"We’re out in the fucking Hamptons and we’ve got a fucking boat waiting on us." Kaliq was still chewing, "What the fuck is there to think about?"
Brice poured himself more coffee, the pot still warm from whoever had brewed it last, one of the guys already gone. The kitchen had that morning-after look, plates stacked in the sink, a carton of orange juice left out, condensation pooling around the base of it on the marble.
"I told Tati I’d take her to this vineyard thing. Been meaning to do it all mini camp." Esco shrugged.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Kaliq shook his head, "You sure you’ve got enough tampons in that bag?"
Esco ignored him and kept working through his plate of eggs and turkey bacon.
"And you? You gonna be a bitch ass nigga too?" Kaliq turned towards Evan who was leaning on the counter by the fridge, halfway through his apple.
“Flight’s at like one,” Evan said, tapping his phone screen. "I should probably be on my way already honestly."
“This nigga must got some good ass pussy tucked away in Cleveland,” Kaliq said, shaking his head like it was a tragedy. Kaliq turned his head towards Brice.
"Nope."
"Come on, Q!" Kaliq threw his hands up, "I know these bitch ass niggas was gonna let me down but not you too!"
Brice shook his head. “I’m not trying to be on a boat with a bunch of dudes who think they’re Jordan Belfort, bro.”
“Who the fuck is Jordan Belfort bro?"
"You’ve never seen…" Brice cut himself off, "Anyway. You. Boat. A bunch of finance bros. Sounds like a bunch of powder and escorts. That’s a front page TMZ story. I’m good on that."
Kaliq sucked his teeth, waving a hand. “Bro, it’s not even like that. It’s just a few of my guys. Chill vibe. Nothing crazy.”
“And?” Brice said.
“And,” Kaliq said, a grin spreading slow across his face now, “Some lovely ladies."
He cackled at his own delivery. Brice laughed too, shaking his head, sitting back down with his coffee.
…
“So Cooper,” Miles said, keys jangling in his hand as they crossed the parking lot. “Is that like a thing now?"
“I don’t know about all of that. We just hung out a few times." Sophie shrugged.
"And kissed. According to a little birdie."
"Fucking Gen." Sophie shook her head, "She’s kissed damn near half our grade but me kissing Coop is fucking breaking news that everyone needs to hear about. No shade or anything to her. It’s just not that big of a deal."
"But still," Miles shrugged, "Knowing you, it is a big deal."
"I guess. He’s alright. For a guy. Which isn’t saying much." Sophie paused, glancing over, "Well, not you. You don’t count."
Miles forced a smile. "It sounds like it could be a thing then."
Sophie stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “I don’t know. Getting a boyfriend senior year kind of feels dumb when you think about it. We’re all about to go in a hundred different directions in a few months.”
“Not that dumb.”
“Even if it does work out, that means we’re doing the whole long distance thing. That’s not happening. I wouldn’t trust a guy like that. I barely trust the ones standing right in front of me.”
Miles hit the unlock button, the car chirping somewhere ahead of them.
“But then,” she went on, "it’s like, going through this whole four years without ever having had a boyfriend, without going through whatever the fuck that relationships are supposed to teach you about yourself. That feels like it sets you up for something bad later. Like a delayed crash or something.”
“A delayed crash.”
"I don’t know, I kind of want to get it out of the way. Before college."
“Practice round."
“It sounds bad when you say it like that."
She got in on the passenger side, pulling the door shut.
“Well,” Miles said, backing out of the spot, "You can do worse than Cooper."
Sophie laughed.
“Yup,” she said. “I guess I could."
…
Serena held the dress up against the rack, tilting her head.
“This,” she said. “You’d kill in this.”
Tatiana flipped the tag over, laughed once, short, and let it fall back against the fabric. “Yeah, no.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Serena. Baby. That’s a car payment.”
“It’s a nice dress.”
“It’s a dress, baby girl.” Tatiana was already walking, back toward the main path of the store, and Serena let the hanger go, following her out past the registers and into the flow of the mall.
They kept moving, past the window displays, Serena’s bag from the last store bumping against her leg with each step.
“Anyway,” Tatiana said, “I don’t even need to be thinking about gameday outfits yet. Esco’s gotta make the roster first.”
“He’ll make it.”
“Mm.”
“He will,” Serena said again. “He looked good all camp. Everybody’s been saying it.”
Tatiana gave her a look, one eyebrow up, the corner of her mouth pulling sideways. “Esco ain’t Brice, honey.”
