Page 52 of Bring You Back

It wasn’t just me.

“How much have you drank already?” I ask Banks as I drop onto a spot in the sand.

“Not enough,” he complains as he drops next to me, shoving the pack of beers he swiped from his parents’ house into the space between us. Then his hand appears in front of my chest like he’s trying to stop me from moving. “Check it out.”

I look in the direction he’s pointing and new sounds hit my ears. Lips smacking together, a couple of moans. Through the glow, my eyes adjust to two stragglers wrapped around each other next to one of the barrels. Their bodies grind, their moans pick up, and Banks’s face lights up as he gawks at them.

I laugh to myself, let out a loud whistle. The stragglers jolt. “You might wanna take that somewhere else if you don’t wantthis guyto end up joining you,” I warn them with a thumb pointed at Banks.

The couple hesitates a moment before pushing to their feet and scurrying along, kicking up sand in their wake.

“Dude,” Banks complains again. “You just killed our chances for a good show.”

“I’m not here for a show,” I say, reaching for a beer.

“Oh, ho, wait.” He stops me before I can twist the cap, and grabs one of his own. “Ben told me this thing. I haven’t got to try it yet.” He grips the beer, one hand around the bottle, the other around the neck, and I picture his bearded, pot-bellied cousin—who is actually named Bobby. Banks is notorious for calling people by the wrong name, no matter how long he has known them. He doesn’t like to think too much. It’s one of his trademarks. “He called it the grip and pump.”

I laugh. “Sounds like a masturbation technique.”

“Dude, it’sthemasturbation technique,” he says with raised brows that narrow. “What else are you gonna do?”

He gives the neck of the bottle three pumps, and I stifle my laughter as his hand flies upward and scrapes against the sharp edges of the cap. “Ah,fuck.” He shakes out the pain while looking down at the secured cap with a betrayed stare.

“You know Bobby hates you,” I remind him.

He gives his hand one last shake. “Yeah, well, he hates you, too.”

“It wasn’tmehe talked into jerking off a beer bottle.”

“I wasn’tjerking—” He cuts himself off at my pointed stare, then makes a face. “Whatever.” He twists the cap off using the bottom of his shirt, and I twist mine off with an uninjured hand. He tips his bottle toward mine with a grin. “To us!”

I shake my head, then smile, remembering what I decided about our friendship near this spot earlier tonight. I clink my bottle against his and he cheers.

“The boys are back in town, baby!”

I almost laugh as the song by the same name plays through my head, but then the record skips, and I’m thinking about the girl who is literallyback in town. I swallow several chugs of my beer.

“Told you you needed me,” Banks gloats.

“I haven’t agreed.”

He lets out apfft, then beams with pride. “You don’t have to. You’ve been walking around with thisend of the fucking worldlook on your face, and look at you now.”

I swallow another chug. “It’s the beer.”

“It’s the Banks.”

I laugh, aim to keep the topic on him. “What happened with Middle Finger?” I say it like it’s the girl’s name and he spits beer on a laugh.

“Dude, we’re totally calling her that from now on.” Once he settles, swallowing a few more drinks, he says, “I don’t know. Who cares.”

“You do,” I press. He’s not blowing this off.

He shrugs. “She wasn’t right for me.”

“None of them are.” I laugh, then muse, “So, it actually worked.” Banks shoots me aduhlook, and I ask, “Then where’d you fuck up?”

“Shedid that,” he corrects me.

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