by S. E. Rose
“She’s still obsessed with love?” I finish the sentence.
“Yep.”
“I guess some things never change,” I say as I remember all the times Di made us play Romeo and Juliet while she directed us like we were little toy people or the actors in her own Broadway play.
“Guess not,” he agrees. Vera moves and I see one eye open and then the other. “Uh-oh. Guess I need to keep walking. Vera, say hello to Miss Megan.”
Vera coos and I grin at her. “Hi there, Vera.”
She reaches a little chubby hand out and I shake it. She giggles and gives me a big grin.
“How old is she?”
I can see him doing the math. “Uh, it’s almost the end of September. So, like three-ish months I guess?”
She squeezes my finger, and I look at her.
“I think she likes you. Do you want to hold her?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Are you still afraid of babies?” he questions with a smirk.
“No,” I say defensively. Babies have always been weird to me.
“Right. Well, I guess I should take her back up there, maybe she’ll fall asleep if I swing with her,” he ponders.
“Good luck with that.”
“See ya, Megladon,” he says as he walks up the driveway.
“Later, Superman.”
And with that, I head back to my parents’. It’s weird how easy it is to talk to Clark, even after all this time. In some ways, it’s like we never stopped being friends, but in other ways, it’s like meeting someone for the very first time. Sexy adult Clark is most definitely not like annoying little boy Clark. And I have no idea how I feel about that. I spend my entire drive home thinking about him and wondering if we might be able to be friends again…someday.
Chapter Twelve
Clark
“Dude, why are you spending so much time at home? It’s your fucking senior year, you should be here partying with us,” Grif laments as I grab my car keys.
“We are celebrating my parents’ anniversary. I sort of have to be there because we are giving them this huge fucking gift,” I explain. In the course of one week, my siblings had put our plan into action. Operation Moore House Makeover was underway. “Plus, after they head out, I’ll have a lot more time. Well, I think I will. I may have to help with some reno stuff.”
“OK, well, have fun, I’m off to see a girl. We might go out later. I hear there’s a party,” Grif states as he straightens his bow tie and walks out the door. I shake my head as I yell to Evan that I’m leaving and head to my car.
I should be going to the frat party tonight, but duty calls. Maybe I’ll stop by it later. I go through my mental checklist of shit I actually should be doing while I make the thirty-minute drive home.
What I am not prepared for as I pull onto my parents’ street is the insanity that my brother most definitely planned.
My mom is going to kill KJ. Kent might as well go into the witness protection program. There is a larger than life-sized cutout of my parents from their anniversary trip to ComicCon surrounded by balloons with sayings like, “The Old Ball and Chain,” “If It’s A Rockin’, Don’t Come A Knockin’,” and my personal favorite, “Welcome to Our Love Shack.” I have no idea where Kent gets these balloons from, but visions of my birthday last year dance through my head as I get out of the car. He had filled the front yard and my parents’ home with several hundred Superman balloons. It was epic.
I walk into the back hall and Kent immediately pulls me to the side.
“Do not tell them,” he says.
I start laughing. “They don’t fucking know yet?” I ask as I motion to the yard.
He shakes his head.
“You do know that Mom is going to murder you, right?”
He grins. “She won’t. She loves me.”
“Oh, OK,” I reply, my voice laced with sarcasm.
“What? It’s true. Don’t be a hater.”
I roll my eyes and continue into the house. The plan is to tell them about their trip over a family dinner. Kent had to call in serious favors with Dad’s boss in addition to arranging everything else.
“Clarkie,” Gran Tilly says as I walk into the kitchen.
“Hi, Gran,” I reply before being pulled into a hug. Nana Betty hugs me next, followed by PopPop. Once I’m thoroughly manhandled by all the grandparents, I find my mom and hug her.
“Happy anniversary,” I say as I give Mom a giant hug.
“Thanks, sweetie.”
I’m about to ask about her week when Lanie starts ushering all of us to the dining room. Dad comes in last and I know when he sees the front yard decorations because he freezes, squints, and slowly walks out the side entrance to the dining room into the foyer. Opening the door, he continues walking.
Kent stifles his laughter.
“Where’s Dad going?” Mom asks as she peers out the front windows. “What’s out there?” She too gets up and heads to the front.
Slowly, she is followed by the entire family.
“Kent Jason Moore!” Dad growls.
Mom takes one look at the cutouts and starts laughing. “Damn, I looked good back then.”
Dad’s grumpy face turns to laughter. “Shit, we aged.”
PopPop pats him on the back. “We’ve all aged.”
Shaking her head, Mom goes back inside. “Come on, let’s eat. And Kent, dear, you can dismantle the yard décor after dinner.”
“Yes, Mom,” he replies as he settles himself at the table. “We have one more surprise for you though.”
“Please don’t let it be more balloons,” Mom says.
“Nope. But…you can look back out the window now,” he says.
Pulling up to the driveway is a giant, posh-looking RV. Everyone gets up once more and heads outside.
“What’s this?” Dad asks as we all look at it. Kent’s friend Amery gets out of the RV and tosses Dad the keys.
“Enjoy, Mr. Moore,” he says. “I gotta get back home.”
