Can't Let Go(5)

Tonight his dad is throwing a party. Some celebration of a big windfall Mr. Prescott was blessed to win. I say blessed, because that’s what gambling is—luck or a blessing from the heavens above. Half of me wonders if it was Dex’s pick that gave him the windfall, but I’d never ask.

Now I stand in my bathroom, applying the mascara I’ve only been using for a few months and I try to see if my butt looks big in the yellow sundress Heidi loaned me. Twisting and turning, I struggle to gather an accurate assessment in the mirror. Just as I’m about to put my lip gloss on, a knock at the door interrupts me.

Peering out the peephole, my stomach clenches and a warmth spreads up and down my body. Mike stands on the other side, suave and confident like always. He’s from this side of the tracks, so there’s no feeling ashamed when he sees my apartment while picking me up. He’s two years older and drives, which is another plus for Mike. The only stipulation his mom puts on him is that he drives and picks up his siblings from school. Ever since he sauntered over to me down at the park while I was babysitting the kids next door, he’s been my own personal chauffeur.

I open the door. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and he rolls back on his heels, that typical panty-dropping smirk across his face. His dark hair is gelled into some form of a messy look that fits him even more, while his tight grey t-shirt clings to his strong arms. “Hey, you ready?” he asks, pulling me into a hug. He’s a little handsy, but we haven’t gone further than second base. I’m pretty sure that’s because of me, not him, though.

“Yep,” I respond and flick off the lights before we exit out the door. Securing the locks, Mike links his hands with mine, and we venture out of the apartment complex. The car beeps, signaling he’s unlocked it , and instead of coming to my side first, he walks to his own and slides in. Leaving me to open my door. Gentleman he is not.

The blaring music pours out the windows of his black Nissan Altima. You’d think he was Eminem in some expensive Bentley the way he slouches back with one hand hung over the steering wheel as his head bops to the beat of the rap music. Not to say that my insides aren’t tingling, because Mike is the epitome of the hot, bad boy every girl dreams about and every dad fears. Every dad, but mine. He might have met Mike once, and Dad just nodded his head at him in the doorway.

We drive up to Dex’s dad’s house, a modest two-story on the south side of the city. Mr. Prescott keeps it up surprisingly well, showing how much more ‘blessed’ he is than my dad. Spotting my dad’s Caprice in the driveway, I instruct Mike to park on the street, so we aren’t stuck waiting for other people to leave.

Cars continue to line the street and familiar faces smile my way as they walk up to the door. I’m reminded again of this horrible life I normally don’t share with other people. I contemplated long and hard whether or not to bring Mike, but since he comes from the poverty stricken side similar to me, I figured he won’t judge. Plus, I hate being around all these men alone, but at least some brought their wives or girlfriends with them tonight.

When the front door opens, it’s a pair of blue eyes that bring a sense of belonging over me. “Chrissy,” Dex says in a much deeper voice than I remember. He’s grown, not only in height but muscles have seemed to bulge out. My stomach swarms with butterflies as his eyes hold their steady focus on me.

“Hi D–Dex,” I stutter. “This is Mike. Mike this is Dex.” I introduce the two boys, and Dex’s vision shifts to Mike. They shake hands, and we walk into the packed house full of people.

“If you guys want, some of us are outside.” He nods his head toward the back of the house. I glance at Mike and he shrugs, so we follow Dex out the doors.

A few other kids I remember from parties my dad would take me to sit in a circle around the fire pit in plastic lawn chairs. Mike sits down in the only unoccupied chair, leaving me no choice but to sit on his lap. “Take my spot, Chrissy,” Dex offers, standing, but I politely decline. Then he shifts his attention to Brenna, completely disregarding us.

Mike strikes up some conversation with a kid to our right about cars and things I couldn’t care less about. Sitting there, I survey the yard, looking at the people I want to be nothing like. People that have embraced the high and low lifestyle their parents have raised them in. Mike’s hand inches up my thigh, taking my dress up with it, so his hand can lay on my knee. Dex turns his attention to me again, staring down at Mike’s hand and then stands up, disappearing inside.

“Hi, Chrissy.” Brenna slides over, taking Dex’s seat.