Between Us (all of us #1)

O N E

A U B R E E

Parties were so different when I was a teen.

I mean, we still drank, we still smoked, we'd still experiment, but a birthday party was still a birthday party. Meaning there were decorations, food, family, games, and gifts.

These kids are literally in my backyard laughing and smoking to rap music.

There is no cake, there are no balloons, no streamers. Nothing indicating this is a birthday celebration whatsoever. I'd throw in the fact that no one's dancing, but I guess grinding counts.

A few months ago, Diesel asked me if he could throw his friend a birthday party at our house. I like this friend and I know he's good for it as he's been by my son's side for over a decade now, so it was hardly a question. But now as I watch them from my second story bedroom window, I'm feeling a slight pinch of regret.

Having a bunch of wild teens over is a lot of liability and I'm currently reminded as to why I told Diesel to cool down on the parties in the first place. They're getting older now. They value being reckless over being good. And I'm hardly an authority figure here, it's never been my strong suit.

But I tell myself it's just for tonight and then not again until Diesel turns eighteen next year, so I'll just have to deal and pray that no one passes out and bangs their head on the concrete out there.

I bite my finger nail as I watch some teenage girl grind against Trenton's lap in her high waist Levi shorts and worn out checkered vans. Her hands pressed to her bare knees and making me curious of what it feels like to be in her position.

He couldn't look more bored, so maybe it doesn't feel like much of anything.

Or maybe he's just so high, he makes it come off that way.

Trenton looks up at my window and I freeze. His teeth graze his bottom lip before turning into a wolfish smile that makes my stomach flutter wildly. My breath hitches and I let the curtain fall out of my fingertips as I back away from the glass.

Trenton Laguna. The neighborhood heartthrob, Diesel's best friend since elementary school, and the boy who never leaves my house. He's charming and funny, and witty and sweet. Every word that boy speaks is qualified as sweet talk.

My son's the total opposite. He's an asshole just like his father, but that doesn't stop all the girls from swarming him. Only thing that does is the little snob, Chloe, who he's been on again, off again with for the past two years.

She started off sweet, then sometime after the third break they took, she came back suddenly comfortable enough to eye roll and scoff anytime I told her it was time to go home. They're lucky I even let her over at all. I know what they're doing when they're locked up in his room, and it's not 'just watching tv'. But, I do feel safer knowing they're doing it at home with condoms available, and not spur of the moment somewhere where they figure one time won't hurt anyone, because it can. I learned that the hard way.

"Mrs. Cooper, you didn't wish me a happy birthday yet."

While my back is turned, I squeeze my eyes shut. My hand draws back from the unopened bottle of Merlot I was reaching for in the hopes it'd help put me at ease tonight. Because let's be honest, I'll need it if I'm going to be able to ride out the rest of this party.

I clutch my black, satin robe shut at my breasts before turning around to face him. His light brown eyes are glossy from all the smoking they'd been doing out there, but his crooked smile is just as strong as always.

"Happy birthday, Trenton." I smirk.

He always looks at me like that, like he's so stimulated by how uncomfortable I get when he catches me alone. And he always catches me alone.