Page 53 of Bring You Back

Of course. Striking out with the ladies or, really, anyone, is neverhisfault.

He waves his hands around as he finds the words. “She wanted it to be all magical and shit. It’ssex. Not a trip to fairyland.”

I spit beer as I release all the laughter I’ve held in since we got here. As straight-faced as possible, I accuse, “You couldn’t get it up, could you?”

“Thatwasn’t the problem,” he says, then points to his beer. “Not enough, remember?” He downs the last of it—ahhhh—and I do the same with mine.

I still say the problem has everything to do with him. Banks will give a girl whatever she wants if it means he’ll get laid. He’ll dress up as a fucking fairy if that’s what it takes to get inside of her. But I don’t ask more. I’m feeling pretty good.

“Dude, you’re lucky you have Blondie.”

And just like that, my good mood is tainted.

Apparently Banks’s is, too. We both reach for another beer, twist off the caps, and swallow a few chugs.

I don’t know how exactly he found out about me and Reyna—no labels, most touches happening in private—but I probably shouldn’t tell him more. He wouldn’t get it. He would try, but he would also be unable to stop himself from worming his way in.

Banks is the fun, not that deep, sometimes piss you off but make you feel better, forget about your shit, type of guy.

Tommy is the talk it out, helping hand, give a damn, make you confront your shit, type of guy.

I fall in the middle.

Banks has had a thing for Reyna for a while. Begging for at least one night with her. At first, I figured it’s simply because Reyna is one of the most gorgeous girls in this town, if not themostgorgeous, and it’s fuckingBanks. But then, I started thinking whatever it is he wants with her runs a little deeper. He always thought about her more, talked about her more, flirted with her more. Borderline obsessed.

And Camille was always off limits, obviously. He doesn’t do well with the uptight, set in her ways, with the addition of hating him, type of girl.

She’s moldable, Banks once said of Reyna when he compared her to Camille.I like working with my hands.

Tommy’s not the only one carrying a torch, but between him and Banks, he’s the only one who has a chance of getting it lit.

Banks downs his second beer—ahhhh—then continues, “If I hadherunder me, I wouldn’t waste a second thought on Cruella.”

I chuckle through the last swallow of mine, settling into the buzz. “Just a first thought?”

“Har har.” He grabs another beer, and I do the same. “I’m just saying, when you have the gold, don’t let it go for something plastic.”

“I don’t think you even know what you’re saying.”

He points his beer at me. “But I do.”

I shake my head and tell him what I’ve told him before. “It’s not gonna happen.”

“It might,” he insists, and it hits me that he’s talking about Reyna as if I don’t “have” her. But then, I am, too. Because I don’t. Not really.

“You’re not her favorite.” I break the news to him, while also reminding myself.

“Give her time.”

“She’s had plenty of time, man,” I say with a laugh, and start in on my third beer.

My smile drops. The deeper I go into the bottle, the deeper I drop into thoughts of Camille. The way she smells. The sound of her voice around my name, making me imagine how my name would sound through her moans.

Fuck, I’ve missed her.

I miss laughing with her, I miss talking to her, I miss the things we haven’t even got to do yet—yet, like my body still wants to. Just the thought of last summer. . .

And there lies my issue. I’m at the point ofthinking, offeeling, my brain opening up to the thoughts I can keep at bay when I’m sober. Another reason why I stopped drinking. It can make me wallow, digest and feel the shit I normally avoid … at least where I’m at now … if I stop here.

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