Bad Boy, Good Boy (boyxboy)

11 - bad news

I can't decide on a cover. Sorry. I keep changing them.

Chapter 11 - bad news

He tells me he wants to dry in the moonlight, so I lie down and stare at the sky with him. He's trying to count the brightest stars, but eventually he forgets where he started and laughs. Suddenly I'm talking about Sam and I don't remember how we got to this place. I guess he asked me who I came with.

"Girlfriend?" he asks.

"No," I say calmly. "She's my best friend." He nods understandingly, eyes closed, and I continue telling him a little about Sam. I don't tell him what kind of relationship I have with her, but I tell him how she's the best thing and that she's somewhere getting her freak on, and all I have to do is wait until it's time to go home.

When I stop, I realize Devon has fallen asleep. So I do what I've wanted to do for a while – I stare at him.

A chill goes down my spine. My eyes scan his hair, dripping onto the wood. His nose is straight and slightly pointy while mine's crooked (I'm still handsome, though – well, I'm decent enough). His lips...God dammit! I bite into my knuckles and look away. What the fuck am I doing? I should just wake him up and tell him I'm going to look for Sam now. But I can't. This might be my only chance to stare at him like that.

He's got more muscle than me, probably because of football, but my gut tells me I could still win every wrestling match possible. I think I'm stronger than him. Maybe not mentally, though.

The clouds cover up the only light and I can't enjoy my advantage anymore. So I sneak closer and wake him up. He takes a deep breath and looks at me with big eyes.

"You fell asleep," I explain. "I'm that interesting, huh?"

He rubs his eyes and sighs. "Oh god, I feel like an arse," he says. "Sorry about that."

I smirk. "Don't. It just means I have to work this much more to get your attention." Fuck. That was ruthless flirting.

Devon pushes himself to a sitting position and hums an affirmative response.

I recover from my inappropriate outburst and wait for him to stand. "I guess I should go look for Sam now. Home awaits," I say.

He's still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "That's probably a good idea. See you Tuesday?"

"I think so." Can't be too eager when it comes to him. At least not publicly. I can always cheer in my head. "Bye, Devon."

He smiles. I smile.

Still I think – he's too good for me. And perhaps he's not even for me.

Tuesday arrives. We watch the clock change from Monday to Tuesday and Sam is still not finished regretting the party. She curses and cusses herself for not being sober enough to stalk me and Devon. And for the fifth time I tell her that we're not even officially friends.

"Sure you are," Sam ignores me. She's in the middle of ripping sheets from her notebook, saying she's too lazy to carry the whole thing to school tomorrow (well, basically today), and instead of just bringing paper, she specifically wants the paper from this notebook. Sometimes it's hard to keep up with her logic. Hell, sometimes it's hard to keep up with my own logic.

"We really are not," I mumble, because I want to win this argument. Why? Why do I want to prove to Sam that me and Devon are not friends, when in fact I want to be. Even more than that, but being friends would be a great start.