Page 24

“But, like, why?” whines Anthony.

For the tenth time since we left the house.

“Because I said so,” I answer him from the driver’s seat. I got permission to take Pete’s car tonight. He’s off with Cody, Trey, and Juniper doing something else tonight.

“I still don’t understand why I gotta be blindfolded.”

I pat Anthony’s leg. “Because I said so,” I repeat myself.

“I’m tired of you sayin’ so and me just goin’ along with it.” He smirks and turns his face halfway to me. “Like it’s been all week.”

I grin, continuing to drive into the night.

He isn’t wrong.

We haven’t been able to keep away from each other all week. Sometimes it’s the four of us, with Pete and Juniper. Sometimes it’s all six of us when Cody and Trey are free. But most of the time: just me and Anthony, the insufferable pair that no one in Spruce seems to understand.

I think it was Tuesday when I told Anthony I wanted to try out this Pepperoni Pirate place that the choir guys go to after their rehearsals. Jeremiah, Robby, and Burton with his girlfriend Cindy were all there. After chatting with them, Anthony and I massacred two large pizzas all on our own, then proceeded to the pool tables in the back, where I whooped his ass five times in a row before he finally got one up on me in the sixth game. He was convinced I let him win, but I insisted I didn’t chalk my stick well enough and it kept slipping. He made fun of how I played, lining up every shot, meticulous, measuring degrees, calling pockets, and going by the book. “That ain’t how you play pool!” he shouted at me at one point, exasperated, “and you’re takin’ out all the fun that way! Just look at the table, shut one eye, and shoot! ” So I tried it his way. I shut an eye, picked a ball, and took my shot—and the ball went flying straight off the table, rolled across the floor, and tripped an unfortunate server who was on his way to deliver a pitcher of beer to the choirboys at a neighboring table.

We played my way after that.

Anthony didn’t fight me on it.

Wednesday morning, I nearly had to drag Anthony out of bed to get him on my jog with me. He put up a fight, but eventually got going with me, and I wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the day. “Think I pulled a hamstring,” he complained at lunch. “Feels like even my balls are sore from that damned jog,” he complained during dinner later, which Trey had cooked for the house—one of Cody’s favorites, which Pete downright devoured. Then all five of us met up with Juniper back at Tumbleweeds that night, where we took turns dominating that poor jukebox once again, all while that same bartender from before watched us with mounting confusion, having identified us as enemies not a week ago.

We’re allowed to confuse people, right?

Juni—she insisted on that night I call her by the short version Anthony uses, as we’re “totally besties now” and the “full Juniper” just wouldn’t do—had pulled me aside at the bar, and that’s when she told me her special idea for what I ought to do with Anthony Friday night. It was surprisingly romantic and sweet, coming from a woman who didn’t seem to value either of those things. Maybe Pete was changing her, too. “Pete really is a romantic at heart,” she confirmed to me when I pointed that fact out, “and looks so cute with a ball gag strapped in his mouth.”

I didn’t ask anything further.

Thursday night, Anthony and I had made plans, but they fell through when he got a call from “Gran” herself, who “found it in her old withered heart to give him a second shot”, but in reality she was short-staffed after two of her servers called in sick. I spent that evening hanging out with Pete, Cody, and Trey at the house while Anthony and I shot funny texts back and forth at each other. I kept telling him to stop texting me and pay attention to his work. That only seemed to inspire him to text me even more, rebellious brat he can be sometimes.

And now, on this glorious Friday evening, Anthony doesn’t go off with Juniper to the Sassy Saloon like he usually does. Instead, he’s coming with me somewhere else, because I’ve got a plan, all thanks to Juniper, and I can’t wait for him to enjoy it.

“Can I take it off yet?” he asks again. “It’s itchy.”

“Nope.”

“So bossy ,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his nice shirt I told him to wear. It’s an off-green button-down we bought at the store last weekend when we were all shopping around. I like the way it looks on him. It’s paired with fresh black slacks, and his hair is styled handsomely tonight in that messy, cute, totally Anthony way. I did tell him he’d want to get fancy. He didn’t disappoint.

When we finally arrive, I park the car facing the venue, then nudge him. “Alright, babe. Pop it off.”

Still scowling, he slides the blindfold off impatiently, blinks a dozen times, then squints through the window. “Nadine’s? What?” He looks at me accusatorily. “You brought me all the way out here to Fairview for dinner? Why?”

