“And what lesson is that?” she asks as the fire crinkles the paper. Moments later, she begins hacking again. She hurriedly removes the cigarette from her mouth as clouds of smoke puff from her lips.
“That smoking is bad for you.” I pry the cigarette from her fingers and slant over to put it out in the ashtray, fighting back my laughter.
After she finishes coughing up her lungs, she settles into my lap again. “So have you?”
Again, I question how drunk I am when I start to get a little too happy down south about her sitting on my lap. I’ve never really been turned on before, not in a welcomed way anyway.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I ask, getting squirmy.
She shakes her head, positioning a hand on each side of me. “Nope. Not unless you start freaking out.”
I mentally chant the lyrics of the first song I can think of.
You make me dizzy. You make me ache.
You make me burn, burn, burn.
Your touch is toxic. Poison.
Yet I’ll never learn, learn, learn.
“Fine,” I admit. “Yes, I’ve smoked before, but not since I moved in with the Gregorys. I went through this phase where I did a lot of things, right after I entered the system.”
“I knew it.” She sloppily plays with my hair, running her fingers through it. “You were a bad, bad boy, Ayden. Maybe that’s what I should start calling you. Bad boy instead of shy boy.”
“Is that what you’re into now? Bad boys?” My voice comes out deeper than I planned.
“Maybe.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not one anymore, then, huh?”
Her green eyes sparkle as she taps a finger on her bottom lip. “So, you’re saying you don’t want me to be into you?” I remain silent, feeling as though I might be walking into a trap. Her lips curve upward as she continues, “Because something might suggest otherwise.”
A beat of confusion passes until her insinuating gaze drifts downward. Realization clicks.
“Fuck.” I hop out from under her so quickly she ends up falling onto the floor. I face the door, cursing under my breath, completely fucking mortified. How the hell did we go from talking about my past to her teasing me about getting a hard-on? I shouldn’t be surprised, though. This is Lyric. Make me crazy, ache, trouble breathing, heart-liberating Lyric.
“Don’t worry,” she says with an off pitch giggle. “It happens to most guys. At least, that’s what they taught us in health class.”
I shake my head, telling myself to chill the fuck out. It’s not a big deal. It’s just Lyric. It doesn’t mean anything. Mean that. “You seriously have no boundaries.”
“Yeah, but that’s what you love about me.”
I can hear her moving up behind me. I have no idea what’s about to happen, or what I want to happen. Thankfully, I don’t have to think about it too hard, because a door slams from somewhere in the house.
“Oh shit.” Lyric flies into panic mode, running over to the desk where the scotch, cigarettes, and ashtray are. She tosses the bottle and cigarettes into the drawer then stares wide-eyed at the ashtray. “What do I do with this?”
Part of me wants to keep my lips zipped to pay her back for teasing me, but I care about her too much to let her get in trouble. So I rush over and grab the ashtray while Lyric turns off the music and stuffs the CD back into place. I carefully open the window and pour the ashes out onto the back lawn. After closing the window, I return the ashtray to the drawer where I find a can of air freshener. I douse the air with it and tell Lyric to flip on the ceiling fan. We finish cleaning up the best we can, and then Lyric seizes my hand and jerks me out the door.
“Just play it cool,” she whispers loudly. I can smell the scotch on her breath.
This is a disaster in the making.
“Just let me do the talking,” I tell her as we creep up the hall toward the kitchen. “And don’t breathe on anyone.”
She gives an exaggerated nod. I sigh.
We are so going down.
The situation only worsens when we enter the kitchen. There is cake, ice cream, and plates all over the countertops. Not only are her parents there, but so is every member of the Gregory family, most of them turning to look at us as we enter. I swear to God it’s like they know. Mr. Gregory pauses the longest, his head cocking to the side as he searches both our faces.
Fuck, he knows.
I open my mouth to say something, but Lyric beats me to the punch.
“I think I’m going to throw up.” Her fingers slip from my hand as she bolts out of the kitchen toward the bathroom.
Mrs. Scott glances at Mr. Scott, and then she runs after Lyric. Mrs. Gregory looks at me, the disappointment in her eyes making me want to sink into the earth and vanish into the dirt. She sighs then whispers something to Mr. Gregory. His eyes widen slightly as she backs away and ushers the kids out of the kitchen with her.
Then it’s just Mr. Gregory, Mr. Scott, and I, in an overly large kitchen that somehow feels overcrowded. The situation is alarmingly uncomfortable. Rarely does Mr. Gregory have to be the disciplinarian, but I have a feeling he’s about to.
I want to run out the door. Run away. A year ago, I would have, but I don’t think I can do it now—go back in the system. No, I’m going to have to grovel, beg them to let me stay here with them.
“I’m sorry, we just …” I trail off, unsure of what to say. The last thing I want to do is get Lyric in trouble, but I’m worried if I take the fall, I’ll be kicked out.