Once we were all in, Axel glanced over at my neighbor’s house. “Does Remington still live over there? I haven’t seen him in a while. What about his hot sister?”
The house was run down and falling apart. It looked as if it could be abandoned–with faded yellow peeling paint, wild and overgrown grass, and the shutters hanging by a nail. There was an older model tan Toyota Camry in the driveway that had seen better days, covered in rust and dents.
I scoffed. “Hmm, my guess is Remington’s tripped out in a crack house somewhere, and Ashtyn’s either turning tricks or locked up in a padded room at a mental hospital.”
“Bro, what the fuck?” Asked Bronx, visibly offended by my prediction. “There was a time when you liked them both. Ashtyn and Remington were over a lot when we were kids. You don’t need to be an ass just because of what happened.”
What happened–that was a good way to describe Bronx almost dying from snorting sketchy coke laced with god-knows-what that he bought from Remington Hawthorne last summer.
"You know that's because their dad is a gangbanger and needed to get rid of them during his deals, right? He used to ditch them at our house because his wife was too drunk to be trusted with them."
I threw the Challenger in reverse and tore out of the driveway, throwing rocks and debris in our wake. Thinking about Remington always made my blood boil.
Remington Hawthorne used to be a friend–right up until he started selling drugs all over the south side. Some of that product happened to go up Bronx’s nose last year. That was my breaking point with that punk. I beat the shit out of him and told him to stay away from my family. He was lucky I didn’t kill him for what he did.
His little sister Ashtyn was another story. She hated me and avoided me like the plague. I may have done some things to her that I wasn’t entirely proud of that ruined theflirtationshipwe used to have. That girl could hold a grudge like no other.
“I sort of remember them coming over when we were there. So…Ashtyn’s crazy, huh? You know what they say about hot and crazy chicks. I think I’m gonna hit her up this year,” said Cade. I stared at him in the rearview mirror and clenched the steering wheel with white knuckles.
“Don’t touch Ashtyn,” I warned. His eyes snapped to mine, and I had to force my vision to go back to the road in front of us. “And she’s not that hot.”
“Yeah, she is. I saw her at the beginning of summer wearing a bikini in her backyard,” Cade said as he flopped back in the seat, reliving the memory. “Yeesh, the set of tits on her.”
“Why can’t he touch her?” Axel asked, failing at hiding his amusement.
“Because he doesn’t like anyone touching his toys,” laughed Bronx.
I snapped my head towards him. “Fuck that. I just don’t need my friends hitting my sloppy seconds.” I turned back to the road and tried to keep my speed at a reasonable level.
“Wait,” Cade paused. “You already fucked her? When? I’m jealous.”
“You never had a problem sharing your leftovers before,” Axel added.
“We fucked once. It was a while ago. Never thought to mention it,” I lied.
I thought of mentioning it many times because I thought about that night frequently. That was prime spank bank material for me. The responsiveness of her body was unlike any other woman I’d been with. I didn’t want my friends riding my case about it and asking questions, so I never talked about it. The only other person who knew was Bronx.
“It was a pump and dump or what? Was it bad? I want to hear details,” Cade said eagerly. I knew that would happen if they ever found out.
“It was fine, she’s just clingy as fuck. I wanted an easy lay and she was around. That’s pretty much the extent of it,” I said. Another lie. She wasn’t clingy at all. I was just an asshole and treated her as such.
“Pump and dump chump,” said Axel, lifting his fist waiting for me to bump him back. I flipped him off instead.
“West, stop. You don’t really feel that way about her. Just cut the shit,” Bronx said with a somber tone as he looked out the window. He always had a hero complex when it came to Ashtyn. Apparently, it was still going strong.
I wasn’t sure if Bronx talked to Ashtyn anymore. Even though we were neighbors, I didn’t see her or her brother around often. Occasionally I would see her get home late and go inside her house, probably off to read smutty romance novels and chain-smoke cigarettes. Remington was most likely off selling drugs to kids. I didn’t even see them at school. Remington had graduated two years ago, but Ashtyn was a senior like us. I would catch a glance at her occasionally before she turned in another direction to avoid me. There was a time when I wanted to explain myself to her, explain why I did what I did to her, but I shut that shit down the minute I found Bronx tripping out on her brother’s product.
The GPS chirped as we got close to Aces, and I was ready to put a pin in the conversation. I didn’t want to explain how I fucked up royally with Ashtyn because I couldn’t handle her feelings. She was vulnerable and I took advantage of her in a way, and I didn’t feel great about it once it was over, so I ended us before we even began. I also did it in the worst and most embarrassing way. I wanted Ashtyn to hate me, and I accomplished that with my bullshit.
“I don’t give a shit who you all fuck, but don’t stick your dick in crazy. Trust me, it’s not worth it,” I said as I parked in front of Aces. It was busy but it was a Saturday night at the end of summer, and the place had a reputation of serving underaged kids.
“I think I’ll take my chances,” said Cade as he got out of the Challenger. He slammed the door shut and slapped my shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Unless there’s another reason I shouldn’t?”
He loved goading me into getting pissed. One of these days, he was going to find himself on the other end of my fist. Brother or not, he was pissing me off. “Can we just go in?” I wanted to get this done as soon as possible, and I was over talking about Ashtyn Hawthorne.
Aces looked exactly as I expected. It was a run-down dive bar kind of place, a place where you would expect them to not give a shit about IDs. The kind of place that made Bronx’s eyes light up. It was a dark brown building, not too big but large enough to house several pool tables and dart boards. The outer edge was lined with big half-circle booths covered in ripped forest green vinyl. Across from the booths was a long bar, surrounded by old worn wooden barstools that may give your ass a splinter or two. There were tables in between the booths and the bar, each with four chairs. The place was packed with bodies, most of which looked way too young to be slamming back alcohol.
Once we flashed our fake IDs–which the bouncer barely glanced at before letting us in–I strained to find an empty table for us to occupy. The lights were dim and the air was hazy, smelling of sweat and stale smoke. There was a small stage at the end of the room with a DJ. People thrashed and danced against each other in front of the stage.