Sweet Water(45)

“I’m going to CMU for business. I want to work in public relations. Maybe for a nonprofit,” I say proudly. “How about you?”

“Very nice. Much to my mother’s dismay and that of the Academy, I’ve decided to pursue my music and not attend college this semester.”

Josh grabs his well-worn jeans and pulls a rolled-up cigarette out of the pocket. He lights up without asking if I mind and doesn’t seem to care if his parents will smell it when they come home. He passes me the cigarette, which I can only guess is weed, and even though I’ve never smoked pot, I take it and inhale it anyway. If there’s any night to cross a line, this is the one.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. You’re very talented.”

He smiles at me as I try to figure out how to smoke it. “Thank you.”

I know right away I have too much lip on the bud and take too deep of an inhale, the skunky smell choking me. I cough and give it back, satisfied I’ve crossed off several Nevers without incident tonight.

“What will you do for money? Or don’t you have to worry about that?” I ask.

I’ve never had any choice about my future. The dream that I would get into CMU and attend for free under my father’s family-affiliated tuition program was the only one I was allowed to have. And here Josh is, carving his own path around the world, his parents be damned.

“I’ll be okay for a little while. I try not to think about money too much. It turns people into loveless monsters. Like my parents. The world is so big and they’re just concerned with their small, pathetic lives. I want to do something to help in a bigger way.”

I look at him—he sounds like me. “How so?”

“I don’t know. Go overseas. Help pick up the pieces our country waited way too long to help clean up.”

I think I know what he’s talking about and take a stab. “Bosnia?”

He pauses on his inhale and looks surprised that I’ve caught on. “It’s a damn tragedy. It took us four years to do anything. All those poor people.” He shakes his head, and I think I’m in love.

“Just because there wasn’t any oil involved, they dragged their feet. Nothing in it for them,” I whisper.

He looks at me, nodding vigorously, and this is my guy. We kiss again, and this time it’s so slow and deep, I think I might lose myself to him again. But I picture Dad on the front porch waiting for me. I break away from him. “Speaking of parents, I’d better get back.” It’s starting to get light outside, and I didn’t wear my watch. I have no idea what time it is.

“Okay.” Josh gets up and drops his robe to the ground without a care. His ass is perfectly round, and my mouth drops at his symmetrical beauty. I can’t believe that sexy boy was inside me. He jumps into his jeans, no underwear, because they’re all wet. Then he slides his T-shirt over his head, his hair getting mussed and sticking up wildly in the process.

He turns, looks at me, and says, “Well, come on.”

“Right.” I need to quit watching him like I’m still sitting in my truck. I’m so much more of a watcher than a doer. I stand and gingerly begin unraveling my robe. It seems silly to ask him to turn around after all we’ve just shared. The one hit I took isn’t working a damn to lighten my insecurities, so I hurriedly drop the white terry-cloth robe, too plush for personal ownership, and quickly put my wet undergarments back on.

He watches me the whole time with an amused smile. My clothes smell, and when I pick up my shirt and leave it hanging by my fingertips, Josh immediately takes his shirt off and slips it over my damp head. I love the way his giant T-shirt feels sliding over my body. “Thanks,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers back.

I follow him out through the door, and it’s definitely early morning, and I’m in so much trouble.

“Wait,” he says.

Joshua darts for the pergola and carefully removes a rose from the impressive wooden trellis and then jogs back and hands it to me. I smile, because even though it’s never been on my list of Nevers, I’ve never received flowers from a boy that didn’t come mandatory with a school dance either. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says again, and we’re so postcoital polite right now, I can’t stand it. We walk back to my truck, one hand in his, the other holding the gorgeous red rose.

When we reach the driver’s side, he asks, “Will I see you again?”

“Do you want to see me again?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says simply, and there’s not a hidden message in there this time.

“I work again Monday night.”

“Stop after your shift,” he suggests.

“Sure,” I say.

And that’s the way it worked for the rest of the summer. I’d leave for work excited, bringing a change of clothes, and we’d meet up afterward. That way we didn’t have to figure out dates. I’d tell my dad I was going out with friends after work, and he never questioned it. I could’ve told Dad about Joshua, but I wanted to keep him all to myself. Joshua’s parents were never home, so my work schedule turned into our schedule, and I came to love working at Applebee’s more than I ever thought possible.

There were only a few weeks of summer left, but I looked forward to each and every one.