The Art of Losing(34)

When Dave reached for his back pocket, we all burst out laughing.

A half hour later, there was no longer any question about whether we were hustling anyone. Luckily, Raf and I had as much fun losing as Dave and Cajun did winning. And when the game was over, there was jambalaya, which was incredible—savory, with the perfect amount of spice—so it was a pretty excellent hour of my life. The best part: everyone seemed to be having fun. Genuinely. (Even the ones listening to Hippie Jake play “Stairway to Heaven” . . . again.) No one was faking it or forcing it, like at the parties I went to. Without alcohol, there was a shocking absence of what I’d assumed defined parties: fighting, screaming, groping, burping . . . and probably regretting.

When Cajun and Dave went back to the kitchen to clean up, I noticed Arjun and Tina disappearing into a bedroom. I pulled Raf aside.

“How old is Tina?” I whispered.

“Sixteen.”

I frowned. Maybe this party was like the others after all, just a sober version. “Don’t you think she’s a little young to be hooking up with someone who has his own apartment?”

“She’s a sixteen-year-old emancipated minor. She has her own apartment. She’s been through a lot.” He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to. She was a parentless heroin addict. What I could imagine probably wouldn’t even cover half of it.

I hesitated, staring at the closed door. “Can we hang out and offer her a ride home?” It was literally the least I could do, but it made me feel slightly less bad for judging her.

He chuckled. “You might be waiting until the morning.”

My shoulders sagged.

“When people quit drinking or doing drugs, it doesn’t remove their other faults or insecurities,” Raf said quietly. “Tina needs validation. Arjun does, too. They’ve found each other.”

I was still frowning.

“Too much therapy, I know,” he added. “But I’m not wrong. I’m just saying, some people can’t change everything at once. Getting sober doesn’t take away the things that made you use in the first place.”

Only then did I realize he was talking about himself as much as he was Tina and Arjun.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s say some goodbyes and see if anyone wants to go to the diner for dessert.”

I groaned and wrapped my arms around my stomach full of jambalaya. “How can you think about eating right now?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “Another nice thing about not drinking? There’s always room for pie.”

After our trip to the diner, Raf walked me home—well, the hundred feet between his driveway and mine. But he stopped me before I opened the door. He took my hand and pulled me off the bottom step so that I stood in front of him. His face was the most serious I’d seen it be all night.

“Tonight was more fun with you there,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “Thanks for coming.”

I smiled, unsure what I was feeling. Shy? That didn’t make sense. This was Raf. Happy? Yes, definitely. Maybe I shouldn’t question it.

“Thank you,” I said after a moment. “It was more fun and less scary than I thought it would be.”

Raf’s eyes glinted. “Why did you lie to me?” he asked. He knew; he just wanted to hear me say it.

“Because I wanted to hang out with you again, and it seemed like a good way to make that happen. Okay? Are you happy?”

He nodded, leaning close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek when he said, “I couldn’t be happier.” And though I don’t know which one of us closed the gap between us, suddenly his lips were on mine.

A tornado of thoughts whirled through my mind, but I didn’t stop him. I didn’t want to.

I didn’t pull away when his tongue met mine. Or when his fingers wrapped around my hips, pulling me closer. Not even when they drifted under the hem of my T-shirt.

Raf was taller than me, but he was thinner. Not scrawny, but not thick. He had some muscle, but it wasn’t defined. I felt small love handles when I put my hands on his waist. It made me less self-conscious about my own curves as his hands explored farther up my back.

I might have entirely forgotten my vow to keep my distance had Dad not pulled down the street just then. When I heard the familiar scrape of his rear bumper on the bottom of the driveway, I pushed Raf away and drew my fingers to my lips. They felt swollen.

“I’m sorry,” Raf said. His eyes widened, following Dad’s car.

I was still a little dazed. I couldn’t figure out why he was apologizing at first.

“No,” I whispered finally. “Don’t be.”

Raf nodded but still looked troubled. I was beyond trying to figure out my own feelings. I couldn’t decide whether to be embarrassed or happy or ashamed.

I turned as Dad walked out of the garage. When I looked back, Raf was already headed toward his house.

“Good night, Dr. Langston,” he called over his shoulder. Then he paused and shot me a smile. My stomach did a somersault. “’Night, Harley.” And then he was gone.

Dad cleared his throat. I had no idea how much he’d seen.

“Hey, Daddy,” I said, a little too loudly.

“Hey, kid,” he said. His voice was gentle. “How was your night?”