I really enjoy fuckingyou.
Holy shit,he’s adorable. And now I’m wet andsmiling.
Rena:Compromise on strippoker?
Wes:Only if I don’t have to share the bed with theskunk.
Rena:Don’t worry, Dr. Strange. We won’t make it to thebed.
22
Wes
“Why arewe driving to Rutherford for this?” I ask on Thursdaynight.
“Because Dad will flip if he finds out I’m doing this in the city,” Beck says from the backseat.
I’m still not sure how I got roped into this misadventure. Yet here I am, in the passenger seat of Rena’s Volvo, aiding and abetting two siblings with mischievous expressions across statelines.
I shift in my seat. “I don’t like lying to your father aboutthis.”
“You didn’t lie,” Beck protests. “I told him it was a debate-related thing and you’d be there. Which youare.”
“Because I have to be,” Igrumble.
“You don’t have to be,” Rena says, turning an appreciative smile on me. “So, thankyou.”
She holds my gaze a moment, and I feel my insides heatingup.
Motion catches my eye, and I glance back at Beck, who signs something so fast I almost missit.
As if you don’t want to behere.
My gaze flicks from Beck back to his sister, who has refocused on the roadahead.
“Fine. If this is debate practice, let’s hear it,” Isay.
He dutifully rhymes things off while I drillhim.
When we pull up at the school and Beck hops out, Rena and I follow, going to watch the class from the back of thehall.
Watching the improv relaxes me a few degrees. Rena nudges me with a box of Junior Mints, and I swallow alaugh.
“You broughtcandy?”
“It’s like going to see a movie. A badmovie.”
I take two and toss them back before returning my attention to the stage, where a bunch of teenagers are imagining they’re in theOlympics.
“You could not pay me enough to doimprov.”
“Life is improv,” Renanotes.
Maybe she’sright.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down at it. “Shit.”
“What is it?” sheasks.
