Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Foolish Games ( Chapter 35 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Max has the tables turned on him; Jake and Quatre have an understanding...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 6.3K | Visits: 243 | Status: Completed
Max has the tables turned on him; Jake and Quatre have an understanding...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 6.3K | Visits: 243 | Status: Completed
Chapter Thirty-Five:
“Foolish Games” Jewel
Max cleared his throat, clearing the last step to the fifth level of the dormitory. He was supposed to have met Felicia ten minutes ago, but he knew the rules about girls–one should never arrive on time because the girls were never ready. So he had taken his time in showering and dressing, and had even ventured onto the first level of the building to get some peace-keeping candy–he had discovered, quite by accident, that Felicia was more willing to accept him if he had candy on hand. So, Skittles in hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, he ventured toward her door, wondering if she would even take flowers.
She wasn’t the rose and expensive flower type–she was more daisies and sunflowers. Daisies because they were pretty being who and what they were, and sunflowers because they, to him, represented sunniness and cheer. She was pretty, inside and out. She may have a mouth that would scare sailors away, but she was really a caring individual that was fiercely protective and loving of her friends. He wanted to be part of that. He wanted to get to know the real her, and not this masked person that refused to go soft because people might make fun of her, thinking she was more than she actually was.
He had just passed four guys that were grumbling amongst each other, carrying cases and dress suits when they passed him, one of them doing a double take.
He heard the usual sound of bodies hitting the floor and slamming into walls, and someone even managed to take a diver down the steps. There was coughing and cursing, and someone stumbled against another; cases flew; shoes scattered about. He ignored this, reaching up to adjust his open collar, and approached her door. He lifted his hand to knock when he found himself bodily hauled away from the door and slammed against the opposite wall.
“I’ve word of advice for you, buddy,” the guy snarled, his white-blond hair frazzling in all directions atop of his head. Max found his attention riveted to the lip piercing that seemed to glitter with each movement of his lips. “You go and hurt this young, manly, future lesbian, and I’ll make it so that you’ll never EVER think with your dick again!...And...uh...you look very nice. How old are you? Do you like older men?”
“And, if that doesn’t work,” the other one growled, shoving the first away with a savage kick. His pitch black hair bobbed in his eyes as he held Max’s shirt within both fists, “I’m going to pick you up and force you to make your acquaintance with all the sex hungry prison shits on F4, after I castrate you and afix that appendage to your damn forehead!”
“Ur...who are you?” Max managed to ask.
“None of your damn business.”
He was then released, rather roughly, as both of them stood back and stared down at him with venomous glares. Well, one of them shifted to a lusty leer. But he couldn’t take them seriously–they were older than he by apparent looks, but their mannerisms and the way they carried themselves pitted a different opinion.
Then they both cringed at the same time, and tore down the hall, racing like little kids toward the stairway. The two men they’d left behind picked up the cases and dress suits with a grumbling haste, turning to race after them. Max stared after them in bewildered shock, unsure of what had just happened and why it had. Then he turned, straightening his clothes, and prepared to approach Felicia’s door once more.
But he had to pause, his breath halted with a noiseless gasp.
Felicia lifted an eyebrow, staring at him as she stood outside her door, carelessly twirling a white clutch around her wrist. Her hair was loose, but fluttered around her face and shoulders in careless waves, much of which left him wondering if she’d just tumbled out of bed–in a fashionable way, of course. And she was wearing a dress----it wasn’t a dress, per se, but more rather a slip that should be covered immediately with something incredibly modest–like a blanket, perhaps. It was a mixture of green and blue, and should have been considered a hankie or a scarf from the way it covered her short frame. The single-spaghetti straps were mere threads that clung to her toned shoulders, looking hardly able to hold up two slips of greenish cloth that managed to somehow cover both breasts–of which were visible with obvious curves and jiggling movement whenever she happened to shift. These strips of cloth encircled her upper frame, but allowed a generous open vee from her collarbone to her diaphragm. The rest was just a fleeting amount of cloth that just barely danced across the middle of her thighs in a flutter of color and gossamer material. Her toned, short legs were accentuated with a pair of black shoes that should have been featured in a Fetish magazine. From her ears dangled long drips of diamonds. Her eyes were smoky and promising, and her lips were glossy and slightly pink.
This was Angelina Jolie incarnated into a shorter frame.
“I was ready twenty minutes ago,” she said with a frown. “Haven’t you realized that I ain’t like the other girls, an’ don’t need th’ whole day just to get ready?”
For several long moments, Max couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind was simply blank by the sight before him. He’d seen how the other girls were dressed–in long gowns with trains and silky material that classily draped their girlish frames, but this–this wasn’t a dress! It was...it was something else entirely!
He worked his mouth, but he couldn’t find his voice, nor even think of what he wanted to say. So, instead of saying anything, he thrust the flowers at her. One eyebrow rose in coquettish fashion as heavily made eyes took in the daisies and sunflowers.
“So...plain...”
Oh, God, this was a challenge. Something that he’d known before hand that she’d say. And he knew what he wanted to say, and knew how to say it–! But all he could think of was how smooth her skin looked, how tanned, how utterly supple her female curves were–!
