College is coming soon, and Blake Warner is sure that his life is embedded into the dead-end that is Merritt Hills, Georgia. His mother has assured him millions of times, that money has nothing to do with where his future leads.
But whenever he lie...
| E X P E C T T H E U N E X P E C T E D | • • • 0 . 3
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Lines of small, tiny glasses were lied out before both Brooks and Blake. Brooks' lungs threatened to close at the anxiety oozing throughout his usually calm physique. But one look at the crowd of teenagers behind him, and Brooks knew that if he walked away now, he'd never live it down.
Blake had been feeling even more promiscuous, that night. When he looked over at the still full glasses before Brooks, he chuckled to himself, before leaning his head back, and jabbing down all four glasses.
Brooks saw the repetitive action, and then knew it was his turn.
He leaned his head back, tiny glass in hand, and swallowed all four glasses of Blake's apparent favorite drink. Blake whooped loudly, before making a comment that had Brooks' heart clenching.
"Ooh, the golden boy's not a lightweight—what a fucking surprise." Blake's words were menacing, filled with so much hate Blake could have sworn that he'd wanted him six feet under.
Brooks took a step back, trying his best not to stumble, nor show any signs of weakness. Blake watched, as a girl Brooks had never seen before hung at his side.
She was pretty, Brooks could admit. But she seemed clueless as to how much an asshole Blake Warner really was. Her fingers massaged at the back of ear, and the lobes, as Blake continued to take swigs from his beer—clearly amused by how much the alcohol was really affecting Brooks.
"So," she began, her fingers trailing down a line down Blake's chest, as he sighed contently. "You're cute, got a girlfriend?"
Brooks' eyebrows raised at her non-filtered exterior. Then, he turned to Blake, who seemed unfazed by the fact that his apparent girlfriend, had asked such a question.
"Uh, aren't you two dating?"
The girl chuckled, her red lips spreading into a seductive grin. But Brooks could hardly focus with the booming music behind him, and the girl sitting atop of Blake's lap before him.
Finally, she shook her head. "Definitely not. We just have a little fun from time-to-time," then, she paused, her eyes scanning Brooks' uncomfortable frame and expression. "Maybe, you and I can have a bit of fun, too?—"
Brooks doesn't leave anymore room from discussion, his breathing getting the best of him. He runs a shaky hand through his hair, finally looking Blake in the eyes. "I'm going to get going, thanks for—whatever the hell this was."
With that, Brooks is out of his seat, and pushing his way through the thick, and sweaty crowd.
But soon, there's footsteps behind him, but he doesn't dare turn around. His need for space and air is bigger than Blake's erratic need to prove he's bigger, and better than anyone, and everything else.
Once he's finally outside, Blake catches his forearm, the grip as strong as fire. "What the fuck's up with you? I thought we were actually having a good time, despite whatever the hell went down in school."
"No," Brooks spits out, "you were having a good time tonight, and maybe I would be having a good time if your girlfriend wasn't trying to creepily make you jealous."
"For the last time, she's not my girlfriend." Blake dismisses the fact that him having a girlfriend is a possibility, but doesn't diehard the fact that the creepy, creepy girl had been obviously trying to make Blake jealous.
Brooks walks toward his car, and Blake is left with his arms crossed across his chest. "Hey, hold up," he jogs over to Brooks, who's close to shouting on the verge of irritation. "How about we make another deal?"
Brooks almost ignores him, but is yet again, yanked. "No, no more deals. You and I don't even like each other, and you pushing us to—do whatever you're trying to do—isn't helping anything. What, is this your way of a non-verbal apology?—"
"Fuck off, will you? This is me, trying to play nice. Now, either take it, or the rest of summer can be just as bad as high school."
"Are you threatening me—"
Blake laughs, taking another swig. "I'm not threatening you, I'm simply stating a relatively known fact. So, are you all ears?"
Brooks wants to walk away. He wants to say no, immediately. But when Blake simply throws his beer onto the ground, and sends Brooks that same grin that sends his heart, and mind into a whirlwind, a word leaves his lips that he hadn't even known had been on the tip of tongue.
