The Deal Dilemma

My alarm went off at eight this morning, but after several uses of the beloved snooze button, it was nearly nine by the time I whined my way into the shower. Of course, the extra bit of craptastic sleep left me with a whole three minutes to get ready and rush out the door.

The diner is kitty-corner to my apartment complex, so I jaywalk my way to work most days, unless I have to haul ass from school and don’t have time to drop my car off first. Thankfully, all that is almost over.

The end of May is in sight.

Lucky for me, my manager gets one look, takes pity on my poor, hungover soul, and tells me to go home. I’ve never been much for arguing, so I oblige, doing the math in my head on how much I’ll need to save of last shift’s tips to cover the loss today.

Car after car zooms past, but before I can dredge up the strength to dash across the road, I decide home will have to wait. So I start toward one of my favorite places on earth.

7-Eleven.

Normally, I get a medium Slurpee, but today, I break out the big guns, going for the thirty-two-ounce full of every single flavor outside of piña colada, and snag the biggest-framed glasses I could find.

Right as I drop onto my preferred grassy patch at the park by my complex, my phone rings, Crew’s side snapshot lighting up the screen.

I really need to update that photo.

Accepting his call, I quickly swap it to FaceTime.

Several seconds of silence pass and I assume he isn’t interested in a visual conversation. Then the screen is filled with him. The man is still in bed, face half covered with a blue blanket, left arm draped above his head.

Tired hazel eyes blink, quickly narrowing. “Up and out already?”

“It’s practically noon.”

“It’s not even ten.”

“I said practically.”

He licks his lips, eyeing me. “I thought for sure you were still drooling all over your pillow.”

My mouth gapes. “I do not drool.”

“We shared a tent for years, kid. You drool.”

“Whatever, old man.”

His grin is a gorgeous mix of entertained and exhausted, unfortunately, as quickly as it comes, he cuts it, and he turns away from the screen. “Where are you?” he asks without looking back.

Straw between my teeth, I press a few buttons on my phone, and his gaze returns with a slight squint.

“It’s ridiculous you can send someone your exact location like that.”

“My dad thinks it’s the best invention since Pop-Tarts.”

“He still obsessed with those things?”

“Oh yeah. He calls me every time he comes across a new wacky kind. He found root beer flavored ones once.”

“That sounds like shit.”

I grin. “Knew you’d say that.”

Crew stares a moment before slowly pushing into a sitting position.

My attention is instantly drawn to the bronzy bare skin of his solid and powerful chest, which is now impressively decorated with several shades of black ink. “Um, excuse me, did you have a secret relationship with Kat Von D you’re not allowed to talk about, that why you’ve been MIA nearly the entire time I’ve lived here?”

His eyes fly up, narrowing, but then quick enough, he realizes what I’m referring to, and suddenly, I’m staring at a black screen. “Don’t move.”

He hangs up.

Being I had zero plans to move until my temples stopped pounding, I play golden retriever and obey his command.

Crew

I spot her instantly. She’s lying flat on the grass, a giant pair of bright-yellow shades covering half her face. If it weren’t for the protective hold she has on the massive Slurpee, I’d swear she was out.

Completely fucking oblivious, as usual.

I take the last three steps toward her, pausing with my shoes a foot from her head.

“I could murder you right now and you’d have never seen me coming.”

Her eyes open behind the cheaply tinted glasses.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for my headache to morph into a sugar rush, so I can move without feeling like Travis Barker is giving me a personal show from inside my brain.”

I lift a brow. “That bad?”

“The baddest. I’m talking Memphis the morning after Sarah Hall broke up with him, senior year, and you snuck from my dad’s liquor cabinet to help.”

Her eyes fall the moment she says it, and a long breath pushes past my lips.

I’m not the one who stole that bottle, but there’s no reason to tell her so, not that it matters anymore.

A moment later, she pats the slightly overgrown grass, so I drop beside her.

“If I get bit by a gang of red ants—”

“I’ll rub you down with ointment like I did last time,” she interrupts, the smile on her lips heard, but I glance over to catch it anyway.