He hops in a car that has pulled up and is off before anyone can say anything else to him. Dad looks at Kent and then the rest of us.
“Remember how you and Mom are always talking about taking a road trip?” I ask.
“And a trip with your parents?” Kent adds.
All of us kids yell, “Surprise!”
“We rented you this RV and made you some hotel reservations near a few national parks that Mom wants to visit,” Kent explains.
“Seriously?” Mom asks.
“Yes, dear, we are all set. Apparently, there are two bedrooms and a pullout sofa in there,” Gran Tilly says.
“Well, shit, that’s uh, wow,” Dad says as he takes in the vehicle.
“Go on in, check it out,” Lanie insists.
We all pile inside the monstrous vehicle. When I say this thing is legit huge, I’m not even kidding. I turn to Kent.
“Do you think Dad will be able to drive this beast?” I whisper.
Kent shrugs. “I mean sure.” Kent stops talking and looks around. “I think so.”
I glance toward the front and see Dad is already sitting in the driver’s seat, which apparently can swivel around.
“I think he’s got it under control,” I state, shaking my head.
“You kids take the bedroom,” Gran Tilly says.
“No, Mom, you should,” Mom insists.
“I want this bottom bunk,” Gran Tilly replies as she sits down in the bunk room. “I always wanted bunk beds.”
Di giggles. “I wish we could all go because this is going to be epic.”
I look over and Nana Betty has her phone up in the air.
“Nana, what are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m recording it so we can blog about the trip,” she explains.
“Blog?” Lanie asks.
“Yeah, you know, so all my followers can see everything we do.”
“Nana, are you on social media?” I ask, my eyes widening.
Nana doesn�
�t answer but instead turns her phone around. I realize she’s live.
“Wave to my followers, Clarkie. This is Clark, he’s my youngest grandson. Isn’t he just precious?”
I feel my face pinkening with each word out of her mouth.
“Nana,” I hiss.
She pinches my cheek. “Sweetcheeks here is just shy.”
She laughs. “Edith says you are very handsome, and she wants to set you up with her granddaughter. PM me later, Edith. OK, everyone. I’ll go on live again once we get to our first destination.”
Nana sets her phone down. “I didn’t think you were so shy, sweetie.”
I clear my throat and see Di stifling laughter. I glare at her and she starts snorting with giggles.
“What app was that, Nana?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Insta-something or maybe it’s Snap-talk or whatever. I don’t know.”
I huff and head to the back of the RV. The bathroom is really nice, nicer than the one in my apartment.
“Damn, maybe Grif, Evan, and I should have rented an RV this semester instead of the apartment,” I muse as I play with all the buttons. There’s one that changes the LED light colors. There is one that controls a backlight in the mirror. There’s a sound system. It’s legit crazy.
“Beats the dorms, huh?” Kent says, clapping me on the back.
“I was just thinking that,” I admit.
I walk back to the front. Ash is jumping on the sofa and climbing up to the loft above the front seats. Lanie and Di are sitting on the sofa with Gran Tilly, who is holding Vera. Tabby, Garrett, and Levi are sitting at the table. Nana and PopPop are busy checking out the kitchen and Mom and Dad are sitting in the front, just taking it all in.
Kent leans forward. “I’m not going to lie. I sort of want to buy a fleet of these for us, so we can take family road trips every year.”
I grin. “I sort of think that’s a good idea.”
“Sort of? It’s a fucking brilliant idea,” he says, punching my arm.
My watch rattles with a text message. I look down.
Evan: Party?
Grif: Now?
Evan: No, jackass. Tonight.
Grif: Uh, yeah. Duh.
Me: Fine. Heading home. See you in thirty.
Part of me wonders if Megan will be at the frat party tonight. I’ve seen her every weekend this year. And I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t hope to see her many more times. Hell, I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I kissed her on the dance floor the other night. I could have done something else to get her away from Anthony but seeing her on the dance floor in that outfit. I had to do it. I couldn’t stop myself. And now, it’s all I think about. The feel of her lips on mine. Her skin against my skin. How did I become a Megan addict from just one kiss?
Chapter Thirteen
Megan
I shovel another spoonful of chocolate chip mint ice cream into my mouth. I should be out having fun, but instead, I spent the night studying for a test. I survey my empty sorority house. A sorority I only joined to show how diverse I am in my activities. I don’t know why I waited until this semester to actually socialize with them. I wasted so much time studying. On the flip side, I did make friends with Brynn, who I spent all day with at the library. We haven’t hung out as much lately and I feel bad about that too. I admit that it’s a little awkward now that we are essentially competing against each other for a future job, but we agreed to not talk about that and just stick with school stuff.
Sighing, I look over at the documentary on the history of viaduct engineering that I had put on an hour ago but have barely watched. I glance at the book that Stella put on my desk. It’s a romance. I had to bite my tongue when she gave it to me because the only romance stories that I’ve ever read are Pride and Prejudice, Romeo and Juliet, and Wuthering Heights, and that’s only because I had to for school. I flip through the book and my eyes widen at some of the scenes. I quickly close it and look around like I’ve been caught doing something bad. Then, I look at it again. I read for the next twenty minutes until my ice cream starts to get soupy. Why can’t guys be like the hero in this book in real life?