Serena didn’t say anything to that.
“Last year,” Tatiana said, “same thing. Preseason, he’s balling out. Making plays. We’re looking at houses, finally ready to get out of that damn extended stay. We make it through cut day, it’s like eight o’clock, finally relaxing. Wake up next morning, they added someone else to the roster. He gets called in. Waived."
They passed a kiosk, a guy trying to catch their eye with some hand lotion sample, and Tatiana waved him off.
“Then he’s on the practice squad,” she went on. “For like three weeks. Then cut from that too. Then back on it a few weeks later. Then one week they activate him for the actual game, I’m in the stands, I’m ready, and he doesn’t even play. Not even special teams. Back to the practice squad the next day.”
“That’s a lot.”
“That’s the bubble.” Tatiana shrugged. “Every week you’re just hoping the phone rings. And also hoping it doesn’t."
Serena nodded along, quiet, the bag still swinging slightly against her leg. She cleared her throat, glancing down at it, then at the other one from earlier, the little brown and gold pattern.
Tatiana caught the look.
“Anyway,” Tatiana said, “We’re doing this vineyard thing tonight. Real white people shit, wine tasting, whatever. Y’all should come.”
“That sounds good,” Serena pushed a smile. “Let me text Brice, see what time he’s getting back.”
…
The marina lights blurred against the dark water, and the deck swayed under his feet even after they’d tied off. Brice’s skin felt tight everywhere the sun had gotten him, forearms, back of the neck, the bridge of his nose. He touched it once, winced, kept moving.
Guys were already peeling off in every direction. A couple of Kaliq’s friends slapped hands, making plans for tomorrow that none of them were going to remember by the morning. Cars idled along the lot, headlights cutting across gravel, doors opening and closing.
The girls were still there. Three of them, clustered near the gangway, one of them barefoot with her heels dangling from two fingers.
“Stace got a table at Marquee,” the one in the green dress said, looking between Brice and Kaliq, "Unless y’all ready to call it a night. We ain’t."
“You ain’t said nothing but a word, baby girl.” Kaliq said, nodding along.
One of the girls made eye contact with Brice. He nodded too, pulling his phone out. "I’ll get you guys a car. We’ll meet you there.”
The Uber pulled up within a few minutes. The girls piled in, laughing about something already,
Brice walked to his Mercedes E63 with Kaliq trailing a step behind, weaving just slightly, enough that Brice reached out and steadied him by the shoulder.
“I’m good, I’m good,” Kaliq said, shrugging him off, dropping into the passenger seat.
Brice pulled out of the lot, gravel crunching under the tires, the marina shrinking in the mirror.
“Bro,” Kaliq said, head already tipped back against the headrest. “That one girl. Green dress.”
“Yeah.”
“That pussy was like Little Caesars, bro.” He laughed at himself, eyes closed. “Hot and ready. I felt that shit through my fucking pants when she sat on me.”
Brice kept his eyes on the road, one hand loose on the wheel.
“I almost took her down to the cabin,” Kaliq went on, laughing harder now. “Fuck that bitch right there in front of everybody. I don’t give a fuck, bro. Some real nigga shit."
Kaliq cackled, slapping the dashboard once, and then it trailed off into something quieter, his head rolling toward the window.
Brice merged onto the highway. The music was off. Just the hum of the tires and Kaliq’s breathing evening out beside him, slower, then slower again, until his mouth fell open and he was gone.
By the time they hit the tunnel, Kaliq hadn’t moved. Brice glanced over once, the orange tunnel lights sliding across Kaliq’s slack face, and then looked back at the road.
His head cleared a little more with every mile. The sunburn still stung along his shoulders, and there was a dull throb starting behind his eyes.
The roads thinned out once they crossed into Jersey. Fewer headlights, fewer taillights, just long stretches of dark broken up by streetlamps and the green highway signs ticking off exits he knew by memory now.
Kaliq stirred somewhere past Secaucus, blinking against nothing, pushing himself up in the seat.
“Where the fuck are we,” he mumbled, squinting out the window at the trees crowding the shoulder, the office parks set back off the road, dark and empty.
Kaliq looked at Brice, looked back out the window, and said something Brice couldn’t make out, half the words swallowed before they made it all the way out of his mouth. Then his head dropped back against the headrest and he was out again, like he’d never woken up at all.
Brice shook his head, a small laugh escaping him, and kept driving.
