Page 21 of Under the Influence

He stands up, messing with something out of frame. Señorita by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello fills the silence, and I can’t help but smile.

Our best friend, Aspen’s, favorite song.

Benson smiles wide through the phone. “Stand up.”

I roll my eyes, realizing how stupid it is, dancing with someone a thousand miles away, but I miss him. If this is what it takes to feel close to him, so be it.

I stand up, letting my body move to the beat. Pretending that he is here with me. I do a stupid twirl, acting silly now, and Benson laughs, stopping his movement. “I miss you. It’s just not the same without you and Aspen.”

I offer him a lopsided smile, but a loud screeching sound followed by a thud and a groan behind me catches my attention. I hide my phone close to me, not wanting to share Benson with anyone.

“I’ll call you later,” I whisper, ending the call to quickly assess the noise.

“What are you doing?” I ask Carson as he lifts himself from the concrete.

“Well, I was coming to see if you want any cookies. My mom made enough to feed an entire elementary school.”

I cock my brow, “You busted your shin for Cookies?”

He laughs nervously, looking down at the blood dripping down his leg, “Yeah, I guess so.”

An involuntary laugh escapes. “There are chairs there,” I point out. “For future reference.”

“I know, I’m not typically this clumsy.”

I watch as the tiny droplets of blood continue to fall, “You should get a paper towel for that.”

“Yeah, so do you want some?” He asks, his nerves causing him to ramble, “Cookies, I mean.”

I stare at him for a second, his hand lifting to scratch the back of his dark head of hair.

“Aren’t your parents home?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, it’s date night.”

“And the ever so pleasant six-foot jerk from earlier?”

He laughs, “Nash doesn’t typically spend a Saturday night in.”

I step closer, pocketing my phone, “And you do?”

“Tonight, I am.”

“Fine,” I snap. “One cookie since you are bleeding, and I feel sorry for you, but that doesn’t make us friends.”

“What does it make us?”

I cross my arms, following him over to his house, “Two humans with a mutual liking for chocolate.”

He smiles, pushing his back door open, “That’s fair.”

I’m not sure what I expected the inside of his house to look like, but it wasn’t this. I just assumed it would be different. I don’t know… more like Aunt Lauren and Uncle Trey’s. But this is a home.

It’s lived in.

This basement looks like a bachelor pad. A pool table, giant TVs, a couch big enough to fit an entire sports team. Sports memorabilia—signed jerseys, a trophy case, even a life-size cut out of Michael Jordan—line the walls. Even a full-sized bar area. It’s familiar but foreign, and it reminds me of home.

I feel safe here. I don’t know why, I shouldn’t.