IT’S A BEAUTIFUL, SUNNY day in Franklin Park, a borough right outside of Pittsburgh where Mac’s family lives. We’re all seated at a large picnic table in their backyard, plates of ribs and potato salad and everything in-between piled high around us.
Clinton warned me that the weather was pretty unpredictable in Pittsburgh in September, so I packed everything from shorts to a thick rain jacket, but we were welcomed by a temperature in the mid-seventies and blue skies with puffy white clouds slowly flowing by. After melting in South Florida for the past few months, it’s a nice change.
What’s even nicer is the change I’ve seen in Clinton.
It’s been a short trip, but even just a few days spent with his baby brother has brightened him back into the Clinton I know and love. We went to a Pirates game, let Mac and Clayton show us around their new school, and even took the cable car up the Duquesne Incline for touristy pictures since this is my first time to the city. But the truth is it wouldn’t have mattered what we did while we were here. Just being with Clayton has made Clinton smile again, and that’s all I ever wanted.
“Needless to say, she’s begging for me to take her to homecoming,” Clayton says, finishing his story about a girl in his math class. He scoops a big heap of macaroni and cheese onto his plate before passing the bowl to his big brother. “But I mean, I don’t want to rush into anything. I’ve got decisions to make. So many choices, you know?”
Mac rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so many. Her, your right hand, however will you choose?”
Everyone laughs, except Clayton, who grabs a toothpick from the small holder and pegs Mac in the nose with it.
“Clayton likes to pretend like he’s such a little thug,” Mac’s mom says, her voice sweet and slow like molasses. She’s a little shorter than me, with a tiny button nose and dark freckles on the apples of her caramel cheeks. “But he’s a good kid. Finished eighth grade with straight A’s last year and seems to be on the same path in high school. And he does it all while juggling football, too.”
“It’s true,” Mac’s sister, Kia, agrees. “Already making a name for himself and he’s only been in high school for a couple of months.”
“Yeah, makes me look bad. Thanks a lot, Clayton,” Mac chimes in.
It’s hard to tell if Clayton is blushing, but he wears a shy smile, forking up a few macaroni noodles before popping them in his mouth.
Clinton is beaming, his chest puffed out with pride like a dad. “That’s my baby brother. What position are you playing now that you’re in high school?”
“Wide receiver.”
“And what are your stats so far this season?”
He shrugs. “Well, we’ve only had a few games, but so far I’ve got a little over three-hundred receiving yards and four touchdowns.”
“That’s really good, Baby Bear,” I say, winking with the use of his favorite nickname. “Especially for a freshman.”
Clinton’s smile takes up his entire face, and he puts his fork down, turning to his little brother in earnest. “I’m really proud of you, Clayton. Keep up this hard work and you’ll get to go to any college you want to.”
“I want to go to PSU,” he says easily, mirroring Clinton’s smile. “Just like you.”
It’s a private moment between big brother and little brother, and Mac’s dad feels it, too, turning the conversation to me to give them a moment as Clinton claps Clayton on the shoulder with pride in his eyes.
“So, Skyler,” Mr. Harrison says between bites of his ribs, his fingers covered in barbecue sauce. “Bear tells us you’re entering a pretty big poker tournament this upcoming summer.”
“I haven’t officially decided yet, but I’m seriously considering it.”
“What’s holding you back?” he asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his long nose. Such a simple question with such a complicated answer.
“It’s just a lot more intense than the tournaments I’ve been in so far. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m ready, but at the same time it’s a lot of money to potentially lose.”
“Or potentially win,” Clinton counters.
I blush, squeezing a little lemon in my iced tea before taking a drink. “I just want to think about it for a while longer, but I’m leaning toward entering. I’m confident in my skills, so really, what do I have to lose?”
“Ah, worst thing that could happen is you get humbled a little,” Mrs. Harrison says. “And from what Bear has told us about you, you’re already humble and kind anyway. So, my bet is that you’ll end up winning or at least give it hell trying, which is a great experience either way.”
“Very true, Mrs. Harrison.” I smile, my wheels turning the rest of dinner as the conversation easily floats from person to person.
Could I really win it?
It’s been heavy on my mind all summer, especially after I won a pretty large tournament in Reno at the end of July. But the American Poker Club tournament is a completely different level. All the big players will be there — ones I’ve defeated and ones I’ve been defeated by.
The poker blogs are calling me the next big thing in poker, the next big champ. Can I prove them right?
After the ribs are scarfed down and an entire cherry cheesecake is devoured, Clayton and I work on washing the dishes inside while everyone else cleans up the picnic table and grill. I take the job of washing and rinsing while he dries, but after a few minutes of easy conversation, Clayton grows quiet.