“For two reasons. Number one,” I say, lifting a finger, “the last and only time you’ve been here, it was to go on that special date with Juniper after she won you at the auction, and neither of you enjoyed it in that romantic way you were likely supposed to.”

“She told you about that?” He eyes me suspiciously. “You two talkin’ behind my back or somethin’? Was this her idea?”

“Partly. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Fuckin’ starved.”

I grin. “Good. Tonight’s dinner is on Juni, despite me telling her I’d rather pay, but she gave me a look, and I had to give in.”

“Those Juni looks,” mutters Anthony, knowing what I mean.

“Make sure to get your money’s worth. Her words, not mine,” I add quickly, “as I’m not a fan of spending other people’s money, so I still think we should be respectful about who’s paying and only order what you plan to eat.”

“What? You think I’m gonna order three steaks and just waste ‘em?” He scoffs. “The heck kinda monster you think I am?”

“A cute one who never does what he’s told. Now stay put and let me help you out of the car like a proper gentleman.”

By the time I get out of the car and come around to his side, he’s already out, slapping shut his own door. “What?” he throws at me. “Think I can’t help myself out of a parked vehicle? You gonna carry me to the entrance of the restaurant, too?”

“Want me to?” I sass right back at him.

He backs against the side of the car when I come up to him.

“Maybe,” he croaks, all his attitude gone.

I put a peck on his lips, enjoying the power I have over him. “I just might, y’know.”

He squints suddenly. “What’s the second reason you brought me all the way out here? You only told me one.”

I lift another finger. “Reason two.” Then I put my hands on the car on either side of him, caging him in and bringing my face even closer. “You and I … have not yet had a proper date.”

He frowns. “The hell you talkin’ about? We’ve had tons of ‘em. All week. Last weekend. Every mornin’ when you force my sleepy ass to go jogging with you.”

“Not a romantic date,” I clarify. “You and I … we never had an actual first date. Where I get to take you out, wine and dine you, then go home and cross my fingers that your cute butt enjoyed it enough to go on a second date with me someday.”

He gazes back at me. I’m expecting him to make fun of my sappiness, but instead, my words seem to move him. “Shoot,” he mutters, lost in my eyes. “If I had known that, I would a’ put on a better shirt.”

“You look perfect.”

“I don’t even know if I remembered to put on deodorant.”

I go right into his pit for a voracious sniff, then bring my face back to his. “Pit check: complete.”

He stares at me awhile longer, appearing baffled. Then he lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “You’re different tonight.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Different how?”

“I dunno. Look in a mirror. Shit. The version of you I first met two weeks ago, he would’ve never shoved his face into my armpit to check if I was wearin’ deodorant .”

“That a problem? I like how you smell.”

“I think you like more than just how I smell,” he throws back. “I think you’re fuckin’ smitten with me.”

His use of that word makes me choke. “S-Smitten?”

“Yeah, not just smitten, but fuckin’ smitten. I see how you look at me. Can’t get enough of me. Takin’ me out for a fancy dinner tonight. The second you got a taste last weekend, now you can’t get enough.”

“Speak for yourself,” I retort, coming closer to his face. “Every night this week, you couldn’t catch a wink of sleep unless we had sex. And even afterwards, you’re inconsolable unless I wrap you in my arms to sleep.”

“Inconsol—?” He scoffs at me. “I ain’t inconsolable .”

“So you’re just as smitten.” I go to kiss him but stop before my lips make contact, watching the surprise flicker on his face. “I like how you react to me. I like how I bother you. How I agitate you. I like the look in your eye right before I go in for a kiss …” Then I let our lips touch—a sweet, gentle kiss that begs for another. “… and I especially like the look in your eyes right after.”

“I got a look in my eyes?”

“And …” I smile. “I like the way you smell.”

I study the shift in his face, how he goes back and forth from wanting to say something sassy and challenging one second, then just wanting to melt into another kiss the next.

“Where’s the tight ass who looked down on me for drinkin’ all the time?” he finally asks, his voice soft.

“And where’s the guy who used to drink until all hours and could barely function in the mornings?” I ask right back.

“He’s still here. He just …” He shrugs. “… drinks responsibly.”

