Dirtbag

“He is not my boyfriend,” Casey is drunkenly giggling. Fergus shakes his dreads away from his face, takes a good look at her. “Gus is just my friend!”

“So he’s stuck in the friend zone?”

Casey takes a swig of her beer. “No. He’s not my type because I’m not into pretentious idiots. Besides, he wears too much hair gel.”

I laugh at this. All eyes are now on me.

“What do you think of Gus, Jack?” Fergus suddenly questions. I give him a silent death glare.

“I’m not into guys, so I dunno.”

“Obviously,” Casey pipes up, “you’re not into him. What do you think about him? What if I am dating him?”

My palms are beginning to sweat. The twinkle in Casey’s grey eyes is challenging me. I know what she wants me to say, what Fergus wants me to do. But I can’t do it. Something inside me is holding me back.

So I simply answer, “He seems okay.”

Fergus groans, throwing his hands up in the air. He then announces his sudden need to urinate.

“You’re lying,” Casey says to me. “I can tell you’re lying because your forehead is all crinkly. You, Jack Trenton, are lying to me!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” This is yet another lie. I am a coward for not jumping on this opportunity. At times like these I am convinced my father is right about me.

Casey gives me a look and I think she’s flirting with me, but I’m not positive. She puts her hand on top of mine, tilting her head to the side. Everything is rushing through my mind—the sight of her long legs and inviting lips and carefree smile.

Jesus. Casey Reed is coming on to me.

Then she pulls away. It almost feels like a dream.

“I think you’re trouble, Jack.”