But if that’s the case, why is the thought of getting her naked all I can think about? I want to drive somewhere quiet, lay the seats down, and teach her how to ride my cock while straddling me as I suck her tits into my mouth. I want to scream, “She’s mine,” from the rooftops without giving a shit about Coach’s rule in regards to dating her. Without giving a shit about anything but the next time I can have this girl naked and under me. The next time I can make her smile or hear her laugh. The next time I can hold her hand or see her mouth, vacuum beach while wearing my hat just to get under my skin.
But it’s not why I’m here, I remind myself.
I clear my throat and shove the car into reverse, backing down the driveway and pulling onto the street.
“So, uh, favorite song?” I ask. My knuckles are tight around the steering wheel as I fight for a distraction, for a normal conversation, though I refuse to look at her. I’m not sure I can.
“What?” she returns.
“I wanna know your favorite song.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “Anything by Broken Vows or Group Project. You?”
I glance her way. “Group Project?”
With a gasp, she says, “Tell me you’ve heard of Group Project.”
I shake my head. She raises her hand, palm facing up. “Where’s your phone?”
“My phone?”
“So I can play a song on Spotify, Teddy.” Impatient, she reaches into my jeans’ front pocket and pulls it out, barely grazing my dick––that’s now standing at full attention––with her dainty little fingers.
Yup. She’s trying to kill me.
Once a song is playing through the speakers, I try not to stare as she sings along. The girl’s terrible and can’t sing for shit, but the confidence emanating from her tiny frame as she dances in my passenger seat is the sexiest––and most awkward––thing I’ve ever seen.
As the song ends, she turns down the volume and asks, “So? What’d you think?”
“I think it’s adorable you know all the lyrics.”
“Damn straight, I do. Now, show me a song where you know all the lyrics.”
I smirk as she hands me my phone, my choice already locked and loaded. When the introduction to “We Didn’t Start the Fire” by Billy Joel plays through the speakers, she laughs and joins in, spouting off the lyrics word-for-word.
Macklin used to drive Colt, Logan, Blake, and me to school when we were kids. He always had a thing for old music. Most of it would make us cringe, but there were a few songs we couldn’t get enough of. This was one of them. I’m not sure what it was about being able to keep up with the legend himself, but we used to love blasting this song and calling out the other person when they got the lyrics wrong.
My grin widens as I catch Blake jamming out to the chorus, and when the song ends a little while later, she turns down the volume, adjusts my baseball hat on her head, and asks, “So how’s Mack doing? I ran into him at one of your games, but he was kind of stand-offish. Last I heard he was married––”
“Divorced, actually.”
She grimaces. “Aaaand that explains so much. Ouch. They were together forever. What happened?”
“I dunno. I guess even people who get together in middle school can change over the years.”
“Yeah, but…it’s rough. How are Hazel and Miley?”
“They’re all right, I guess. It’s been almost two years since the fallout, so I think they're getting used to it.” I tap my thumb against the steering wheel and add, “Hazel’s graduating from high school this year.”
“No freaking way.”
“Yeah.”
“Dude. Time flies,” she says. “I remember when you became an uncle, ya know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. We all thought it was weird because our uncles were all old, but you were what, six?” She motions with her hands like her head is exploding. “Crazy.”
“I guess so,” I reply. “I never knew anything different. Did you know Mia’s like Hazel? Her aunt’s only six years older than her too. Or…something around there, anyway.”
“Yeah, her aunt’s dating Fender from Broken Vows, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. I actually met him a little while back. Mia introduced us at SeaBird before Ash and Colt started dating.”
“Ah, that’s fun. I’ve heard he’s a pretty good guy. Did you know he set up a charity recently for kids from broken homes and stuff?”
“No shit?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. It’s actually really cool. If I had more time, I’d volunteer, but with the internship and school, it’s been kind of crazy.”
“I get it,” I reply, checking my blind spot and merging into the left lane. “But it sucks. I think you’d be good at it. Hanging out with kids and shit.”
Her laugh makes me smile. “Mia said the same thing. Maybe in a few years. We’ll see. I’ll have to think of someone to set Mack up with.”
I snort. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d love it.”
“What? He isn’t a fan of blind dates?” she questions.
“Do you know anyone who is a fan of blind dates?”
She shrugs. “I dunno, maybe?”
“Name one,” I challenge, barely withholding my laugh.
With another shrug, she says, “I’ve been on a couple that were fun.”
A bark of laughter slips out of me as I flick my blinker on again and turn onto my street. “I call bullshit.”
“What? It’s the truth!”
“Who set you up on a blind date?”
“I don’t know? My mom once?”
“And? How’d it go?”
“He was nice.”
I scoff. “Nice. Sure.”
Reaching over the center console, she smacks my shoulder. “What? He was!”
“Did you go on a second date?” I challenge.
Her straight white teeth dig into her bottom lip as she pulls the brim of my hat a little lower to hide herself and looks out the window. “Maybe?”
“Bullshit,” I repeat. “Did your mom meet him at church? I bet she did, huh?”
“Theee-ooo,” she groans, smacking my shoulder. “Okay. You win. Enough with the interrogation.”
“I’m just sayin’,” I argue. “No one likes a blind date.”
“Fine. We won’t set up Mack on a blind date with anyone. Happy now?”
“Maybe.”
Crossing her arms, she looks out the window and mutters, “Party pooper.”
As I pull up to my house, trepidation pools in my stomach. Cars are already littered across the driveway, preventing me from pulling into the garage, so I shove my car into park a hundred feet down the street. I rest my forearm on the steering wheel and stare up at the house, unable to move. It’s dark out, but the lights are on inside, casting a glow along the front lawn. The music is thumping, ringing loud and clear through the windshield, and there are people scattered around the front, talking and laughing and kissing.
I don’t move. I don’t climb out. I just stare. At the life I used to crave. The highs I used to chase. The women. The alcohol. It looks so empty from the outside.