“Or … and this is just a theory …” I bring my lips right up to his ear. “Maybe you were drinking ‘cause you were unhappy. And I don’t wanna go take all the credit here … but maybe, just maybe, I have a little something to do with it. Just a theory.”

He snorts at me, turning his face slightly. “You think awfully highly of yourself.”

“Only around you,” I admit, put a kiss on his ear— he loves when I do that —then bring my face to his again. “And you ought to start thinking higher of yourself, too.”

“Why?” he asks. “For pullin’ the stick outta your ass?”

“Oh, it’s still there,” I assure him. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line.” I step back, releasing him from his pinion against the car. He gives me a look, twists his lips, then goes ahead of me toward the restaurant without a word. I catch up and smack his ass—he shoves halfheartedly at me, pretending not to love it—and the pair of us head on into the restaurant, my arm slung over his back.

With our track record, I expected two or three things to go horribly wrong. Maybe my dish would end up on my head. Or our table would magically explode into fettuccini alfredo all over our faces with no explanation. Or maybe our server would hate us.

But none of that happens.

Anthony savors every bite of his seven-layer lasagna dish like it’s heaven on his tongue.

And I enjoy watching him savor every bite.

I decide to take a risk and offer to feed him a bite of my steak. I fully expect him to pull an Anthony, grab my fork out of my hand and tell me he can feed himself, whatever. Instead, he leans in like this is something he expected, something we do all the time, and he moans as he slides the bite of steak off the fork with his teeth. “Fuck,” he hums to himself as he savors it with his eyes closed, “that is some damn good steak.”

And then he returns the favor, cutting me a perfect bite of his lasagna and feeding it to me straight off his fork.

He looks into my eyes the whole time.

A glint of excitement bursting in them.

Maybe I’m kidding myself by calling this a first date.

At one point, the head chef himself, Mario Tucci, comes out to make sure we enjoyed our meal. I notice Mr. Tucci giving a double take at Anthony, as if recognizing him from his time here before, but he says nothing further and makes no big scene out of it, so I just presume whatever insane night Anthony and Juni had in this restaurant however long ago is forgiven and forgotten—mostly.

“Hey, Bridge?”

I set my glass down. “Yes, Anthony?”

“I know I’m difficult sometimes. Say all the wrong shit at the wrong place. Not always as refined as I should be. But …” His eyes go softer, twinkling in the candlelight between us. Did I mention that part? Romantic candles, every table. “I just want to say …”

He reaches across the table—and knocks over the candle.

Both of us stare at it, our breaths held.

Until we realize nothing’s burning.

He gently sets the still-flickering candle upright. “Electronic,” he explains, though I’d already realized it myself, “thank God.” He takes hold of my hand across the table—what he was trying to do in the first place—and finishes his thought: “Just wanna say thank you, Bridger. For seein’ more in me than anyone else has. Givin’ me a shot. Takin’ your time with me. And most importantly …”

“You’ve said this already,” I tell him.

“Yeah, well …” He looks down at our hands, then flicks his hot little eyes back up at me. “Not during our first date, I haven’t.”

I grin. “Go on.”

“And most importantly ,” he says with a bite, playfully showing his annoyance at being interrupted, before turning sweet again, “I sure hope this night ends with you fuckin’ my brains out, because it’s takin’ everything in me not to jump over this table right now.”

I’m pretty sure others around us heard that.

Anthony isn’t exactly quiet, even when he’s trying to be.

But I think he might be right about me. I don’t want to silence him. I don’t want to address the two heads that turned our way or return the indignant stare from the table across the aisle from us.

All I do is gently brush my thumb over the top of his hand, my eyes on his, only on his, and I say, “You better bet I’m gonna own that cute ass of yours tonight.”

The way he grits his teeth at my answer. That eager, hungry look in his eyes right now. I swear, I’m the luckiest guy in the world .

Stars are spread out over our heads for miles in all directions, miles and miles and more miles.

Anthony and I are leaning back on a blanket thrown over the trunk of the car, legs dangling off.

I put a playlist of songs I know Anthony likes on the car radio, which we only softly hear as we gaze up at the stars together, parked in a field just outside of Spruce, so every last speck of light in the sky is perfectly visible, undiluted by the town’s glow.

Our hands are next to each other between our bodies, and I smile when I feel him entwine his fingers with mine. It’s a sweet, unexpected gesture coming from him. Especially considering that the moment we got here, he thought my plan was to have car sex with him. But I told him no. My plan wasn’t for our first date to end with the Spruce police arresting us for indecent exposure.

