Part 10 (1/2)

No more cheerful ribbing.

No more stupid jokes.

Three Weeks Ago I didn't have a girlfriend.

Not being partnered up wasn't so d.a.m.n bad, not that I totally mind having the hottest girl in my crowd acting like she can't get enough of me. It's just kind of complicated because, as I suspected, Alyssa is not very happy about Ronnie jumping my bones, jumping 'Lyssa's s.h.i.+p in the process.

The first time 'Lyssa saw us together, I thought she'd s.h.i.+t on the spot. We were sitting together (okay, like glued together, front to front, Ronnie in my lap) on the gra.s.s at school. 'Lyssa came hauling around the corner, headed somewhere in a hurry. But when she saw us, she braked and did a double take. Just what do you think you're doing?

I'm not sure if she was talking to Ronnie or me, but Ronnie jumped right down her throat.

What does it look like we're doing, Alyssa? Having tea?

Then she laughed. Too hard.

'Lyssa puffed out her cheeks and her face turned red-the rotten red of an overripe tomato. Her hands clenched. Unclenched.

I thought we were dog meat. But all she said was, That's f.u.c.ked up.

Oil and water or not, Alyssa was the first girl I ever had real feelings for. And now her feelings were shredded.

I felt like s.h.i.+t. Still do. But not enough to tell Ronnie to take a hike. She's freaking beautiful, with black coffee eyes, s.h.i.+ny dark hair, and legs that go up to there. Slipping in between them is like making love to warm milk and honey.

We Had s.e.x The very first night we went out together, although I didn't think it was going to happen, what with her brother being a bouncer (okay, security guard) at Frozen75, something she neglected to tell me until we slithered up to the front of the line. p.i.s.sed off a bunch of people, for sure. But, just like any club, I guess, they have an Invited Guest line.

And if your brother's a bouncer, you're invited. Especially if he's a bouncer the size of a VW Beetle. Vince Carino plays linebacker for the UNLV Rebels, a decent university team, usually the second best in the state.

Never mind there are only two, and the one from that cowtown up north, Reno, generally comes out on top. Not always, though, and when Vegas wins, it's party time.

Then Again It's pretty much always party time in Las Vegas. They don't call it Sin City for nothing.

Ronnie and I partied down that first night for sure. And we've been partying ever since.

See, Vince is not only okay with his sister and me being together.

He encourages it. Says she needs a guy in her life to keep her in line. Not that I'd ever try that with Ronnie. I'm a pacifist.

Vince is not. But he is a partier.

Drinks like no serious athlete should, not that I think he's especially serious. What I think is, he likes knocking people down- smas.h.i.+ng them into the ground.

Glad he seems to like me. Booze isn't his only bad habit, though.

Pot. Pills. Crack. Probably other stuff, but that's all I've seen. And that's plenty. I so do not want to know too much about Vince Carino.

Vince and I Have Shared A bottle or two, a fistful of doobs, pipes and pipes and pipes. Tonight, we'll pa.s.s around all three at his regular Friday poker game. Not sure how I reached the heart of his inner circle so quickly. Suppose it could be because I'm usually the one supplying the weed. Anyway, I know zip about poker, but it sounds like a h.e.l.l of a lot more fun than staying home, listening to Jack cough and Mom sigh.

Before I go, I guess I should brush up on the rules a little.

Punch a few words into my search engine and I come up with ... whoa. Way too much information. Let's start with the basic what hand beats what?

One pair, two pair, three of a kind.

Easy enough to remember. Straight.

Flush. Full house. Four of a kind.

Straight flush. Royal flush. Together, do those equal a hetero queen's toilet?

d.a.m.n It, Jack You've cursed me! You're the one who's supposed to be coming up with corny jokes.

I'm supposed to laugh at them, whether or not they're funny.

Now I need to check up on you.

He's in the living room, adrift on anonymous painkillers. The TV is blaring, and his eyes are aimed at it, but vacant. Dread shoots through my body on a wave of adrenaline.

”Hey, Jack. How's it going?”

He jumps a little. Huh? Oh.

Hey, Cody. What's up, son?

His speech is slurred, just barely coherent. f.u.c.king meds. Where's your mom?

Is she home from work yet?

d.a.m.n. For a minute, I really thought he might be dead. But why would I think that? He's only got indigestion. Jeez, man.

Talk about jumpy. Freaking crack is famous for that.

But I've got to admit I like the way it makes every nerve come alive. Just like Ronnie said it would. She's got a tidy little habit. I have to be careful not to let my own toking get so out of hand. I swear I never had a clue she had made friends with the pipe. Best thing about it is what a little horndog she turns into when she's smoking. Boo frigging yah! Whatever I want.

Jack Coughs Pulling my mind away from Ronnie's superior body, back into the present, toward the sofa.

I go sit next to Jack. Boy, is his face pale. ”Mom's not home yet. Can I bring you something?”

He turns toward me, eyes wet with tears. (Tears?) No, Cody, I'm okay. Where are you off to tonight anyway? Got a hot date?

Before I can answer, a door slams.

Must be Cory. He's the only one who comes into the house like that. Sure enough, he stomps into the room, grinning like a goat.

d.a.m.n, even from here he smells like a brewery. Hey! What's up?

Why you look sho-so serious?