I remember my older sister, Connie, once was watching a movie and the character said something about fairy tales not happening to women sitting alone in sweatpants at home. I glance down at my sweatpants. Yeah. That character was probably spot on with the assessment. I’m one hundred and ten percent sure that tonight every other woman in this house will either be sneaking a guy in here later, hooking up at the frat party, or making out in the bathroom of a club. Maybe if I’d tried to participate more last year, they would keep asking me to go out with them more often. But I think they all gave up on that after I turned them down daily for the first six months I lived here. Only Stella keeps asking me to go out with her.
I might lead the most boring life ever. I look over at my phone and pick it up. I do, contrary to popular belief, have several social media accounts. But I’ve never once interacted with anyone. I merely used them as a tool for getting accepted to college and now I use them as a tool to get a job. But the posts are lies. The photos with friends are just at sorority and club functions that I have to attend. The posts with my family are real, but only when I’m home for the holidays. I look at the most recent one. My mom, dad, and sister are all drinking margaritas, while I’m sitting with a glass of water, and that’s not because I couldn’t legally get one.
I’m lame.
Sighing again, I close my computer lid and head downstairs to put the ice cream back in the freezer. This pity party is gonna make me gain ten pounds if I don’t stop. I place the ice cream back in its spot, behind the three bags of frozen broccoli, because I know no one will find it there.
I walk into the front room and freeze. I hear a commotion outside just beyond the open windows. Two men, yelling at each other.
I crane my neck, but the curtains aren’t allowing me to see who it is.
“Fuck you! You don’t even know her!” one voice says.
“Oh, but I’m about to,” the other one says.
“Over my fucking dead body,” the first voice replies.
I hear what I assume are punches and then as I start to step back to let this little testosterone fest die on its own, a man flies through the screen of the giant window in the living room. Now, I’ve seen a lot of movies, and I know this sorority house is old as shit, but never in my wildest dreams did I think a man could actually break through the window and come crashing through it into this room. OK, it was just the screen, but still. I’m in shock as I quickly step toward the man on the floor who is groaning.
I look down as I kneel next to him, and I gasp, because lying on my floor with a giant splinter from the wooden screen frame in his right forearm is Clark Michael Moore.
“Clark!” I yell.
“Fuck, Megs. I’m literally right here. You don’t have to yell.”
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Are you OK?”
He slowly sits up and shakes his head, glancing down at the small piece of wood in his arm. He grabs a hold of the end of it and yanks it out. I grimace as blood starts to come out of the wound.
“I…let me get you something for that,” I stammer as I stand and run to the kitchen for the first aid kit. I’m back ten seconds later to find him sitting on an ottoman with a tissue pressed to the wound.
“Here,” I say, batting away his hand as I clean and dress the wound. I examine my work when I finish. “Good as new.”
“Thanks,” he says softly. His eyes never leaving me.
I set the first aid kit down on the sofa and look at the window. The screen is most definitely not reparable. I start to pick up the pieces.
“I’ll clean it up. It’s my fault. I can stop by tomorrow and put up a new screen,” he mutters as he stands and reaches over to grab a piece of trim.
“It’s OK.” I pick up the pile and carry it out to the dumpster outside of the kitchen. Once we have the living room cleaned up and the window close
d. I turn to look at Clark.
“Care to tell me why you just busted through my window?”
“Your window?”
I give him a pointed look and cross my arms.
He holds up his hands in defeat. “I was at the frat party. I didn’t see you there, so I thought I’d stop by to make sure you were OK. I mean, you’ve been hanging out a lot lately and I was wondering why you weren’t at the party. Stella was there. Anyhow, I ran into an asshole out front and we had some words.”
I glance toward the front but whoever had been there earlier is very much gone now.
“Who?” I insist.
He looks away from me.
“Who?” I ask again in a louder voice.
“Anthony.”
“Fuck,” I mutter because that is not good. Why does Anthony even know where I live? I shudder.
Clark steps forward. “Hey. It’s OK. He’s gone now.”
Frowning, I glance down at my outfit and grimace. I look horrible. Then, I mentally chastise myself because who cares what I look like and Clark has definitely seen me looking way worse than this.
I look back up at him. His gaze is traveling around the room. “It’s a nice house,” he muses as he walks toward a picture on the wall. It’s my pledge class. I know when he sees me because he looks at it and back at me before stepping away.
“Where’s your room?” he asks.
“Upstairs.”
“Isn’t anyone else home?” he inquires.
I put my hands on my hips. “Why do you care?”
He mutters something to himself and turns to me, running his hand along the back of his neck. Shit. He’s being serious about something.
“Megs…I would feel better if I stayed here until someone else gets home.”
I cock my head to the side and study him. “What exactly did Anthony say?”
He sighs and takes a deep breath. “What happened between you and him?”
I know my face is red, but I don’t want to tell anyone about that, especially not Clark.
Clark steps forward. “Judgement-free zone. I promise.”
I fight the smile that threatens to spread across my face. He always used that line on me when he wanted me to tell him something.