Felicia curved her lips into a smug smile, seeing that Max was still at a loss for things to say. Things were going rather well–the court was all hers to master...
She took the flowers, examining them with a careless eye–but she was ready to call Dallas back and ask him how to dry them so that she could save them–how did the guy know she loved these two flowers? She opened her door, disappearing briefly to set the bouquet aside (rather lovingly on top of her vanity set) and reappeared to see Max still in that same state she left him.
She paused, deliberately taking her time to look at him and his state of wear. He’d gone casual, which was surprising–she’d expected a stiff tux and rose tucked in a lapel. No, this guy was wearing a very dark blue button up shirt, the collar splayed open and displaying the straight lines of his collarbone. It was tucked quite loosely into a pair of black dress pants that hung very low on his hips, the belt doing nothing but being there to look fashionable, rather than working its actual cause. Instead of the usual dress shoes, he wore a pair of black Allen Iversons with the shoelaces undone and tucked behind the tongue. She suppressed the urge to drool, and had to swallow quickly. She couldn’t let him win this round looking that delicious...
She smiled up at him, taking his arm within hers, and started dragging him with her. Inside, she was laughing hysterically, slapping at her knee and snorting and snotting with glee–but outside, she was cool and composed, a man-eater that threatened to bite (gently if needed) if a guy tried to regain control. She was confident, strong, utterly sensual! There was nothing in this world that could cause this moment to disappear, not even Quatre Winner as he left his room, turning to look at them with a bored expression, shower toiletries in hand.
She stopped before him, smirking once more as his jaw dropped, and he looked–really looked–at her once more. His gaze roamed from her hair to her feet, and she lifted an eyebrow for a comment. Something that would cause her to spring forth with her zany personality once more.
But he merely stepped aside, eyes wide and mouth open. She whisked by him, dragging Max along behind her. She had to laugh, though, as she descended the stairs. She wondered if Quatre even knew that it was her...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
It was nearly after ten when Quatre persuaded the security guards at the gate that he’d be back before eleven-thirty. Jake had called him earlier, and said that he’d meet him at a nearby restaurant after he finished his business with Celia’s parents, both of whom lived in the east section of New Park. It was a fifteen minute route by bus, and he didn’t mind taking it. He had nothing to do, and thinking about his future had been impossibly hard to concentrate on when he was treated to the immense silence of the dorm building. Usually, he’d been able to hear the sounds of the other students outside his door, but it seemed that everyone was attending the dance. He had been so down that he was alone, that he had readily agreed when Jake suggested that they get something to eat.
Denny’s wasn’t that crowded for this night–he found Jake easily when he walked in. It was suspiciously quiet and odd without Michael being there–he felt weird as he sat across from the other boy, who was moping over a half filled Coke glass.
For awhile, neither of them said anything–they made their orders, and they watched people come and go. It wasn’t until he’d started into his Breakfast Grand Slam when Jake finally began talking.
“You know, your game wasn’t the same as it was last year...”
Quatre snorted, pushing his plate aside. He’d eaten half of everything, but his stomach was grumbling for more. Habit insisted, though, and he fiddled with his orange juice while the nimble waitress took his half full plate away.
“That’s what Ramos said...I don’t know. I kinda noticed that things were different this year. It’s like it isn’t as important.”
Jake raised an eyebrow as he poured ketchup onto his steak. He glanced at the other boy, then at the lack of a plate before him. “You’re pushing yourself harder than you should have been. How much do you weigh?”
“I don’t know...last physical I had was–you know what? That was a total girl question to ask.”
“And you were about answering it. No. Seriously...how much?”
Quatre shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. One thirty. That was about a month or so ago, though, so–”
“You added inches since then. That could be why you’ve slowed down a lot. Does your coach have you guys weight-train? Take nutrition classes?”
“Yeah...we do that with one of the assistant coaches about three days a week...plus, I have weight-training classes instead of P.E., so...it isn’t that.”
“You’re not right, man. That’s why you slowed down. You’re five-ten, now. You should be weighing twenty pounds more than what you do now, especially if you’re in this sport. The reason why everyone was slamming you around was because you don’t look so tough–our Abbie is shorter than you are, but she weighs more. More muscle mass equals more power–and you don’t have it. You need to gain weight to do better on court.”
Quatre stared at him in disgust, then stubbornly set his jaw. “Whatever. GOD! What is it with you people? First, someone’s telling me I need to lose weight. Then you’re telling me to gain weight–!”
“Who told you to lose weight?” Jake asked incredulously, lowering his fork. “Look at you! Last year, you were completely healthy for someone your size. Now, it’s like–someone’s lucky you’ve got meat on your arms when they bump into you. It’s really unhealthy! You’re an athlete, for fuck’s sake! Wait a minute...your ex told you to lose weight, didn’t he?”
“Well...over the summer, I did gain over...uh...twenty pounds...”
