Page 30 of Pride High 2: Orange

“You shouldn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks,” Diego grumped. “What the hell do they know?”

“Nothing,” Ricky said, trying to make himself sound equally as apathetic when, in truth, he was holding back a dreamy sigh. He watched Diego shift gears, his big paw enveloping the top of the shift stick, and wondered what his touch would feel like.

Diego noticed him staring, but misinterpreted the reason why. “We should get this baby out on the highway. There’s more than one reason I named it after a monster.”

“That sounds fun,” Ricky said, ignoring visions of a ten-car pileup. “Although technically, Frankenstein was the scientist.”

“Huh?”

“Dr. Frankenstein? The big green guy you’re thinking of is his monster. So really, you should call your car Frankenstein’s monster.”

Diego shot him an annoyed glare. “I told you how much I like the name, right?”

“Yes.”

“And now you want me to change it?”

“Not really!” Ricky said quickly. “It was just a fun fact. I’m full of trivia. Umm… KITT fromKnight Riderwas a Trans Am.”

Diego nodded. “An eighty-two. I loved that fucking show when I was a kid.”

Ricky pinched his nose and tried to do a British accent to imitate the famous talking car. “I’m sorry, Michael, but I think you have a few screws loose.”

“Hey, that’s not bad,” Diego said. “Do it again.”

“I wish you hadn’t eaten so many burritos, Michael,” Ricky said, still pinching his nose. “You’ve been farting on my seats all the way from Albuquerque.”

Diego barked laughter, which was loud and shocked Ricky, but only initially. He quickly became entranced with his grin instead. The whole brooding thing suited Diego well, but there was something heartbreakingly beautiful about that happy expression. Ricky kept coming up with funny lines, trying to make him laugh, and succeeded a few more times. He would have kept going if they hadn’t pulled over.

Ricky didn’t recognize the neighborhood. The homes were all generic two-story houses with two-car garages for the two parents who lived there with their two kids. They said the world was built for two. That was especially true in the suburbs, it would seem. An older man was raking leaves a couple of yards down. He stopped to stare at them before continuing his work.

Diego leaned over to pop the glovebox. A musky scent reached Ricky’s nose, reminding him of a skunk. The last time he’d smelled that, he’d just been offered a joint by the same guy invading his personal space. Sure enough, when Diego shut the glove box and leaned back, Ricky caught sight of a baggie filled with green buds just before it was shoved into a pocket of the leather jacket.

“Be right back,” Diego said before he got out of the car.

Ricky watched him go to the house they were parked in front of, knock on the door, and then slip inside. He counted to ten under his breath before opening the glovebox, the intense smell hitting him again. And no wonder, because five other baggies were in there, all bulging with weed. He quickly shut the glovebox, his attention darting to the old man who was raking leaves. What if he got suspicious and called the cops? Which didn’t seem likely, considering that his back was now turned. Ricky felt nervous regardless. He didn’t have any experience with drugs. Or the people who dealt them.

Until now. Diego reappeared, his eyes locked onto Ricky during the walk back to the car, and even after he was behind the wheel again. “Are we good?” he asked.

“Yup!” Ricky said, nodding eagerly, because Jesus Christ he was hot! Besides, he wasn’t dealing cocaine or anything scary. Hippies smoked pot, and they were all about peace and love. It’s not like Diego had a dead body in the trunk. Although he hadn’t seen back there yet. “Do you make a lot of money?”

“Selling drugs?” Diego shrugged as he resumed driving. “Not as much as I want.”

“I thought you had a job repairing cars?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Then why—”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Diego snapped.

Ricky closed his mouth and turned his attention to the world outside the window. He knew he should probably drop it, but his mother always said he was more curious than a kitten at a yarn factory. “Why don’t you just work overtime at the repair shop? You could get arrested selling weed.”

Diego raised one of his thick eyebrows. “Are you going to rat me out?”

“No way! I’d lie to the police for you.”

“Oh yeah?”