It's been a year since Clay, otherwise known as Porkchop, planned the graduation event in Newport Beach. The event where a handsome Tyler Hamilton caught Clay off guard by kissing him. Clay, up until that day, had never kissed a boy before.
At 24 ye...
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IT was like meeting Clay for the first time, but better.
There were no rubber ducks in his arms, and don't get me wrong, I love his collection, and I think it's dope. But we didn't need that collision, rubber ducks falling to the ground, in order to look at each other and know that something was up. Electricity in the air that couldn't be ignored. And then again, this was different, more real, because we really knew each other this time, we'd been dating each other, we were a real thing. We weren't just bumping into each other, randomly deciding to hook up for a few days.
It was like meeting Clay for the first time because of the carnival (fucking Jesse Campbell), but better because I knew that this was going to last. He and I weren't going anywhere.
Clay was so excited, he ran down the beach, pulling me behind him in order to get to the carnival setup faster. I watched him now, standing under the color-changing hues emitted from the lights on the beach, playing one of those ridiculous games where you have to hit the targets with a tiny ball in order to win. Though, there was no one actually working the booth, or any of the other games. I could see a few workers hired to stand by the Ferris wheel, and the more mechanical rides for obvious reasons. But we were left to our own devices, otherwise.
"Shoot!" Clay yelled, when he didn't win yet again. I was still smiling watching him, because he was so cute, and he was so into the little carnival game.
I rolled up my sleeves and stepped to his side, glancing over at him. "Need help from a professional?"
"You shoot baskets, you don't throw balls to get things to go down," Clay said.
I smirked, and grabbed two balls from his hands. "Right, and usually when I work with balls, the goal is to get things to go up," I said, winking, then focusing on my target. I could feel Clay's red cheeks, embarrassment from my constant euphemisms, like a heat wave. It warmed me as I got my grip, held up one of the balls, aimed, and threw it.
Clay gasped when I hit the first target, easily. "I figured you, a volleyball player, would have more motor control," I admitted playfully.
"I have good motor control, but this still isn't anything like volleyball," Clay argued. "You won't knock the next one down."
I fully turned in his direction, eyebrows raised challengingly. "Won't I?"
Clay crossed his arms over his chest, chin up. "I'm convinced it's impossible."
"Oh, baby," I muttered, stepping closer to him, bringing my hand to his chin just to catch him off guard for a moment, "anything with me is possible."
Sometimes I had to be cheesy. Just to risk seeing the look on Clay's face when I pulled away, regained my focus, and threw the ball to perfectly hit the next target.
