Page 39 of Just Forever

LAKE

I geta sharp reminder of why I don’t get drunk once morning comes. Pleasantly tipsy? Why not. Nicely buzzed? Sign me up. Stupidly drunk? That’s pretty much just fucking yourself over with extra steps.

I rub my palm over my face while I drag myself to the kitchen and slump down at the table. Ryker sends me an amused look and slides a smoothie in front of me.

I poke the tall glass with the tip of my finger for a few seconds.

“Is that some new way kids drink these days?” Ryk leans his ass against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “Because I could’ve sworn we used our mouths for that.”

“I’m trying to see if this is some kind of magic trick where if I touch it, this thing turns into something with a shitload of caffeine in it.”

“That would be a no.”

I make a face and push the glass far, far away from me. “Then I don’t understand.”

“Which part?”

“The part where you’re giving me something that’s not coffee.”

He taps his index finger against the side of the glass. “This is good for you.”

I lift my hand and press my fingers against his mouth. “Shh. Don’t let the neighbors hear you say that. They’ll think you’re insane.”

“Just drink it,” he says in a tone that brooks no arguments.

Ha! Like that’s going to happen.

“What’s in it?”

“Fruit,” he says offhandedly before he turns and opens the oven door. The tone is suspicious already. The fact that he refuses to look at me? I call bullshit on that fruit claim.

“What kind of fruit?”

He turns back around, crosses his arms over his chest once again and locks his gaze with mine. “The kind that grows on trees.”

“What kind of trees?”

“Fruit trees.”

“Be more specific.”

“Mango and banana. Plus, some strawberries and raspberries, coconut water, and some lemon juice. Will you just fucking drink it already?”

“And?”

He rolls his eyes. “And what?”

“Don’t even. We both know you put something disgusting in it because you think I won’t know. What is it?”

We stare each other down for a long while. Ryk breaks first. Because Ryk always breaks first. I don’t even know why he tries.

“Spinach,” he says.

“I knew it!” I exclaim. Then I take the glass and take a sip. And then another one until the glass is empty.

“Did the complaining and interrogation make it taste better?” Ryker asks.

“It’s like seasoning.”

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