✔️The Greaser and the Skirtchaser [18+]

17. The Only Place for Them

The sky bruised a shadowy blue once they finally arrived at Maken's Point, and the sun was just a bleeding orange gash beneath a sliver of aging blue. It was harder to see, but Blake had flashlights handy, and it was just a little walk off. Before they went, Blake snagged his jacket from the back seat.

"I thought we were seeing a concert?" Vance asked once they were going up the trail which was nicely kept for how far it was from town.

"You shouldn't show up to these places on time; I'll take you when they're playing the good parts. Besides, now we have time for other things up here."

"Don't get any funny ideas."

"Baby, I'm full of them." Blake smiled over his shoulder at Vance, who was doing a poor job of trying not to laugh. "Speaking of, how about you take that right hand out of your pocket?"

"Huh?" Even though Vance's voice was suspicious, he still took his hand out. Blake scooped it into his and clasped them together. Vance looked at him, and it really was such a shame that Blake couldn't see him blush. "What are you doing?"

"Holding your hand." Blake stroked a thumb over the back of Vance's hand. "Don't like it?"

It looked like Vance was going to answer that, but he just closed his mouth and looked away. He didn't let go, though. He just followed Blake up to Maken's Point, and they didn't end up needing the flashlights once they got to the little vista. It was just a small little clearing with an old little fence blocking off the steep drop below, and if it were daytime, the trees overhead would be providing gentle shade for the old bench overlooking the view.

There were city lights dusted across the view, concentrated in one cluster where downtown was, but it dotted out in a blanket across the hills like it was copying the star-freckled sky above. The real thing of interest, though, was Vance's face peering over the fence like he was seeing into another dimension. He was like this driving into Resthaven, too, and Blake instantly knew where to take him next if it couldn't be NYC itself. Blake had taken millions of girls up here, and they all loved the novelty of seeing the lights, but they were only interested in having a brief look. They'd seen the shiny things before, but they liked the romance of a secluded hideout with the town's bad boy rebel, and Blake knew that. With Vance, he was just so easily impressed with everything. He liked greasy diner burgers; he liked holding hands; he liked city lights; he liked everything Blake wanted to show him. It was refreshing not having to really try to please Vance, but that wasn't to say that Blake didn't put in effort.

Blake watched Vance drink in the view for a little longer before letting go of his hand to reach into his jacket hiding two bottles. He knocked the cap off one using the edge of the fencepost. After pocketing the caps, he put one in Vance's hands. "Here."

"Huh? Is this beer?" It wasn't hard to detect the discomfort in his voice.

Blake snickered. "It's not. Try it."

He hesitated and took a little sip like Blake handed him poison, and he discovered, "A root beer float? But this was in a bottle."

"It's cream soda. Vanilla and root beer."

"Cream soda?" Vance had another sip. Then, another. "Where'd you get this?"

"Resthaven." Blake rested his elbows on the fence. "I buy 'em in bulk and sell them to the cheerleaders and girls and stuff. They really like these things. Especially Jenny."

"Are you a caravan merchant or what?"

"Hey, I'm just supplying for the demand. Do you like it?"

Vance had another sip before admitting, "Yes."