Though normally taciturn, Chris seemed downright preoccupied, lost in thought. He definitely wasn’t as hyped up as the rest of the team. It was strange sitting here across from him with the new knowledge that he had a thing for her. People had guessed at it for a while and it’d never bothered her, so why did knowing for sure make things feel… different?
He caught her staring at him, and she looked away.
“So my parents are out of town till Sunday night,” said Colton, “and part of me thinks they would be disappointed if I didn’t throw a party in their absence.”
“For sure,” Romeo chimed in. “What kind of monster would squander such a golden opportunity to enjoy himself?”
Jess dipped a fry in ketchup and tossed it back. How had she managed to make it to her sophomore year before the prospect of a real party came up?
Oh right. She didn’t have many friends.
Sure, she had Miranda, and she supposed Chris had been her friend for a while now, too. Actually, he was one of her oldest friends, once she thought about it. And one of her most loyal …
“You in?” Quentin asked.
Jess perked up. “Huh?”
“You”—he gently poked her in the arm—“me”—he poked himself in the chest—“party?” He motioned drinking a bottle of something.
Jess suspected that something was alcohol. “Oh, uh … when? Tonight?”
He nodded. “Maybe one thing leads to another and we take this fake relationship to the next fake level.”
“I don’t know. I mean, it sounds fun.” She glanced at Chris and he said nothing, his calm expression impossible to read. “Are you going?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “No, I’m beat. I can give you a ride home if you want.”
Eddie moved his hand to block Chris’s face. “Please. Don’t let this guy ruin your fun, Jess. Come on. You don’t even have to drink if that’s against your … whatever. Just come chill with us by a bonfire!”
“Yeah,” seconded Colton.
“Yeah, girl,” Romeo added. “Don’t act like you never let loose. We know you get high, McCloud.”
“What?!” said Jessica.
“What?!” said Chris, even louder, breaking his silence.
She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she kept her gaze focused on Romeo. “Where did you hear that?”
He looked at her like she might be a little slow. “Uh, where do you think? Since you broke it off with that pendejo ex, he’s been running around telling everyone about how the daughter of God used to get high with him.”
Greg. What a thorn in my crown. Wait, was that the expression? It sounded right, but maybe not.
“It’s no one’s business what I do,” she mumbled.
Romeo held up his hands defensively. “Hey, no judgement here. I don’t care what you do. If God’s down with weed, I might actually start going to church again.”
Jess sighed. Guess everything I do is public now. That wasn’t a comforting thought, but there was something peaceful in the realization of it. Like how there’s peace in death.
“We just want to chill with you,” Eddie said. “Nothing weird.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Quentin before pointing down at the scraps of her meal. “You done?”
“Yeah.”
He grabbed a leftover fry and tossed it back. “Cool. Let’s get out of here.”
They all slid out of the booth and headed outside toward the parking lot.
Just as they exited into the warm night air, Jess felt a hand around her wrist and turned to find Chris looking down at her. “Hey,” he mumbled, “just let me take you home. You don’t want to party with these guys, trust me.”
“Riley, you trying to make a move on my girl?” Quentin said, lifting his fists into the air like he was ready to fight.
“I promised her mom I’d get her home on time,” he said.
“You did?” Jess asked. That didn’t sound like something her mom would make anyone promise.
“Yeah.”
She studied him, trying to figure out if he was being honest.
Well, she supposed she was pretty tired, and she would probably be in over her head at a big party, anyway. “Yeah, okay.” She turned to Quentin. “Next time.”
He looked from her to Chris and then back again and smiled furtively. “Yeah, all right. Next time.” Then he pointed at Chris. “You keep your real hands off my fake girlfriend, Riley.”
Chris loosened his grip on her wrist.
“I gotta grab my stuff from his car,” she said, “then we can get out of here.”
Chris nodded and she jogged after Quentin.
Once they were loaded into Chris’s truck and pulling out of Gordon’s, he said casually, “You know, I think you’ve made your point to Greg. You can probably stop pretending with Quentin.”
That was jealousy if she’d ever heard it. “Maybe it’s not pretend anymore.”
Chris’s head jerked over toward her, and he veered in his lane before righting the truck again. “You’re just saying that,” he replied.
She sighed. “Yeah, I am. But what if I weren’t? Quentin isn’t a bad guy.”
Chris hedged. “Ehh …”
“What? What is that sound?”
“It’s just … you’re out of his league.”
“Are you kidding me?” Another person who was out of her league? “Then who’s in my league?”
“I don’t know. Nobody, I guess.”
“Then what the hell am I supposed to do!” She could feel the blood rush to her face, and she wished there were a football in front of her so she had something to kick.
“I don’t know! Sorry.”
“Ugh! I mean, if everyone’s out of my league, then I guess I have to date out of my league.”
Chris narrowed his eyes at the road as they pulled up to a red light. He turned and looked at her. “Yeah, I guess you do. Or—”
“Don’t even say it.”
