✔️The Greaser and the Skirtchaser [18+]

16. What Totally Charmed Blake

Now, falling in love with a fling didn't mean that much, really. It might've started a hell of a lot earlier than usual, but it was far from the first time Blake had fallen in love with someone like this. All it meant was that Blake got an extra kick out of seeing Vance who got more attention. It was a win-win situation. He preferred it this way. Everything was rose-tinted the morning Blake made it outta Vance's bedroom that Wednesday—early enough that Vance hadn't woken up.

Blake didn't end up springing any more emergency drop-ins for that week, but he'd slept like a goddamn rock in that greaser's bed. Seriously, he even slept through eight, so he missed out on calling Ashley that morning when Steve would be at work.

Blake was also a light sleeper, so at the crack of dawn on Saturday, he was wide awake when he heard the scrape of shoes and a grunt. Before his brain really caught up with it, Blake was already on his feet and halfway to the window all ready to go in his jeans and bomber jacket because he always slept in them. But when he came to the window, he found Petey's leery mug staring back at him.

It was too damn early to be dealing with all this. Blake sighed and rubbed his eyes as he willed his body to relax. "Petey, what are you doing here?"

Petey climbed the last few rungs of the goddamn ladder he lugged over here and put his hands on Blake's windowsill. "Thought I'd find ya here."

"It's my room."

"Well, yeah, but—anyways, I got to thinking."

Never a good sign. "Petey, I'm not going to let you drive my old man's Buick."

"I was—hey, I'm not talking about that!" he snapped, voice getting all pitchy. Even though he was sixteen, his voice was still squeaky as hell. Petey hated it.

"Hey, would you lower your voice? You'll wake him up." Blake jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "What do you want, then, Petey?"

"Well, I was sayin' that after you, uh, you took one for the team the other night...." Petey glanced around, half-nervous, half-secretive. "I'll do it. I'll give you one favor from me. Courtesy of old Willis. Any worldly pleasure or rare treasure you want—or intel on the hottest babes—I'll get it for you."

Blake stared at him. He laughed. "Really?"

Petey laughed along, too, loosening up now that Blake was laughing at this ridiculous proposition he woke him up at dawn for, even bringing his goddamn ladder over here. Petey said, "You bet. Listen, pal, there's nowhere my eyes and ears can't reach, and I've got friends in high places, you know?"

"Uh-huh."

"I even got a fed or two in my pocket."

"Right. You are so...." Blake scoffed. "Alright, thanks, Petey. I'll think of what I want later. Just scram; I need some shut-eye."

"Wait, wait, wait. I can't just leave now; you gotta tell me all about the arrest!"

"Petey, your voice."

"Yeah, yeah, but you gotta spill it, Coleman." Petey always wanted something glamorous and dangerous when he lived in Northfield which was about the farthest thing from either. For some reason he thought Blake was living a life that was both.

It could be goddamn annoying when Blake was just living his daily, unglamorous life, but sometimes he felt like playing along. Pretending he was someone living a charmed life with chicks and glory and a sweet ride. Well now that he was thinking about it, he had most of those.

"They interrogated me for names, you know, but I wouldn't sing for anything. Officer Davis, he was grilling me, slamming the table, and spitting in my goddamn face." Blake prattled along, tossing in every bad movie trope he knew along with some cool one-liners, and Petey was eating it right up like he was watching the latest gunslinger movie. "After they couldn't get anything from me, they had to call it in and let me go. I got off scot-free."