Also, isn’t it a rule not to have sex on the first date?

“Stupid rule,” he mumbles next to me.

I chuckle and lean my head into his. “I wasn’t serious.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“I just meant that I gotta really, really like a guy to bend a big important rule like that.”

“Oh, is that it?” He nudges my foot with his own, a light kick. “Figured out how much you like me yet? We gonna bend that big important rule of yours?”

“Maybe I won’t bend it after all. Might do you good to spend a night by my side without biting a pillow.”

He huffs. “But I like biting pillows.”

I distract him by pointing up with my free hand. “That the Big Dipper? See it? Right there?”

For a second, I think he’s just sulking next to me, refusing to answer. Then he squints and points, too. “You mean that?”

“Those stars. That one … that one … and that one, and then its tail. See them?”

“Oh. Yeah, I do.” He slowly drops his hand to his chest. “Kinda looks like our kite from last weekend.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, it does look like a kite.”

“A kite that’s way the fuck away, light years and shit.”

I smile. “Yep. Light years away.”

We draw quiet. Then he says, “That’s what it’s gonna feel like. Y’know. When you and Pete go.”

I turn my head slightly. “What?”

“You’re gonna be light years away. Kansas ain’t next door. Oz is fuckin’ closer to you than Spruce, and I don’t got no car.”

“Anthony …”

“I hate it.” He lets out a breath. “Everything in my life that’s … that’s good and worthwhile. My brief dream of being a vet. Stupid dream of tryin’ to join the Army like you did. My beautiful dog … My Jefferson. Nothing lasts. Everything just … just fuckin’ runs as far away from me as it can the second it gets good.”

I turn fully to him. “Anthony, it isn’t gonna be like that. I’m … I’m not just vanishing. We’ve got phones, y’know.”

“But when are you comin’ back? Are you even comin’ back? Or am I just gonna be the small-town fool you got to have fun with for a few weeks while you were here? A story you tell your real boyfriend someday—a hot Kansas guy who’s all, like, accomplished and impressive and has a career and … a-and a 401K and shit …”

“Stop that, Anthony. I told you already, I plan to come back.”

“And what if your family needs you to stay?” he cuts me off. “I’m not gonna stop you from being there for them. What kinda asshole would I be if I did that? You need to … to give that denim jacket back to your brother.”

I blink. “What?”

“So he’s protected. That jacket has magic. I remember what you said.” He lets go of my hand and crosses his arms. “You need to get it back to him. You need to take care of them. You’re a good man, Bridger. A loyal man. With integrity and … and honor.”

“I’m coming back.”

“Keep sayin’ it over and over, doesn’t make it any more true. More you say it, less I believe it anyway. Less you believe it.” With that, he hops off the car suddenly and crunches through the grass a few steps before coming to a stop. I sit up, watching him. “And I’m gonna be someone like that someday, too. I’m gonna be a good man who … who isn’t so … fuckin’ selfish and childish all the time. I see you, I see what you are, who you are, what you stand for, and I look at myself, and … and I realize that’s what I want to be. I want to be someone who gets up every morning to jog. Who wakes up with a purpose every day. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life just being a fuckin’ mess.” He unbuttons the top of his shirt with sudden aggression. “Shirt’s ch-chokin’ the sh-shit outta me.”

I hop off the car and walk through the grass, coming up to his side. He glances at me, almost scowling.

That’s when I notice the tears in his eyes.

“The least you could do is be honest with me,” he then says, and it breaks my heart, watching the stars twinkle in his sad eyes, and all those tears he refuses to let fall down his cheeks. “Just be honest and say it to my face. Say that you’re goin’ home. Say that there’s a chance you may not come back. You owe me that much.”

For some reason, of all things, I find myself thinking about my brother. My mother. The look in their eyes right before I enlisted, right after dad left, right after my whole life shattered apart.

I don’t know if I can be that honest with him. I suddenly hate that Anthony might be right. Maybe I’ve been lying to myself this whole time, saying this isn’t just a short-term thing—a ride on the train from one point to another, only to hop off and watch it roar away down the tracks, unsure if I’ll ever board it again.

So instead of answering, I just pull him close, embracing him tightly in my arms. He says nothing more, burying his face in my chest under a blanket of far, far away stars.