“Yo, Bossman,” Jason said.
Fisher and his date turned around. He smiled at Jason, but his smile faded a fraction when he saw me standing a few feet back, clutching a beer bottle to my chest. “Having…” he eyed the bottle for a little too long before lifting his gaze to mine “…a good time?” That look, it was too parental.
Too challenging.
Too condescending.
Long-armed, tiny-boobed, fake-adult Reese.
Lifting the bottle to my lips, I nodded. “I believe I am.”
Fisher shifted his focus from me to Jason. “Did you give her the beer?”
Jason shrugged. “Maybe.”
Fisher nodded slowly. “She’s eighteen, which means she’s officially your responsibility.”
No he didn’t. He didn’t just call me out like a child.
Jason turned and gave me a sad smile. “Sorry. I’m not in the mood to babysit tonight.” He plucked the bottle of beer from my hand.
I was so embarrassed; I wanted to kill Fisher. Then I wanted to cry because it sucked being an adult, only not really a full adult. Jason disappeared, leaving me with an empty hand in front of Satan’s awful son and his girlfriend.
“Reese, this is Teagan. Teagan, this is Reese. She and her mom rent out my basement.”
I didn’t rent squat. But it was so generous of him to make me look grown up in front of her after calling out my age and apparent need for a babysitter.
“Nice to meet you.” She smiled instead of offering to shake my hand, probably because one of her hands held a beer and the other was still around Fisher’s waist.
The ugly jealousy felt terrible. How did I get such an extreme crush on a guy ten years older than me in a matter of weeks? It just added to all the other reasons I wasn’t a mature adult yet. I felt certain Teagan didn’t get stupid crushes on guys who were out of her league. Then again, she was a beautiful doctor with a great job, great hair, and great boobs. No guy was out of her league.
“Nice to meet you too.”
Fisher took a swig of his beer, and I wanted to knock it out of his hand.
“Well, have fun. I’m going to grab something to eat.” I wasn’t hungry. It was code for “I’m leaving.”
“You too,” Teagan said. She sounded nice. She worked with a lot of kids, giving them great smiles. Of course she was nice. He deserved her.
I sulked my way through the crowd in the house, but not rushing anything to avoid looking like I was leaving. A few people were just outside the front door vaping—and probably smoking pot too—but they ignored me when I held my phone up to my ear, pretending to talk to someone.
When I got home, I opened a bag of cheese curls and ate half the bag. Then I downloaded some new music to my phone.
Matt Maeson.
After listening to several songs, I settled on “Tribulation.” It was fitting in some ways. Tortured love.
Twenty minutes later, I knew every word.
Thirty minutes later, I ascended the stairs. And not surprisingly, he didn’t lock his side of the door. I opened it slowly, even though I knew he wasn’t home. I stole a banana and ate it. Then I opened the fridge door and frowned at all the peanut butter he had in the door. At least four jars. He must have been scared of a shortage. On the bottom shelf, there was beer. Lots of beer.
Biting my lips together for a few seconds while tapping my nails on the door, I contemplated borrowing … taking just one beer.
One beer led to two beers, and I was buzzed. And it was good. I bobbed around his house holding my phone with music blaring while looking at photos of people I imagined were his family. Then I stumbled upon his bedroom.
“Oh, Fisher …” I giggled, swaying a bit while I sauntered into his bedroom. “You make your bed like a good boy.” I laughed some more and plopped onto my tummy, burying my nose in his pillow. “You smell sooo good.” When I was convinced I’d sucked all of his scent from his pillow, I rolled to the side and right onto the floor. “Ouch …”
More laughter.
More swaying as I lumbered to my feet and continued my self-guided tour, which led me to his bathroom. “There you are … you big, beautiful tub.”
I sighed. His bathroom was ginormous. And he had a wall of switches, at least twenty switches for all kinds of lighting around the sink, the shower, his wall of wardrobe cabinets, by my feet, even under the toilet.
“Too much.” I pushed all the bottom buttons which turned off all the lights, leaving only natural moonlight coming from the big window by the tub and the two skylights. “That’s better.” I stripped, stepped into the soaker tub, and started the water, easing onto my butt with no grace. When the water reached an inch below my neck, I shut it off. “Where’s my music?” I realized I’d left my phone on the bed or maybe on the floor, but the music had stopped anyway.