Miscommunication (boyxboy)

Chapter Seventeen

~ Cole ~

Dust kicked up around the tires as Cole's car screeched through the back roads of Spring Creek. Night had fallen hours ago, though heavy thunderstorm clouds hung overhead like dark pillows cushioning the stars.

The Commodore growled beneath him, exhilarating Cole as he pushed his beauty harder. Spring Creek was something of a Monet impression outside, blurring into glimpses of nothingness.

Electricity was humming in Cole's veins, spreading through his body to set every nerve ending on fire. He felt the familiar flames of adrenaline rising deep in his belly as the car pushed on.

This time he had it. This time he would win. He was so close. He would-

A set of headlights appeared in Cole's rear view mirror. The familiar sight of a green Mitsubishi was creeping up alongside the Commodore within seconds, swiftly passing her with three taunting revs of a finely tuned V8 engine.

Cole snarled and tore after the Mitsubishi as they entered the home stretch. As always, he was too little too late.

Headlights flared on either side of the dirt road as the two cars tore across the finish line, the Mitsubishi only having inches on the Commodore. Even as Cole threw the car into park and floored the gas pedal in frustration, he could still hear the whistles of victory in the Mitsubishi's favour.

"That certainly had some heat tonight," Raminski said a quarter of an hour later, one foot kicked up as he leaned against the back of the green monster. An oily bandana coiled around his hand like a snake, that familiar shine of deceit glistened in his dark eyes. "Something you need to get off your chest, Decker?"

Cole took a sip of stale beer from his place on the Commodore's hood and flipped him off. "Fuck off, Raminski."

The older boy laughed. He twisted the bandana in his hands, wrangling it into lifeless submission. "What's the matter? Daddy's millions get caught between a golden toilet seat or a jet ski?"

"I told you to get fucked."

"Only if you're on the receiving end." Raminski winked.

Cole shot him a dark glare over the top of his bottle.

Raminski pushed himself off the Mitsubishi's tail end and walked toward Cole, arms outstretched. Alright, Decker. What's going on? You're moodier than usual."

Cole scowled deeper. "It's nothing."

"You're chugging stale beer in a dirt parking lot on the side of the road at three o'clock in the morning. Even you have limitations."

"And you don't?"

"People like me don't have issues." Raminski grinned. "No problems, nothing to limit them."

Cole scoffed. "Whatever you say."

"So," Raminski jumped up, perching himself beside Cole on the Commodore's hood. "You gonna tell me or do I have to draw it out of you through other means?"

"What, are we all buddy-buddy now? Braid each other's hair and gossip about boy problems? Fuck that shit."

Raminski wasn't deterred, judging by his grin over his own beer bottle, which had been pulled seemingly from nowhere. "So, it is a boy then."