“Yup,” Autumn says, her voice light and perky, turning herself into a bouncy cotton-candy-for-brains version of herself, which she always does when she’s lying and doesn’t want to get caught. I’m going to kill her for this. Dead. Gone. And then I’m taking her book collection.
And burning it, out of spite.
Well, not all of it. There’s a bunch I want for myself.
“We saw a flyer when we were heading to the B&B last night,” she says. “Apparently there’s a big fireworks festival down at the beach tonight, and we thought it’d be fun for all of us to go watch it.” She turns to me and pins me with what I’m hoping isn’t as super-obvious a look as I think it is.
“Together,” she adds. Because she’s evil.
Ash
I haven’t seen fireworks since I was a kid, so I can’t be sure, but I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed them as much as I did tonight. And I barely even looked at the explosions. I was too distracted by Star.
I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was how relaxed she was, how happy she was to be around her friends, but she was glowing nearly as brightly as the fireworks themselves.
Autumn had insisted that heading down to the fireworks was necessary, and she’d had this look in her eye that even my own mom had never quite been able to pull off with me. The one that said you’re doing this and you will not argue. Or else. But honestly, until she’d said something, I hadn’t even remembered that the town did fireworks every year, even though it made total sense. Who didn’t do fireworks on the Fourth of July? But if someone had just asked me out of the blue if I was interested, the answer would have been fuck no.
But she hadn’t asked me first. She’d asked Star. And, after the initial shock on her face had passed, the smile that had spread across Star’s face turned my answer from fuck no to hell yes before I could blink. Before I’d even realized what was happening, all four of us were bundled into serial-killer-dude’s truck with a blanket, a bottle of Autumn’s homemade wine, a couple six-packs and a grocery bag full of hot dogs and buns. I was going to leave Bruiser tied up in the backyard, but Star had been afraid that the fireworks would scare him off—which, okay, they hadn’t bothered him as a puppy, but he’d been on his own for years while I was in prison; I had no idea what would freak him out now—and told me to bring him along.
It was almost worth it for the prissy look on killer-boy’s face at the thought of my big, dirty dog in the cab of his truck, but I really wasn’t all that willing to push my luck with him. Star seemed to think he was cool, but I still wasn’t so sure. So I hopped up into the flatbed with Bruiser for the ride.
But Bruiser is already ass-over-ankles for Star, and the second we get there and she hops down from the cab, he is up and over the side, bee-lining for her. She laughs and ruffles his ears before standing up and tugging her hoodie tighter around her sweet little body. It takes everything I have not to go over and offer to keep her warm.
Instead, I just lean back against a big rock not far from where they have laid out the blanket, and smoke. The beach is already packed with people, even though dusk has barely set, and our little group ended up on the outskirts of the sand, near where the beach met the forest. Even though we are on the edge of the crowd, we still get looks. After half a dozen people pass us by and pin me with a side-eyed glare that says they know exactly who I am and what I’ve done, I almost bail, ready to tell the others I want to head back. But then I see Star, how happy she is, how good her smile and skin look in the fading sunlight, and I can’t do it. I stay. I keep myself separate, so that the glares from the good people of Avenue are directed at me and not at the group, but I stay.
Damn, I want to join Star on that blanket, though. And maybe do a little more than just watching the fireworks go boom. But she is laughing and eating and drinking with her friends, and I am happy enough just watching her do it.
They are sprawled across the blanket. Roth on one end, poking at the little fire he got going while doing a fairly fine impression of nursing a beer without actually drinking any of it; Autumn in the middle, all bundled up against the cool night air. And then there is Star. Hot as hell in the little ass-hugging shorts she’s been wearing all day, wrapped up in a black hoodie that is about two sizes too big for her. Her legs are all stretched out in front of her, and even my damn dog has weaseled his way in there. He is lying half on and half off the blanket, but his head is resting on my dream girl’s upper thigh, and she pets his head between sips of her beer.
Smart mutt, I think with a snort, and take another drag on my smoke, trying to smother a smile.
“You okay over there?” Star calls, and I send a little chin-nod in her direction and blow out a lungful of smoke. She just shakes her head and smiles at me. Then, without another word, she laughs and shoves Bruiser’s head off her lap—he gives out a pitiful little whimper and I scoff at him. You’re not subtle, buddy, I think, but he knows what side his bread is buttered on, and as soon as Star’s on her feet, he’s already nosing around Autumn, looking for some love.
I watch as Star pulls herself to her feet and brushes the stuck-on sand off her long legs and make her way over to me, fresh cup of wine in hand. She stumbles a bit, and I smile, trying to figure out if it’s the uneven ground or whatever Autumn keeps refilling her cup with that’s making her move like that. My own cup is half-full of cola I didn’t really want, but couldn’t turn down when I realized that was the only non-alcoholic drink we had. I’d been a little worried about hanging around the others while they drank, but so far it hasn’t been too bad. They sure as hell don’t drink like my old friends and I used to. Roth seems to barely touch the stuff, and Star and Autumn seem content to get quietly tipsy, while my old group wouldn’t stop until at least one of us was puking our fucking guts out on the sidewalk and laughing all the way through it. This is different.
This is nice.
Star sinks down in the sand next to me and leans back against the rock I’m using to prop myself up. She’s holding her cup loosely in her hand, and even from here I can tell that the amount of booze in it is fucking astounding. What the hell is in that wine Autumn makes? Lighter fluid? “Hey,” she says, her voice soft, almost husky. It makes me want to reach over and wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. Instead I switch my smoke to the hand closest to her, and bring it to my mouth, just to keep my arm occupied so I don’t do anything stupid.
Like touch her.
Don’t be a fucking moron, I tell myself, but I can feel the warmth of her skin next to mine, and I can’t help but want.
“How are you doing over here?” she asks and sort of sways into me.
Better now that you’re next to me, I want to say, but glare at my bent knees instead and stub the last of my smoke out in the sand between us.
“Not bad,” I tell her, then glance over at her friends, sure they’re watching us. But they’re not. The-next-famous-serial-killer is off gathering up more twigs for the campfire, and Autumn is having a wresting contest with Bruiser on the blanket. Bruiser, as always, is losing. But they both seem to be having fun. I look back over at Star, and in the fading light it’s hard to make out the lines of her face, but I can feel as much as see that she’s smiling. At me.
“Sorry you got dragged out to this,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “I know it’s probably not how you wanted to spend your Fourth of July.”