Page 31 of Punching the V-Card
The weather was nice, but the road through the neighborhood was littered with leaves and pine needles from the storm that had rolled through.
“C’mon,” Carl said, taking hold of Devon’s hand. “Let’s take the short cut to the trail.”
Devon hesitated. The shortcut involved a little bit of trespassing, and while he and Hope had done it often enough as kids, now that he was grown, he was less enamored of the prospect. But if they didn’t take the short cut, then they’d have to go over some big hills, and around the typically flooded area at the bottom to reach the walking trail they’d set out to enjoy.
“All right,” Devon said when Carl squeezed his hand and lifted a challenging eyebrow. “But if Mr. Maddox calls my folks, I’m going to tell them it was your idea.”
“And if your folks ask why you were hanging out with me what are you going to say?”
“That you seduced me and coerced me into a life of petty crime, but only after convincing me to drop out of school and pursue you across the country.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Carl said, laughing, “it all sounds very deranged and kinda hot. Like I’m Clyde, and you’re Bonnie.”
“I’m Bonnie?” Devon huffed, letting Carl lead the way through Mr. Maddox’s prized orchard, carved into the hillside with his neighbor’s hard work and sweat of years—which was why he didn’t like people tramping through it. “You’re the pretty one.”
Carl looked over his shoulder, a surprised smile on his lips. “You think I’m pretty?”
“You don’t?”
“I do. I mean, I have a mirror. But I don’t know, it’s nice to hear it from you.”
“Anytime.”
“You’re pretty, too.”
“Thanks, Bonnie.”
Carl chuckled. “No, I’m Clyde, and you’re Bonnie. I’m the cool musician. You’re the tagalong.”
“Oooh, low blow,” Devon murmured. “I guess in that case we’re more like Sid and Nancy. Let’s hope we don’t end up like them either, though.”
“Who?”
“Old people. Dead people. Punk rock people. My dad made me watch some documentary about them because he used to think they were cool when he was young. They were like the Bonnie and Clyde of punk, I guess.”
“We could be the Bonnie and Clyde of studio musicians or cruise ship guitarists,” Carl said, laughing, as they approached the fence they’d have to leap in order to reach the cut-through to the trail. “Or the Sid and, who?”
“Nancy.”
“Yeah,” Carl said, hefting himself up and over the simple log rail fence, and reaching for Devon. “C’mon. Up and over.”
“Devon Waters!” The bellow from the backside of the house next to the small orchard told them Mr. Maddox had woken from his mid-day nap, and they were caught. “I’m calling your mother!”
“Sorry, Mr. Maddox,” Devon yelled as he leaped the fence. “Won’t happen again!”
“It better not!” The old man appeared on his back porch and held up his cell phone. “I have her on speed dial because of your sister and her blond boyfriend!”
“Guess that’s you,” Devon said to Carl as he slunk away up the trail into the woods, avoiding Mr. Maddox’s scolding. “Sorry again, Mr. Maddox! Last time! I swear!”
Mr. Maddox headed back inside, shaking his head, but Devon felt pretty sure he wasn’t actually going to call his mother. But, if he did, then Devon would just apologize and make the same promise he’d just made: last time, never again, yadda.
“You’re so cute,” Carl said, coming back down the path toward Devon and taking his hand. “’Oh, please, Mr. Maddox, don’t be mad!’ Adorable.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Carl went up on his tiptoes and pushed Devon’s curls off his forehead. “You might as well have. God, you’re gorgeous. In this light, and with your hair all curled up from the humidity out here. Stay there—” Carl pulled his phone out and held it up. “Just—there. Now it’s captured forever. I can look back and remember this weekend.”
“Look back from where?” Devon asked, suddenly worried that Carl might not be serious about the entire cross-country, adventure-in-L.A., possible cruise ship job yarns he’d been spinning.