“Say what?”
“Date Jesus.”
Chris shook his head slightly to clear it. “That doesn’t even make sense. No, I was going to say maybe you’re like, you know, not supposed to have a husband.”
She opened her mouth to respond but then realized he may have a point.
Damn.
Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have a husband. Jesus didn’t have a wife, as far as she knew. She’d have to ask him next time he showed up.
The light turned green.
“So would that mean I’m not supposed to date anyone?”
He sounded tired or resigned; Jess couldn’t tell which. “I don’t know. Maybe not.”
“Well, sheesh. That would blow.”
“Yep.”
Jess stared out the window and thought about never making out with anyone ever again. Suddenly she had the urge to make out with Chris.
What? Where did that come from? She supposed it was just that thing where you only want things when you can’t have them.
She glanced over at him. He was hot, and nice. And he was a good kisser. And he was popular. And he was really, really hot, especially in that plain white V-neck tee, his hair mussed and still damp from his shower after the game…
Before she knew it, her heart was racing and she looked away from him and back out the window as they pulled up to her house and into the driveway. “You want to come in?” she asked. “I’m sure my mom would like to say hi.”
He waved her off. “No, I’m beat. I just want to crawl into bed.”
The image of her crawling into bed next to him began forming in her mind before she mentally swatted it away.
“Okay.” As she climbed out of the truck, an impulse struck her that felt more like instinct, and before she could wimp out, she added, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re out of my league. You might be the only guy I know who’s actually in my league.”
By the look on Chris’s face, someone might have thought she’d just told him
that two plus two equaled seventeen. Worried she might be asked to explain further, which she definitely wasn’t prepared to do, considering she’d only just happened upon this conclusion herself moments ago, she grabbed her bags from the back seat, slammed the door shut, and hurried inside.
Destinee was sitting on the couch, a beer in her hand, watching her late night show. She looked up at Jessica curiously. “You’re home early.”
Jessica set her stuff down by the door and cocked her head to the side. “I thought you wanted me home at a decent hour.”
Destinee squinted suspiciously at her daughter. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so either, but Chris said—” Then it came together. “Ah … okay.”
Destinee craned her body around to peek out the window facing onto the street. “Chris dropped you off? Not your new guy?”
Jessica walked across the room and plopped down on the couch next to Destinee. “I think Chris likes me.”
“Duh.” Destinee turned away from her and leaned over the arm of the couch, and the sound of ice rustling around followed. When her mom sat back up, she was holding a cold bottle of Shiner that still dripped small ice chips from the cooler. “Here.” She used her shirt to twist off the top, then handed Jess the bottle. “You’re practically sixteen. If you’re not going out to party on a Friday night, you might as well enjoy your time at home.”
Jess stared at the bottle. She’d never had the desire to try beer of any kind before. But it seemed wrong to refuse. When it came down to it, Destinee usually knew what was best for her anyway.
Jess sipped the beer. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, either. There was a sort of punishment about the taste that helped cleanse Jess’s mind of mental clutter.
“You obviously should do what you want,” Destinee said, staring at the TV, “but I think you should date him. Can’t think of anyone better for you.”
Jess sighed. “Yeah, me neither.”
As Jess approached the front steps of Mooremont on Monday morning, the first face she locked onto was Quentin’s. Good. She’d made up her mind that weekend that she needed to fake break up with Quentin if she was going to really make out with Chris again.
He power walked over to her like a man on a mission, his face uncharacteristically serious, and she wondered if he was about to fake break up with her before she got the chance.
No! You don’t get to fake dump me!
But all he said once reached her and grabbed her arms to hold her steady was, “Jess, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would become this big of a thing. I guess I didn’t realize how racist people still are.”
“Huh?” At least he wasn’t beating her to the punch, but at the same time, what in the hell was he talking about? “Who’s racist? I don’t understand. What did you do?”
She saw another tall person—that’s all her mind could make sense of at the moment with Quentin saying incoherent things and it still being early—heading toward her, but eventually it pinged on her radar as the one whose face she wanted to make out with.
Chris pushed against the flow of traffic and came to stand next to Quentin, who looked up at him remorsefully and took a step back from Jess as he said, “Hey, man, I swear I didn’t mean to add on to all this shit.”
“I know, I know,” Chris said. “It’s totally and completely not your fault.” But he sounded all business when he said, “We’re leaving, Jess. Come on.”
“We’re leaving? But … school.”
“You’re taking a sick day.” He extended his arms to herd her away from the building.
“But I don’t get sick.”
Chris rolled his eyes impatiently. “Well then you’re skipping school with me. Let’s go.”
Totally unable to decide whether this boded well for her chances of making out with Chris, she allowed him to place his hand gently on the small of her back and steer her away from the school and back toward the parking lot.
