He loved that f**king truck. It was the shit. Beat up, rusted and totally f**king cool. Aunt Dusty thought the same thing. That was because Aunt Dusty was totally f**king cool too.
The truck had a bench seat. Trucks didn’t have bench seats anymore. That was too bad and he was happy as f**k his did. By the watering hole on The Back Forty, Fin had done Marisa, Julie and Tamara on that bench seat last summer (not all together, obviously). That bench seat was perfect.
He drove his brother to school and did the class gig.
It was at lunch when she made her approach.
He was surprised. Clarisse Haines was a cool customer. Fin had had her in his sights for a while. She was a little young for him but that didn’t mean she wasn’t f**king pretty. She was. Tall, great tits already and her hair and eyes were a-fucking-mazing.
But there was something about her. She was like, aloof or something. Like she was there but she wasn’t. He didn’t know if she didn’t want to be there or if she was in her head or if she just got that she was better than that place and was doing her time.
She totally was better than The ‘Burg. Honest to God, she could be a model. That was how pretty she was. He totally could see her finishing school and going to New York City or somewhere and being in magazines.
And she dressed great.
“Uh, hey Fin,” she said when she got to him and he liked it that she couldn’t meet his eyes.
She was into him.
“Yo, Rees,” he replied and her eyes skittered through his.
Yeah, f**k yeah. She was into him.
He grinned.
“Can we, uh,” her eyes went through his crew at the table around him then came back to him, “talk private?”
“I can talk private with you, Rees,” his friend Dylan said and Fin sliced his eyes to Dylan.
No way was Dyl going to cut into this action. And Dyl was a total player, he’d try.
Dyl caught his look and Dyl knew Fin could wipe the floor with him even though Dyl talked a lot about how awesome his bod was.
When his eyes went back to Clarisse he saw her looking at Dylan like she was trying not to gag and he just stopped himself from bursting out laughing.
What he did do was get up and mutter, “Yeah, let’s go.”
She looked up at him and nodded.
They moved away but Fin turned back to his crew and at least two of them, not surprisingly Dylan being one of them, had their mouths open to say something smart. They caught one look at Fin and closed their mouths.
Fin led her to the hall, through the benches and to the foot of the stairs where there wasn’t anyone close.
“What’s up, Rees?” he asked when he stopped close to her. Close enough to smell something, her perfume or shampoo. Whatever it was, it smelled like berries.
He liked it.
She looked up at him again and said softly, “I’m really sorry about your Dad, Fin.”
That came as a surprise, like a sock to the gut but God, how could it hurt and feel good at the same time?
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“And I don’t wanna, I mean…you gotta have a lot on your mind and everything so I don’t wanna lay more on you,” she went on, the pain subsided and he felt his brows draw together.
“What?” he asked.
“I…well, I think your aunt, her name is Dusty?” This was a question and she stopped there.
“Yeah, I have an Aunt Dusty. What about her?”
“I think…” she hesitated then finished, “she was seein’ my Dad.”
Finley stared at her.
Holy shit.
Holy f**king shit.
God, he knew all about Aunt Dusty and Clarisse’s Dad. Back in the day, his Dad told him, Aunt Dusty and Mr. Haines were tight, like, tighter than Mr. Haines was with his Aunt Debbie and he was dating her (this did not surprise Finley).
Mr. Haines was a friend of his Dad’s. The dude was cool. Fin always liked him. He had that thing going on where he was a Dad, definitely, but he was also a cop and had that cop vibe. Not the strutty ass**le one, the badass, cool guy one, which was awesome. To top that, he was around in a good Dad way. Always at No’s basketball games but not one of those parents who shouted or got up in their kids’ or the coaches’ shit. And he let No have a garage band which was an awesome thing to do. And Fin had seen him walking with his arm around Clarisse’s shoulders and they were always smiling or laughing.
Mr. Haines was like his Dad.
But he also knew that Mr. Haines had been with his Aunt Debbie in high school. This he didn’t get. Then again, he couldn’t imagine anyone with his Aunt Debbie and totally not someone as cool as Mr. Haines. And last, he got the sense his Dad wanted his Aunt Dusty to have a go at Mr. Haines. He was always mentioning him to her when she was around or when they talked on the phone. Too much. It was weird. Aunt Dusty lived in freaking Texas. It wasn’t like she could make an easy play. Still, it seemed Dad was pushing for it. Then again, Dad and Aunt Dusty were tight and Dad liked family around. Even Aunt Debbie. So he’d push something like that to get Aunt Dusty home.
God, this was f**king awesome. If Aunt Dusty was with Mr. Haines, she’d move home and help out.
“They broke up.”
These words came from Clarisse and he focused on her.
“What?” he repeated.
“I don’t know what happened. I…I just heard Dad talkin’ to her once and it seemed all good then I heard him talkin’ to his partner at work and he said it was done.”
Shit.
“I…well,” she turned and pulled her book bag around to her front then dug in it. She came out with some girl-covered books and held them between him and her. “These are your aunt’s. It’s kinda weird, I know, to read them and there’s some bad stuff in them that’s kinda, um…creepy and upsetting. She wrote them a long time ago. She was, well…into my Dad back then and, well, I don’t know what went on but the way she was into him then it makes it sad that they hooked up and then, um…didn’t stay that way.”
Fin stared at the books.
Clarisse kept talking.
“I…I think that, um…well, actually, I know that if she was closer, Dad would, uh…try to get in there again, I mean, uh…with your aunt.” She stopped and Fin’s eyes went to hers so she went on again and fast, her cheeks getting pink. “Sorry. You think this is weird.”
“You’re tryin’ to get them back together?” he asked.
“I know, it’s weird,” she started to step away muttering, “forget it.”