Page 26 of Under Construction

"Pretty sure I do after that stunt with the tank top."

"Didn't hear you complaining." Chris starts the car. "In fact, you seemed pretty appreciative of the view."

He adjusts the rearview mirror, catching Dennis’s eyes in the reflection.

Dennis looks away first, but not before he sees Chris's smile widen.

The worst part is, Dennis is starting to think he might be right.

His phone buzzes again.

Dad.

Dennis turns it off.

Tonight's about rebellion after all.

Might as well do it properly.

11One Drink

They drive past three bars—all closed, all dark, neon signs blank against the windows.

"Seriously?" Chris groans, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. "What kind of city shuts down on Mondays?"

Dennis’s eyebrows pinch in thought. What kind of guy from around here doesn’t know the shelter, doesn’t know the bars, and doesn’t seem to know anything at all about this town?

"Welcome to small-town living." Dennis smirks. "LA boy."

Chris's head whips around, eyes widening. "How did you—"

"Lucky guess." But Dennis files that reaction away. More pieces to the Chris puzzle, a picture still full of gaps.

"Fine." Chris takes a sharp left turn, tires screeching as the light turns green just in time, letting him blow through without stopping. "Plan B."

"Which is?"

"My place has drinks."

"I bet your place has beer that tastes like feet."

"Better than no beer."

The smart thing would be to get an Uber home. The safe thing. Dennis should say no.

But instead he’s noticing how the streetlights catch Chris's profile, turning him into something breathtaking, carved from shadow and jawbone.

"Fine," Dennis says. He swallows. "One drink."

It’s not like the plan’s changed, after all. Just the location. What could even happen?

Chris only grins, making a few quick turns, winding down side streets that get darker and narrower with each corner. He takes a sharp left, then a right, driving them deeper into some forgotten stretch of town. Finally, he pulls into a cracked, dimly lit carpark, empty except for a single lamppost flickering weakly over the faded parking lines.

Chris kills the engine. "Tada!"

The lamppost sizzles, pops, then burns out into pitch blackness.

"This your place?" Dennis asks, leaning toward the dashboard to squint at the building.

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