“Has it been nice seeing Bear this weekend?” I ask, handing him one of the large casserole dishes.
He smiles, and it’s then that I notice how big he is. I just saw him six months ago, but he’s already growing more and more into a young man every single day.
“It’s always amazing to have him around. I miss him, but I’m glad he trusts me to live with Mac and his family. I was so worried he was going to drop PSU.” He turns to me then. “I guess I kind of have you to thank for helping me convince him to stay.”
I shrug. “Ah, Bear just wants you to be okay. He still has a level head. Just have to knock some sense into it sometimes,” I add with a laugh.
Clayton smiles, but it fades quickly, his eyes on the dish he’s drying.
“Are you, Clayton?” I ask after a moment. “Okay, I mean.”
He nods. “Yeah. Clinton is doing everything he can to help me while also taking care of his own expenses, but it’s rough, you know? Football is expensive. Mac’s mom lets me do some chores around the house for a little extra money, but it’s not much, and I’m not old enough to get a job anywhere. At least, not at the places I’ve applied.”
“I get that,” I say. “Have you talked to Clinton about it?”
He shakes his head quickly, taking the heap of forks I just rinsed from my hand. “No, he’s done so much, Skyler. I’ll be fine. If I have to sit out a dance or hang back while my friends go to the movies, it won’t be the end of the world.” He shrugs. “Just four more years and I’ll be out of Pittsburgh, anyway.”
My heart breaks at his admission, not just because I don’t want him to miss out on his high school experience but because he seems in such a rush to grow up.
“Come with me for a sec,” I say, drying my hands on the soft gray dish towel before passing it to him.
He does the same, following me back through the house to the front foyer where my purse is hanging on the coat rack. I flip through it for my checkbook, scribbling one out for three-thousand dollars before handing it to him.
His eyes go wide, his head shaking before I can even speak. “I can’t, Skyler, I can’t take—”
“Yes, you can,” I say, pushing it toward him again. “Look, I was a nerd in high school. Like, I had absolutely zero friends, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there, just like how you feel right now. But looking back, I wish I would have taken more chances. I wish I would have gone to the dances and the games and been a part of the class instead of just walking across the stage with them as a stranger at the end of it all.”
Clayton’s eyes soften, and he finally takes the check, folding it once and tucking it in his back pocket.
“I want you to have fun, Clayton. I want you to enjoy high school, and Clinton would want the same thing. We can keep this between us, okay? That way he doesn’t stress himself out thinking he’s not doing enough and you don’t have to worry about missing a dance. Everyone wins.”
“What about you?”
“Meh,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I’ll just enter a local tournament and clean those suckers out one weekend. No big.”
Clayton smiles, because he and I both know it is a big deal, but I don’t care. I’d give anything to Clinton and his family, because they’re my family, too.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Anytime, Baby Bear,” I answer, leaning in to give him a hug. He squeezes me tight, a softer version of the Bear Hug I love so much, and I smile into his chest, heart warm and full and happy to help. “Anytime.”
Later that night, Clinton and I sneak onto the roof of the hotel we’re staying at downtown, one I booked us with hotel credits I got as a prize in a tournament last semester. The bright, full moon is shrouded by low-hanging, gray, wispy clouds, setting an eerie yet beautiful setting as we polish off a twelve-pack.
“Okay,” I say, cracking the top off my fifth beer just since we’ve been on the roof. Add this twelve pack to the drinks we had at Mac’s house before we left, and I’m already three beers past drunk and going strong. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”
Clinton grins, happily taking a drink from his own beer.
“Are you freaking kidding me?! Who, when?!”
“Freshman year,” he answers with a shrug, as if having a threesome is commonplace. “I don’t even know the girls’ names. They were best friends, seniors, and it was on their bucket list before they graduated. I was happy to help them tick that one off.”
I snort. “Oh, I’m sure you were. Your turn.”
“Never have I ever done anal.”
“Really?” I answer in surprise. “I mean, I haven’t either, but I’m just shocked to hear those words come out of your mouth.”
Clinton smirks again, reaching for his seventh and our last beer in the pack. “Well, girls aren’t exactly jumping up and down to have nine inches shoved in their ass.”
I choke on a laugh, spitting Bud Light out like a fountain in the process. “Oh, my God.”
“You asked!”
We both laugh, and Clinton flicks the aluminum top with a pop and a fizz. “Okay, new game. Truth or Dare?”
I blow out a long breath, resting my back against the brick wall behind me, the only separator from us and a twenty-seven floor dive down to the earth. “Truth.”
