You Are the Key

Chapter Seven:

The cue ball struck the wall of the pool table and knocked the eight ball into the called pocket.

Brandon swayed his hips and stomped to Adam Lambert, pumping his fist in the air. The lucky bastard, I sourly thought. “How much does she owe me, Gav?” Bran called innocently over his shoulder. He rubbed his stomach and rocked on the balls of his feet.

“Beat ya’ again, eh?” Gavin joined us, crossing his thick arms in front of his chest. “Want a break from him?” He asked me, reaching to take my pool stick.

“Oh, so you want to be in debt to me too?” Bran asked, nodding coolly.

“Nah, I’m playing to get poor Robbie out of your evil clutches.” He rolled his lips, suppressing a grin and chalked my retired stick. A thunderstorm raged in Brandon’s eyes, and he gulped heavily. His fingers dragged slowly over the rough green material of the table and he breathed deeply.

“Twenty bucks, and an order of chicken fingers from the bar.” Was Brandon’s bet. Lightning struck in his daring eyes, stance switching to predatory. Gavin looked my way and winked, obviously having hit the sauce pretty hard tonight. I laughed and hooked my thumbs into my back pockets.

There was nothing you could say or do to convince me Gavin didn’t still like me. All throughout high school he’d asked me out on dates. It always got Brandon in a pissy mood so I always declined – still do. He doesn’t get bitter about it, Gav doesn’t, but he’s stopped bothering. Anybody would see I’m too interwoven with Bran to pay attention to a second “boyfriend”.

Sometimes people are whole heartedly blind, though. Alcohol changes people. It warps their personalities and sends their old ones into the Twilight Zone until they sleep it off. Gavin, tired and reserved Gavin, got ass-squeezing flirtatious when drunk. It was something to laugh about, watching him pick up girls, having them hanging off his arms like grocery bags.

Poetic, am I right? Vegetable brain girls with gelatin tits and open cans of tuna between their thighs… I’ve never thought of hoes like that before.

Anyways, Gavin usually goes nuts and feeds off girls like weed brownies at a party. You eat one of those fuckers, you just keep eating. But not tonight. He was reserving his wild side for a special someone – and I hoped it wasn’t me.

“You wish you were getting chicken fingers…” Gav laughed and broke, pool balls clamoring. The loud crack snapped Brandon into focus, his eyes zoomed in on me, challenging and assertive. He was a god while playing pool, and hardly ever lost. It got aggravating playing him because you always owed him something after he pocketed the eight ball. Nobody learns their lesson, though, and they always come back for another beat down.

“I’m gonna kick your ass.” Bran grinned ear to ear and shrugged, refusing to get angry while watching Gavin sink four solids before slipping up. Brandon was on the pool table like a deprived Pit Bull, lining up shot after shot. When he bent sideways, arm resting on the pool table to fix his first shot, his bangs fell in his face and he drew back the cue smoothly. Crack.

He circled the table and aimed. Crack.

With hard eyes, he growled to himself and surveyed the layout of the stripes. Doubling back around, Brandon struggled to keep his eyes off Gavin. A shadow darkened the floor in front of me, and I watched it move. I stiffened when a warm arm wrapped around my shoulders.

“Hey, Rob…” Gavin smiled and kneaded my right shoulder with his hand. “What’s up?” He breathed, voice dripping sweetness. I found myself relaxing in his one-armed embrace.

“Nothin’ much, you?” Too nice to shoo him away, I strike up an easy conversation.

“I’ve missed you… We never hang anymore.” He pouts, eyes glazed over and half lidded with want.

Crack.

“Gav, your turn.” Bran seethes, stalking over to me. Once Gavin leaves, Brandon wraps his arms around my waist from behind and settles his clenched jaw in the crook of my neck. “I hate him when he’s drunk.” He glowers and holds me to his chest. I lean back against him and close my eyes.

“Agh, leave the guy alone. It helps him come out of his shell...” I tease and Brandon holds me tighter.

“Don’t defend him – it makes me wanna punch him even more.”

“Oh, brandy wine is sweet, and brandy wine is sour – it turns seconds into warm, long hours. Brandy wine before bed, brandy wine in my head. Don’t think twice ‘bout it and have a fiery sip… forget your troubles and don’t be such a bitch.” I sang to him and he hummed with annoyance.

“You know I hate that stupid song of yours.” He forgets about the pool game and leans his head on my shoulder.

“Why?” I laugh, feigning cluelessness, and rock with him slowly back and forth. Grinding his stubble into my shoulder I giggle at the tickle. I hold his hands and turn to kiss his salty forehead. His eyes grow an almost sleepy guise and he picks his head up to kiss me softly. He guides our hands to my hips and presses against me passionately. I arch my back and kiss him back with the same hunger.

“Let’s go…” He suggests and I raise a naïve eyebrow. Eating up my act, he lets go of one of my hands and twirls me around. We dance, pressed against each other, smiling.

“Go where?” I whisper, head resting on his chest.

“There are a few places I have in mind.” He admits and dances us towards the arcades back door. We end up out by the bathrooms. “We could go back to our room… or we could go swimming.”

“I’m not wearing my suit.” I remind him and he grins.

“I’m fine with that.”