the kitchen. “I need a favor,” she says over a frying pan. Looks like she’s making fried chicken which is one of my favorite meals of all time.
“Can it wait a bit?” I ask, reaching for a piece of cucumber from the salad on the table. “I need to shower.”
“Sorry, it can’t wait.” Mom ducks into the fridge and digs around, emerging with a block of cheddar cheese. She holds it out to me. “Becca needs this, apparently they only have Colby jack and Park hates Colby jack.” Mom smiles. She is what my friends call a MILF, but really I just see the woman who raised me, working and going to college full time while somehow managing to tuck me into bed every night when I was a kid.
“Sure thing,” I say, grabbing the cheese.
Becca and Park are our neighbors, though their house is kind of a ways away since we both have a ton of land and the Track between us. I hop on the small pit bike in the garage, crank up the motor and drive it over to their house. I’ve known these people my entire life and they’re kind of like second parents to me since they never had kids of their own. Park used to be a professional motocross racer as well, but he didn’t have nearly as bad of a temper as Dad did. I’m not really sure why he quit racing, but I think it has something to do with Becca.
I walk up the steps to their massive wrap around porch and knock on the door. The Victorian house is something like five billion years old and although they’ve renovated the interior, Becca insisted on keeping the outside of the house original with its intricate wooden decorations and huge old windows.
“Come in, come in,” Becca says, yanking open the door.
I hold out the cheese. “I just need to drop this off. You don’t want me in there, I stink.”
She smiles. I notice she’s kind of dressed up compared to usual and her make up is all done. She must have done another craft fair thing. “Sorry, you’ve got another job to do,” she says, taking the cheese.
I follow her into the kitchen and out the back door to the patio. Park is standing at the grill, talking to some woman I’ve never seen before. Another girl, probably about my age, sits on a patio chair, staring at her fingernails which are plain and natural, not all done up with rhinestones and polish like Emma’s.
The girl looks up at me and I offer her a smile. She looks away.
Okay then, be a bitch.
“What’s up?” I ask Becca. She turns to her husband.
“Which one tastes better?” He asks, holding up two pieces of hamburger meat.
I eat one and then the other. “I don’t know, the first one?”
“Told you!” Park says, pointing to his wife. “I am the best meat seasoner.”
“Ugh,” Becca says, throwing me a look. “Kid, you’re supposed to like mine better.”
I shrug, wondering if they’ll ever stop calling me kid now that I’m no longer one. “Sorry, you should have warned me.”
“You want to stay for dinner?” she asks, motioning toward the patio table. “These are our friends Dawn and Keanna.”
I’m not sure which name belongs to which person, the hippie or the super thin girl that looks like she wants to burn the place down. Mom’s cooking at home of course, but I could eat a burger and then eat Mom’s chicken. I’m about to agree to stay for a bit when my phone beeps.
Sorry for the BS earlier. Let me make it up to you . . .
Damn, just a few words on a phone screen and I’ve practically got a hard on already. I swallow. “Sorry, I wish I could stay but I’ve gotta head home.”
Chapter 3
Ugh, rich people. Could this house be any bigger? The furniture any nicer? These people have a full kitchen inside the house and then another one outside of the house. We’re sitting on a massive wooden deck with extravagant patio furniture, a grill and a granite countertop kitchen outside. There’s even a bar and a flat-panel television mounted on the wall.
Our hosts have music playing from invisible speakers in the
“Can it wait a bit?” I ask, reaching for a piece of cucumber from the salad on the table. “I need to shower.”
“Sorry, it can’t wait.” Mom ducks into the fridge and digs around, emerging with a block of cheddar cheese. She holds it out to me. “Becca needs this, apparently they only have Colby jack and Park hates Colby jack.” Mom smiles. She is what my friends call a MILF, but really I just see the woman who raised me, working and going to college full time while somehow managing to tuck me into bed every night when I was a kid.
“Sure thing,” I say, grabbing the cheese.
Becca and Park are our neighbors, though their house is kind of a ways away since we both have a ton of land and the Track between us. I hop on the small pit bike in the garage, crank up the motor and drive it over to their house. I’ve known these people my entire life and they’re kind of like second parents to me since they never had kids of their own. Park used to be a professional motocross racer as well, but he didn’t have nearly as bad of a temper as Dad did. I’m not really sure why he quit racing, but I think it has something to do with Becca.
I walk up the steps to their massive wrap around porch and knock on the door. The Victorian house is something like five billion years old and although they’ve renovated the interior, Becca insisted on keeping the outside of the house original with its intricate wooden decorations and huge old windows.
“Come in, come in,” Becca says, yanking open the door.
I hold out the cheese. “I just need to drop this off. You don’t want me in there, I stink.”
She smiles. I notice she’s kind of dressed up compared to usual and her make up is all done. She must have done another craft fair thing. “Sorry, you’ve got another job to do,” she says, taking the cheese.
I follow her into the kitchen and out the back door to the patio. Park is standing at the grill, talking to some woman I’ve never seen before. Another girl, probably about my age, sits on a patio chair, staring at her fingernails which are plain and natural, not all done up with rhinestones and polish like Emma’s.
The girl looks up at me and I offer her a smile. She looks away.
Okay then, be a bitch.
“What’s up?” I ask Becca. She turns to her husband.
“Which one tastes better?” He asks, holding up two pieces of hamburger meat.
I eat one and then the other. “I don’t know, the first one?”
“Told you!” Park says, pointing to his wife. “I am the best meat seasoner.”
“Ugh,” Becca says, throwing me a look. “Kid, you’re supposed to like mine better.”
I shrug, wondering if they’ll ever stop calling me kid now that I’m no longer one. “Sorry, you should have warned me.”
“You want to stay for dinner?” she asks, motioning toward the patio table. “These are our friends Dawn and Keanna.”
I’m not sure which name belongs to which person, the hippie or the super thin girl that looks like she wants to burn the place down. Mom’s cooking at home of course, but I could eat a burger and then eat Mom’s chicken. I’m about to agree to stay for a bit when my phone beeps.
Sorry for the BS earlier. Let me make it up to you . . .
Damn, just a few words on a phone screen and I’ve practically got a hard on already. I swallow. “Sorry, I wish I could stay but I’ve gotta head home.”
Chapter 3
Ugh, rich people. Could this house be any bigger? The furniture any nicer? These people have a full kitchen inside the house and then another one outside of the house. We’re sitting on a massive wooden deck with extravagant patio furniture, a grill and a granite countertop kitchen outside. There’s even a bar and a flat-panel television mounted on the wall.
Our hosts have music playing from invisible speakers in the
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