Page 55 of Pocketful of Shame

"Nope," Sketch replied, licking some ketchup off my thumb. "And nope."

"Don't listen to him, he's playing footsie under the table with me as we speak," Presley chuckled.

"Nah, that's my dick," Sketch countered. "Sorry about that. Needs a booth of its own."

"So, that's what really happened to Romi?" Presley shot back. "You piledrived her out of the tree with your damn dick!"

"Yes," Sketch deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "Yes, Quinton, that is exactly what happened."

When Presley excused himself to use the bathroom after a few more minutes of bantered conversation, I swung my gaze to Sketch. "Are we going to talk about it?" I asked nervously, picking at a fry on my plate. "What we did... what you said afterwards." I wanted to talk about it. Ineededto. Spending another tense night without clearing the air was going to kill me. Throw our make-0ut session in the bathroom into the mix and I was close to combusting. He was clearly trying to be cordial, but he still had a fifty-foot wall erected around himself. I knew I deserved his wariness, but I longed to smash the stupid damn wall blocking me out.

"Don’t see why we need to," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "You've always known how I feel about you." He snatched a couple of fries from my plate. "Never made a secret of it –" He paused to chew and swallow before adding, "Ain't no surprise in what I said."

"Except that itwasa surprise," I replied, cautious. "To me, at least." He continued to steal food off my plate as I spoke. "I thought you hated me. After Chris, I th-thought you despised me."

"Look, Ro, you said you wanted to be friends," he mumbled. "I said yes. No need to hash up anything else."

"But you told me you'rein lovewith me," I breathed, heart hammering wildly against my ribcage.

"Stillin love with you," he corrected with a shrug. "Same girl. Same feelings."

"Doyouwant to be friends?" I forced myself to ask, hardly daring to breathe while I waited for his answer.Just friends?

He paused mid-chew and locked his piercing blue eyes on me. Tilting his head to one-side, he considered me for a long moment before swallowing.

When he didn’t say anything, I reached for my soda and took a deep swig, flustered from his intense stare.

When I set the glass back down, he was still staring at me. "Say something," I begged, clasping my hands together. "Anything. Please."

"I –"

"Not that I don’t enjoy our little sparring sessions, lover, but we really need to get down to business," Presley announced, returning to the table and disrupting Sketch from whatever he was about to say.

Frustrated, I blew out a breath and reluctantly turned my attention to Presley who was rummaging around in his bookbag. Setting a notebook down on the table, Pres flipped it open and reached for a pen. "We have a lot to cover, people."

"Can I finish eating first?" Sketch asked with his mouth around a burger.

"Seriously, Sketch?" Pushing his glasses up, Presley stared across the booth at him. "Seriously? You've been eating for fifteen solid minutes. I've been counting."

"What?" Sketch huffed, looking to me for help. "I'm hungry."

I held my hands up. "Leave me out of it."

"You're always hungry," Presley replied. "And here's another thing; you are a freak of nature. Do you hear me? Afreak. No one else can consume the calories you do on a daily basis and look likethat." He waved a hand at him. "It's both unfair and inhuman, and, to be quite frank, I think you set an unhealthy body image standard amongst your peers."

"My peers," Sketch snickered, leaning across the table to swipe and handful of fries off Presley's plate. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"That," Presley declared, pointing at Sketch's plate. "That's what I'm talking about."

"Because I like food?" He arched a brow. "Yeah, Pres, I eat a lot because I work out a lot. I train. Hard. Every day. While you're flexing those braincells, I'm playing football or working out. And besides –" He smirked. "I'm a growing boy."

"Can't believe you're still seventeen," he muttered. "6'3 and seventeen. It's freaking ridiculous."

"I sure am seventeen, Pres. For another month." Sketch grinned. "Which makes me the innocent minor and you two the culpable adults if this shit goes south."

I laughed and Presley glared. "That's not funny."

"I’m so sorry, officer," Sketch mimicked, chewing on a french fry. "He told me to do it,and the pretty girl said she'd show me her boobies."

---