That was a long time ago. She was maybe twelve, and Memphis was too grossed out by the welts that spread along my legs and torso to touch them, but Davis wasn’t, so she dropped to her knees as fast as I could get the ointment out of my bag. I remember how much her little hands shook that day. She was trying to be quick to soothe the sting, but it was more than that. She was terrified of the allergic reaction, kept asking if I could breathe and made me recap the entire morning to keep me talking. Her mom had introduced her to an old movie called My Girl that week, so Sweets was feelin’ extra uneasy.

But we’re not kids anymore, so if she dropped to her knees and started rubbing her hands all over me while looking up with sweet, scared eyes like that day…

Nope.

Does she really think I would fuck her for the fuck of it?

There’s no fucking way.

She’s lying straight, her head pointed at the cloudy sky, eyes closed, so I stare at her a moment. At the soft curve of her cheeks, a little narrower and more defined than before, and long, dark lashes that seem to have gotten longer, brushing against them.

No fucking way.

“I can feel you thinking. Watching me.” Her voice is soft, almost sad, and she takes a deep breath. “Just say it, Crew. It’s okay.”

Drawing one leg up, I stare at the slight shake of the tree’s limbs around us. “What is it you think I’m here to say?”

“That you can’t or won’t make me a woman,” she teases herself, but an annoyed huff follows. “You don’t have to bring morals and values into this, you know? It can be simple.”

“As simple as a business deal, right?”

She peeks at me from the corner of her glasses, and I pull her “offer” out of my pocket, holding it out between us. She nibbles at her lip.

“This is kind of fucked up.” I nod toward the folded paper. “You’re trying to back me into a corner.”

“I know,” she admits in a whisper. “But I only raised Thor’s hammer after you gave me the here goes delusional Davis look.”

“You had it ready, Davis. An essay and this. Why?”

“Because I know you,” she mutters. “And I knew you’d need something worth your while to… touch me.”

Damn. That’s—

Damn close to what I expected you to say.

Clearing my throat, I push to my feet and shove the paper toward her, but she scrambles to hers just as fast, cradling her head in her hand with a wince.

“Crew, wait. I didn’t mean, I don’t know what I meant.”

“Yeah, you do, Baby Franco.” Pulling the little orange and white packet from my pocket, I pass it to her. “Take these. They’ll help with the hangover. You’ll be good before lunch.”

I walk off, but Davis darts forward, jumping in front of me.

“I’m sorry.” She pushes the glasses up on her head, her features pinched with panic. “Crew, I’m sorry, okay?”

Holding in my sigh, I look into her bloodshot eyes.

Still can’t stand the thought of me being mad at you, Sweets?

Reaching out, I push her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and her frown deepens.

“If you think you’re worthless than or equal to a fucking car, then your virginity is the least of your problems.”

“You have no idea.” Her response is quick, quiet, and possibly unintentional.

Unexpected from my end, and for whatever reason, the irritation whirling in my gut twists.

“You’d really sell Memph’s truck if I don’t do this? Your grandpa left it for him.”

Guilt washes over her, and she tries to lower her head, but I don’t allow it, holding her still with my knuckle under her chin. “You’re not supposed to ask me that.”

“Come on, Baby Franco, tell me.”

With a sad smile, she shakes her head. “It’s not his anymore, Crew.”

“Keep going.”

The sorrow in her smile fades, her lips quirking a bit higher at my ability to read her. She gives me a long look, quietly admitting, “If anyone should have it, it’s you. You know that. You put in more work on that truck than anyone.”

My chest inflates with a full breath, and I drop my hand, glancing to the side. “This isn’t like when you asked me to kiss you when we came back home that summer. You understand that, right?”

“Well…”

My head snaps up at her sugary, coaxing tone, and I frown at her gleeful expression.

“Davis.”

She’s grinning now and draws her shoulders up to her ears in a long, slow-released shrug. “I mean, it kind of is.”

I jerk back. “No, it’s not.”

