Time ceases to exist as we focus on engaging with the crowd. But by the time we approach my street, Bruce’s lyrics are blending together and my cheeks ache from smiling so much.
“You know,” Nate says, braving Wilson’s wrath when he reaches for a couple of suckers and carefully lobs them to two kids in matching baseball hats. “Who thought it was a good idea to have us throw hard candy with sticks to small children with questionable hand-eye coordination? This seems like a huge liability problem.”
“Big facts.” I don’t want to laugh, he’s so freaking corny, but I can’t help it. “These parents should have to sign a safety waiver.”
Of all the adverse consequences of sleeping with Nate, allowing him to think he’s funny could be the most detrimental of all.
When I signed up to run against him, I thought for sure that spending more time around him would remind me why I hated him so much. Instead, it’s just bringing back all the good memories we had together. Every minute we’re near each other, I find myself softening. Plus, I think because of the number of orgasms I had last night, the happy glow is lingering a little longer than I’m used to.
“Oh, and before I forget, I have something for you.” His smile doesn’t falter as he waves to the crowds lining the residential streets before reaching into his back pocket and putting his hand in mine. “You forgot these.”
I don’t know what I was expecting him to hand me, but when I look down and see my underwear in my hand, I almost fall off the car trying to shove them into my back pocket.
“Nate!” I start to yell at him, before quickly remembering where I am.
I don’t mean a parade.
That’s obvious.
What I mean is on my block. Two houses down from mine, to be exact.
I look in front of me and see my parents both waving like goofy maniacs, but worse than that is the way Ruby is watching. She narrows her assessing blue stare a moment before total realization and understanding cross her face. Her jaw falls open and her eyes go wide.
“Collins Carter!” she shouts from the sidewalk. “Don’t you even think you can avoid this!”
Oh crap.
I point to the radio and pretend like I can’t hear her, but I know she doesn’t buy it. All that time spent in LA and I’m still a terrible actress.
I try to keep my smile so that my parents don’t notice anything, but as soon as they’re out of view, I drop the charade.
I want to punch him, but violence is wrong and people are watching, so I use my words instead.
“You do know that I can’t stand you, right?”
“You said that before, but if I’m remembering last night correctly, you changed your tune real fast.” He turns to me wearing that stupid smug smile and the worst thing happens.
The urge to slap it off him doesn’t come.
Nope.
I want to kiss it away.
Boy oh boy, good to know he’s fantastic at mindfucks too.
* * *
? ? ?
Even though everyone acts like time is a totally acceptable, logical thing and we use it to do just about everything in our everyday lives, it makes no sense to me.
I don’t understand how it moves so fast sometimes but drags on for eternities others or how the past, present, and future are connected but there’s no way to change it. Why is daylight saving time a thing? Who decided on the time zones? Why do we act like it’s a totally reasonable thing to subscribe to? Same with gluten and money, but I’ll save that for a different rant.
The path of the neighborhood parade is only a couple of miles and I couldn’t have been sitting next to Nate for more than an hour, so why does it feel like lifetimes have passed when Mr. Wilson parks his convertible back in the parking lot where we started and I’m finally allowed to climb out?
“If I don’t have water soon, I think I might literally die.” I think the body can only survive three days without it and we have to have surpassed that number already.
“I don’t want to call you dramatic, but . . .” Nate lets his sentence trail off and I take his sentence as a personal attack.
“Absolutely not. I reject that.” I shake my head and cross my arms. “We just sat on the back of a car for an eternity and a half and weren’t allowed to drink water. In no way am I the drama queen here.”
Mr. Wilson will forever hold the title in this scenario and anyone who disagrees is a victim of the patriarchy.
“You’re not wrong,” Nate agrees, albeit reluctantly. “That was a little ridiculous.”
“It was a lot ridiculous. I mean, what was the point?” I don’t want to be this worked up over Mr. Wilson and a freaking neighborhood parade. I’m blaming dehydration. “Isn’t freedom the reason for the season?”
“I don’t think Mr. Wilson having rules for his car was a violation of your rights as an American.”
“That’s what someone who doesn’t believe in the Declaration of Independence would say.”
I’m not above an easy joke and this one is right there.
“You’re such an asshole,” he says, but I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to tell people that I know Benjamin Franklin really existed? National Treasure is my favorite movie!”
Solid movie choice. I worried he became one of those guys who only watches documentaries or movies that make you hate yourself.
“All I’m hearing is you have an unhealthy obsession with Nicolas Cage and believe in conspiracy theories.”
“I can’t deal with you.” He rolls his eyes but makes no move to put distance between us.
If anything, he might come closer. My fingertips twitch to touch him, but the curious eyes of the entire neighborhood keep my hands firmly planted at my sides. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and a wave of heat that has nothing to do with the weather crashes over me.
“I’m going to find water if you want to join me.” I turn and walk away before he can respond. I’m afraid that if I stay in front of him for any longer, our neighbors are going to get a fireworks display they didn’t sign up for.
The parking lot is even more crowded now than before the parade started. Instead of neighbors packing it in for the day and enjoying their nice, air-conditioned homes, they’re filing into the clubhouse parking lot carrying a plethora of beach towels and coolers big enough to feed the entire community. Picnic blankets are being spread across the grassy areas as people claim their spots for the fireworks display set for hours from now.
PTA moms are setting up folding tables, covering them with plastic tablecloths and an unrivaled assortment of homemade goodies. I lose count of the different pies sitting atop ceramic stands and almost ditch the pursuit of water in lieu of a sugary treat.
“There’s Janice.” Nate points across the way to the HOA secretary, who has been rocking the same curly perm since I was in eleventh grade. “She always has a cooler for board members after events like this. I’m sure she’ll share even though you’re not technically a part of the HOA.”
“Yet.” I finish his sentence for him. “I’m not a part of the HOA yet. I’m still totally going to kick your ass.”