Ten

Dylan

“So I was thinking…” Dad says, pouring the rest of his coffee into the sink.

I finish my mouthful of cereal and say, “This can’t be good.”

He turns to me and leans back on the counter, his arms crossed and his brow bunched. “I see Afghanistan gave you a sense of humor.”

Eric walks into the kitchen, butt naked, and sits opposite me at the table. “Gave him balls, too,” he quips.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to fucking eat here.”

“Don’t swear at the table,” Dad says.

Eric points at me. “Yeah, asshole.”

Dad sighs. “When are you two going to grow up?”

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Why don’t you ask the naked thirty-year-old still living at home?”

Eric sticks his tongue out.

I roll my eyes.

Dad laughs.

“So you were thinking…” I say to him.

“Are we ever going to actually rebuild that engine?”

“What engine?” Eric asks.

I get up and take my bowl with me to the sink. “The engine I got for my sixteenth.”

“That’s still the same one you’re fucking around with?”

Dad ignores him. “I was looking at a few shells for it. What do you think?”

“Sounds good.” I check the time. 8:56. Four minutes. “I’ll catch up with you guys at dinner,” I tell them, walking out of the kitchen and toward the bathroom.

“Friday night football!” Eric shouts, which makes absolutely no sense because it’s the end of February.

“It’s not even football season,” I hear Dad tell him.

“Friday night insert random sport here,” Eric yells.

I laugh when I open the bathroom door, then cringe when the same girl from the first night squeals from her seat on the toilet. “Go away!”

“Sorry!” I shut the door quickly.

“Oh, yeah,” Eric shouts. “Cindy’s using the bathroom.”

“Sydney!” the girl yells.

Jesus.

Eric approaches, his junk on full display. He pushes me to the side and starts to open the bathroom door. “How the fuck is this your life, man?” I ask him.

He chuckles and closes the door again. “How the fuck is it not yours is the real question.”

“Dad!” I shout, smirking at Eric. “Eric’s hiding a girl in the bathroom!”

Dad laughs. “Morning, Sydney!”

“Morning, Mal!” she yells back.

I shake my head. “What the hell?”

Eric scoffs. “Maybe you’d know what goes on in here if you weren’t out all day on The Drug.”

Dad walks over to us. “Dylan, are you on drugs?” He cups my chin and looks in my eyes just like Eric did.

I swat his hands away the same way I did with my brother. “No, I’m not on drugs. What the hell?”

“I found weed in his footlocker, Pops!”

I shove his chest. “You did not.”

“Dylan?” Dad asks.

“Swear it, Dad. Eric’s talking shit.”

“Am not!” He stands behind Dad, smirking while giving me the finger. “Go check it, Dad.”

The bathroom door opens and we all freeze, our words left hanging in the air.

“What’s going on?” Sydney asks.

“Nothing, babe,” Eric answers.

I lift my chin and look at Eric. “You know Dad and I will support you no matter what, E. You’re making it a bigger deal than it is,” I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Besides, the pamphlet said there was a high chance it could be sexually transmitted from dogs. Not that it definitely was. And that case against you when you were seventeen was dropped because you were a minor, right? Plus, the zoo had no real evidence.”

The windows of the house rattle and the familiar song filters through, saving me from Eric’s response. I pat his arm twice, basking in the glory of his completely shocked face. He shakes his head slowly, as if accepting defeat.

“I’ll see you later, bro.” Then I look over at Sydney and point to her neck. “You got a little rash…”

Riley

I don’t know why Dylan’s standing at my door, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, his shoulders square, and his ridiculously gorgeous smile beaming down at me. Even in my drunken haze, I’ve concluded that he gets better looking every time I see him. Not that it matters.

“What’s up,” I mumble.

He steps back slightly and looks down on me. “Regret does not look good on you.”

Regret doesn’t feel good, either. “What?” I squeak, then shake my head to clear my thoughts but it just makes the pounding worse. “Were you as drunk as I was when you fucked me in my kitchen that you’ve somehow forgotten about it? Because now you’re standing here ignoring the fact that we did, actually, fuck in my kitchen.”

“Riley, come on.”

“And now you think it’s okay to show up, looking like you do and smiling like you are after leaving me hanging the day after your so-called ‘regret’ and—”

“Riley, I don’t regret it,” he interrupts.

“Bullshit, Banks. It was the first word you said when I opened the door. And it’s cool if that’s how you feel because I regret it too.” I take a moment to catch my breath. “It’s probably a good idea if you don’t come around anymore.” Maybe my anger is unjustified. Actually, I’m sure it is because regardless of how I try to spin the events of two days ago, I didn’t push him away. I did absolutely nothing to stop it from happening. In fact, I encouraged it. And even though I know all this, it didn’t stop me from drinking enough alcohol to cause me to puke in the bathtub. Twice. Then pass out in it while I tried to clean it… and that’s exactly how Mom found me. So while my hurt might be uncalled for, Mom’s reaction to Dylan at the door yesterday wasn’t. She knew he had something to do with my actions. He had to have.