“Come on, Crew. I had two whole friends, and both had boyfriends going into my senior year, and I was too chicken to talk to their boyfriends’ friends because I knew a kiss would follow at some point and I hadn’t kissed anyone yet. Not that you agreed when I asked anyway.”

“This is completely fucking different.”

“It’s basically the exact same thing.”

“Girl, I swear, you’re making me wanna—”

She’s laughing now, and for whatever reason, I cut myself off with a low huffed chuckle. It quickly becomes a sigh, and hers follows.

She’s always been one to light the fire, just to see what happens. Especially with me.

Almost as if she does it on purpose.

Brat probably does.

My phone goes off with an incoming text, so I look at the screen.

Paula: SOS. Breaker blew again.

Me: Fuck. What’s that the third time this month now?

Paula: Fourth, and Jose didn’t show again, so I can’t get into the basement.

Fucking great.

Me: On my way.

“I have to go,” I tell her, shoving my phone back in my pocket.

Giant yellow glasses greet me when I look up again, and Davis nods, having expected as much.

“Look.”

Look what? I have no fucking clue what I want to say to her right now.

She’s nutty is one thought, but I’ve known that for years. It’s part of her charm. It’s also not worth mentioning. Davis is fully aware her little mind works in wild ways that others don’t.

“Go, Crew.” She attempts a smile, but it’s tight.

I go, ignoring how each step takes a whole lot of fucking effort.

It’s hours later when I’m back lying in bed, staring at the cracks in the corner of my ceiling, when my phone beeps with a notification. Drew is live on Instagram.

Baited by curiosity, I click the link and watch him bullshit with the few dozen people who hopped on, but then he shifts in his seat, tilting his phone to his right.

Davis sits beside him with a smile, and I fly into a sitting position.

“What the fuck?”

At his instruction, she waves at the screen, and in the beat of a second, her cheeks grow a familiar shade of red. In an attempt to cover the blush, she lifts what looks to be a Shirley Temple in cheers and draws it to her glossy lips. Drew does the same, and I recognize the space around them.

The glasses they’re using.

The seats they’re sitting on.

They’re in the fucking bar.

Instantly, her words from last night come barreling back.

That’s why I used to pretend you were my boyfriend… you could totally help…

My fingers tighten around the phone, and I force my feet still.

Drew props his phone on something as he scoots closer to Davis and challenges her to a game of thumb war.

Her slender shoulders straighten, and she smiles, offering him her hand.

The bastard presses his lips to her knuckles, and my eyes fly to hers, waiting for her reaction.

She gives none, not even her famous shy, subconscious look down.

They play their little game, laughing and starting over an annoying number of times, tempting me to disconnect. I don’t and finally her hand is free of his.

Drew focuses on the viewers then and begins answering questions people ask while Davis drags her finger through the condensation building along her glass.

My brother’s talking, but I’m not listening. I’m watching her. The way she moves, laughs, speaks.

The way she’s watching him, curious and slightly amused.

I shrink the live feed, so I can still watch while texting her.

Me: Did you mean what you said last night?

She pulls her phone from her little purse, a small smile crossing her lips as her fingers fly across the screen.

Davis: You know me. I need specifics.

Of course you do, Sweets.

Me: You said if I won’t take your virginity, you’ll find someone else who will.

Me: You mean that?

I look at her face, to the bitten-back smirk threatening to cross it.

Oh, you think this is funny, do you?

Davis lifts her chin a bit, and I know before it comes through the answer is yes.

Davis: Yes, but I want it to be you.

“Fuck.” My eyes clench closed, a harsh breath pushing past my nostrils.

Didn’t expect the second half of that.

Fuck, fuck.

In the next instant, my phone is ringing, and it’s her name flashing across the screen. My attention flies to the live video feed, and I frown when it’s only Drew in view.

I don’t answer but pull my shoes on and grab my keys. Sending her one more message on my way out the door, I turn off my phone, leaving her to decipher its meaning.

Me: I’m coming over.