“Pussy.”
“And a mighty pretty one, if I do say so myself.”
Clinton laughs. “Okay, fine. Who are your conquests this semester?”
“Honestly?” I ask, taking another long pull from my can. “I don’t have any. I mean, if I meet someone out one night and we’re having fun, I’m not saying I wouldn’t go home with him, but right now I’m just focusing on figuring my own shit out. You’re the only guy in my life, Bear.” I wink, nudging his knee with mine.
He chuckles, leaning forward to cross his arms over his legs. “Same here. Lacy shows up every now and then, but after Shawna…”
“I know.”
I don’t even make him finish his sentence, because I know more than maybe anyone how much that girl hurt him. He still loves her, still wants her, but after Family Weekend last semester, there’s no going back.
“Why can’t we just be sexually attracted to each other?” Clinton jokes. “We’d be set.”
“I mean, I’m not not sexually attracted to you,” I counter, words slurring a bit.
Clinton jerks his head up to look at me, eyes wide before they narrow again. “Are you fucking with me?”
My head is fuzzy, thoughts stumbling over one another as I mull it over. Clinton is hot and always has been. The first time I met him, I remember thinking I would absolutely be taking him home at the end of the night. But from the very beginning, we just fell so easily into our friendship, and became a sort of family.
Still, with his insanely stacked body and sexy-as-hell smile, it’s impossible to not feel some sort of attraction to him. Even for me.
I swallow, finishing the last of my beer before crushing the can down and tossing it back into the empty case. “Truth or dare, Bear?”
He watches me, my pulse ticking up a bit as I wait for his answer. Clinton and I have never crossed the line between our friendship, and maybe it’s just the beer, or maybe it’s the way his dri-fit, black t-shirt hugs his massive arms, or the way he drags his teeth across his bottom lip, his eyes on mine, but the line feels blurry tonight.
“Dare,” he finally answers.
My stomach drops, brain screaming at me that I’m completely insane, but I say it anyway.
“I dare you to kiss me.”
The words barely leave my mouth before Clinton’s hand is around my wrist, tugging me forward, my knees hitting the concrete on either side of his thighs as I straddle him. My breaths are erratic, tipsy mind trying to catch up, but it doesn’t have time before his hands are in my hair, and then his mouth is on mine.
His lips are so soft, so big, so warm. They’re lips I never thought I’d taste, lips that feel foreign as they trail down my jaw to my neck before he sucks the lobe of my ear between his teeth.
I roll my hips against him with a moan, gasping when his hands slide up my ribs under my shirt. His hands are so big they nearly encompass my entire rib cage, his thumbs touching as they graze their way up my stomach, the rest of his fingers wrapped around me. He could completely crush me if he wanted to, and in a way, I want him to.
With all nine inches.
I can’t think straight, thoughts trying to fight their way through as I cross my arms and grab the ends of my shirt, flinging it to the side when it’s over my head before kissing Clinton again.
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe this is happening. Holy shit, this is happening.
Clinton flips us, ripping his own shirt off before falling down on top of me again. He traces the edge of my bra with his tongue, biting and sucking the skin of each swell before working his way back up to kiss me. Our breaths are fast and heavy, hands touching, bodies rolling, and when I feel like I’m at the edge of hysteria, he bites my neck hard.
And it’s like that bite is tied to reality.
I burst out laughing, Clinton’s mouth still on my neck. It’s not a cute laugh, either. It’s loud and obnoxious, more like a cackle than anything else, but I can’t help it. When I realize I’m actually laughing, I flush with embarrassment, which only makes me laugh harder.
Clinton presses up to balance on his palms, eyeing me like I’m crazy before giving in to a fit of laughter, too.
“We are so drunk,” I say through the giggles, eyes tearing up.
He laughs even harder, the sound deep and comfortable as he rolls to the side to lie down next to me, his hands grabbing for his stomach. He can’t catch air, both of us hysterical.
“That felt so weird, didn’t it?” he asks.
“SO weird,” I agree, and we both break into another spell of laughter, ribs burning and eyes blurred with tears.
When we finally settle down, I lean into him and he tucks me under his arm, fingers playing with my hair as we watch the clouds float over the moon.
“I love you, Skyler,” he says, tone serious.
“I know,” I say, giving his middle a slight squeeze. “I love you, too.”
“Thank you for this weekend. I finally feel a little like myself again.”
“So, my best friend’s back?”
He chuckles, kissing my forehead. “Back and better than ever, baby.”
I smile with a sigh, closing my eyes and finally letting the booze take me under.
Mission accomplished.