Plus, my bedroom was Ham’s safe place, and I didn’t need anyone screwing with my dog while they were drunk and high.
Hank smoked a joint and talked about mindless crap that kept my head from going to any really dark places.
“You guys getting the newSimCitygame?” Greyson asked, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Hell yeah, it looks dope,” Hank said, taking a hit from the joint. Hank sounded more excited than he needed to be about the game. “I told my parents I’ve got the theater room for a whole month after it comes out. I’m going to blow through it.” He went on and on about the game, as ifSimCitywas the second coming of Jesus.
“Hey, can I hit that?” a voice said from behind me.
I glanced up to see the Southern charmer standing there with his eyes glued to the joint in Hank’s hand. He walkedinto the room like he owned the place, plucked the joint from Hank’s hand, and took a big drag from it.
Before I could mention my room was off-limits to everyone but my closest friends, Reggie entered our conversation, turned it completely into his own—and it was a nonstop, one-sided talk about how great damn Kentucky was. The food, the weed, the goddamn sports. I’d never seen a guy get such a hard-on from talking about a state in my life. I wished I could get it up just by thinking about bluegrass music, bourbon, and Kentucky Fried Chicken.
“What’s up with the girls here?” he asked, glancing back and forth between us.
“What do you mean what’s up with them?” Hank asked.
“I’m looking for some random hookups. Do you know who would be down for that?”
I looked down at the ground to roll my eyes so hard. This guy was like the poster child of a douchebag. I could hardly handle it. He couldn’t be real, could he? He couldn’t be that damn transparent. I couldn’t believe all the girls at school were throwing themselves at him.
Hank shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been with Raine for years now, so I don’t really think about who to bang.”
When Hank made a commitment, he stuck to it. He and Raine would probably end up being one of those couples at a wedding, still on the dance floor after being married for sixty years or some shit.
Reggie kept talking, and I only allowed it because my friends were engaging with him. Every time he smoked the joint and talked shit, I wanted to snatch it from his hands and tell him to piss off. Sure, I wasn’t smoking anymore, but the supply was from KJ—my former dealer. I knew it was the good stuff. Reggie didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.
He went over to pet Ham, and Ham growled at him.
Good boy.
“If you want to know about the best girls in the sack, though, Landon here is the one to go to. He’s had more girls than Hugh Hefner,” Hank commented.
I groaned, not wanting to be dragged into this conversation with Reggie.
“What’s the deal with that Monica bitch?” Reggie asked.
“She’s not a bitch,” I snapped. What the heck? Was I now standing up for the likes of Monica? This night needed to end.
“Landon and Monica have a... history. I’d stay clear of that one,” Hank commented.
“You can do whatever you want. Monica is a free agent,” I muttered. I doubted she’d be interested in someone like Reggie, though. He was too young and inexperienced for her. Monica preferred men with children, or at least guys with damage that somewhat matched her own.
Reggie rubbed his hands together like a fool needing his next fix. “Come on, man. Give me some tips.”
“I really don’t know,” I said.
“Landon is being humble. If you’re looking for a guy who can get any girl, it’s him,” Hank said, and it sounded so cocky even though the words didn’t come from my own mouth.
“Except for Shay,” Reggie spat out, making me raise an eyebrow.
Wait, what?
“Excuse me?”
Reggie shrugged. “Tracey was telling me how the two of you hate each other’s guts. Which is crazy, because Shay is fucking hot. Too bad you can’t get that.”
Who was he to tell me who I could and couldn’t have?