“I think I need more explanation,” she said, “otherwise this feels a lot like kidnapping. What’s going on?”
“You didn’t watch the news last night.”
“How do you know that?” She looked up into his face, where his jaw was set and his brows pinched together as if he were in pain.
“Because if you’d watched the news, you’d know why Quentin was apologizing and why I’m saving you from the undo punishment of my peers.”
“Our peers,” she corrected without thinking.
He grabbed her backpack from her, tossed it on the rear seat of the cab, and then opened his truck door for her to climb in.
Once he was in on the other side, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“We’re just getting the fuck out of here, and then you’re going to watch the clip that everyone’s sharing.”
“Sharing where?”
“Social media. You should really get a Facebook or Twitter or Snapchat or something.”
“Eh …”
He nodded as he jammed the key into the ignition. “Yeah, you’re right. Never mind.”
As soon as he started the truck, the radio exploded with bass, and he hurriedly turned it down all the way so that they rode in silence together as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed away from town on one of the back country roads.
* * *
Jessica paced back and forth in front of the truck as she struggled to find the right words to express herself. At least it made sense now why Quentin had apologized. And it wasn’t his fault, of course. It was no one’s fault but Eugene’s.
“That fucker!” Jess yelled as she continued to pace. She wanted to punch someone, but Chris was the only one out here for miles. He probably would’ve let her land a few blows to his toned chest—a part of her was actually surprised he hadn’t offered it yet—but she didn’t know how to throw a punch. Destinee had taught her a few of her useful skills—the side-eye, how to drink a beer, the art of hard boiling eggs—but fighting was not among them.
Anyway, how did she want to punch Chris and make out with him at the same time? This was crazy.
She continued her pacing, and her hot face was only slightly soothed by the cool fall breeze blowing in with a front.
The spot where he’d eventually pulled his F-350 off to the side of the dirt road was somewhere Jess had never been before. She wasn’t sure how Chris knew about it, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was murdering Eugene.
She remembered what Quentin had asked about the Friday before, and she glanced over at Chris, where he stood with his arms crossed, leaning back against the deer guard of his truck. “Do you think I could long-distance smite him?”
Chris cocked his head slightly to the side. “Are you being serious?”
She planted her feet and nodded. “Absolutely. You know I can smite.”
“Have you ever smote a human before?” He sounded concerned, but he didn’t need to be.
“No. But Eugene seems as good a place to start as any.”
Chris’s forced smile was sympathetic but also uneasy. “I don’t know, Jess. I mean, once you go down that road, there are a lot of people whose presence on this earth would only be improved if you simply exploded them.” He grimaced and she could tell he was thinking about the grackle.
So she gave up on that idea. Chris had a point; the number of people she’d met in Mooretown alone who could use a good smiting would keep her busy through her senior year if she let it. There might not even be enough people around to clean up all the human remains once she was done.
She spotted a gray bird squawking in the tree nearby and considered venting, but she didn’t have the heart to. The bird wasn’t the one who created a smear video, broadcasted it to most of West Texas, then posted it online for everyone to share around until the end of time. It didn’t deserve her wrath.
So she sighed and walked over to the front of the truck and leaned against it next to Chris, folding her arms like he was. “What should I do?”
He glanced down at her, one eyebrow raised in a question. “I mean… why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you ask your Dad?”
She blew a raspberry. “I guess I can try. I haven’t heard from him much lately. He basically just drops in whenever he wants and then leaves.”
Chris nodded. “Sounds like my dad, actually.”
She’d never asked him about his dad before, and he’d never mentioned it—all she knew was that his dad wasn’t around. The reminder that she wasn’t the only one with an inconsistent dad helped, though. It somehow made her own trouble seem less unfair.
“I guess I can try to call him,” she said, closing her eyes.
God! God! Where are you?! Get your powerful butt over here and give me some advice!
She waited, but there was no reply, so she opened her eyes again and exhaled heavily. “Nothing.” She met Chris’s eyes and frowned. “I didn’t mean to shove anything down people’s throats with Quentin. I honestly didn’t even think about the fact that he’s black.”
Chris nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “That’s one of the things I like about you.”
His tight grimace softened and her eyes traveled to his lips as she became vaguely aware of him unfolding his arms and turning toward her. And she unfolded her arms, too, without even thinking about it.
What was happening?
Oh shit! We’re having a moment!
She focused all her attention on the present, letting all her worries fade to the back of her mind …
FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH, I DON’T CARE ABOUT RACE, EITHER.
No! No, no, no! Go away!
Chris’s palm traveled up to her face and rested gently just underneath her jaw.
RACE IS JUST A HUMAN CONSTRUCT.
God, please shut up. Please, please shut up and leave me alone.
Chris’s other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in. His big blue eyes were staring down at her with a soft, passionate glow …
WHY DID YOU CALL ME HERE?
And It Was Good (Jessica Christ Book 2) Page 17