“It was there because you were going to add inches to your height. GOD. You fucking rich kids piss me off, sometimes. It’s all about image to the lot of you! Who cares if you don’t weigh this much and look like that? An athlete needs mass, and you aren’t getting anywhere looking like that! Most scouts would cringe at the thought of recruiting you,” Jake muttered, shaking his head. “Gain weight. You have enough muscle, but you don’t have the mass.”
Quatre clenched his fingers into a fist, and stared at him with a murderous expression. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. I’ve been playing fine. If you’re so fucking concerned with the way I look–”
“I’m telling you this because you’re slacking in your game!” Jake snapped at him. “You had the numbers racked up on your profile all last year, even with the trouble you were having on your team! Your numbers dropped this year, Quatre, and it isn’t because you have better players on your team–it’s because your body’s giving out because you decided to go skeleton.”
“FUCK! Why do you people think you have the right to tell me what I should or should not be doing?” Quatre cried, hitting the table, ignoring the stares coming their way. “I have one person telling me I’m fucking fat; I have another person telling me I’m not good enough for academics; I have another shit head telling me that I wasn’t good enough for my ex; and I have you telling me that I need to fucking gain weight! Can’t you people just let me do my own thing without having to say shit about what I need or have to be doing? Can’t I figure this shit out on my fucking own and be happy with things? GOD!”
Jake stared at him in silence for several moments, then continued eating. Quatre frowned, watching as the older boy silently continued to slice through the rest of his steak, everything else either finished completely or mostly gone. He relaxed his shoulders, aware that they were completely tense.
He glanced at the others that were dining in the same room, embarrassed at his own outburst. He focused on the clean table space before him, anxiously running his thumb over the edge of the table.
Jake took his time in eating, ignoring Quatre while he concentrated on this task. When he finished, politely requesting a refill with his Coke, Quatre let out a quiet sigh, slumping in his seat.
“Did that feel better?” Jake then asked, lifting both eyebrows as he looked at the blond across from him. “It seemed like you were holding a lot of things in.”
“I...yeah. I suppose.”
“The only reason why I was telling you that, Quatre, was because no one else was. You’re too skinny for such a high-profile position on the court. You’re going to be facing men that are stronger and taller than you in college ball, and you can’t go to college looking like that. You’ll be destroyed before even setting foot near their gym.”
“I don’t need you telling me what I should be looking like.”
Jake quieted, then gave Quatre a fierce stare, one that made the blond suddenly feel as if he should be rolling onto the floor and kicking his legs out like Michael had earlier this evening.
“I’m only saying, Winner,” he stressed, rather sarcastically, “that you’re not going to go far if you continue like this.”
“I’m not going to continue anything,” Quatre muttered, slouching further in his seat. There was just something completely paternal about the way Jake was staring him down. It made him feel sulky and whiny just to try and defend himself. “I’m moving back to Wyoming.”
“I know. I was there to hear that. So...are you going to keep playing ball, or give up?”
“I ain’t giving up on anything, I’m just saying–!”
“Why don’t you start talking your age? I feel like I’m talking to Michael, and it’s creeping me out,” Jake complained, leaning back in his seat as the waitress came back, having refilled both their glasses.
Quatre straightened in his seat, thanking the woman before she left. He looked back at Jake. “I’m just saying, I don’t know if I’ll be able to play ball in Laramie. Politics. Simple as that. As small as that place is compared to this giant fuckhole, I’ll be lucky if they let me back into high school.”
“‘Politics’?”
“Familie s. It’s all about the families, and who you know. And...uh, gays aren’t as easily accepted over there as they are over here. It’ll be completely different.”
“All the more reason to bulk up.”
“I know, just...I hate it when people tell me what I should be doing.”
“When people are doing that just to piss you off and looking to get something out of you, yes, it can be annoying. But I’m actually trying to help you out. This is my last year–I finally have enough credits to graduate, and I already have people talking to me about scholarships and grants. I want to play for NPU–the thought of leaving the city gives me the creeps. I’ve lived here all my life, and I don’t plan on uprooting everything that I’ve had to work hard for just for some two year stint across the States,” Jake grumbled, leaning on the table and glaring at his plate. “And I don’t want people making the same mistakes as I did. Everyone has a really good chance of getting far in life–but all it takes is one stupid mistake to mess it all up. No one takes me seriously because they think it won’t happen to them. But it can. Anything can. I’m just...trying to push you to do your best, Winner, and don’t get caught up in the stupidity of things around you. You’re getting caught up in things, and you have so much potential to do better and get far in life, and you’re fucking it up over some stupid drag queen and stupider ideals he sets on you...”
Quatre snorted, glaring at the bench seat he sat on. The waitress came by, quietly asking if they wanted any dessert. At the simple request for coffee, she left to get some.
Jake leaned back in his seat once more, slumping tiredly as he looked at Quatre once more.
With a light snort, he commented, “If that lip sticks out any further, she’ll be pouring my coffee into your mouth.”
“Shut up. Don’t you have something to do? Like get a life?”
Jake chuckled as the waitress returned, filling up a cup for him, and leaving the check on the table. “You’re such a baby, Winner. Someone comes down hard on you an’ you sit there an’ cry about it instead of doing something about it.”
“You don’t fucking know me,” Quatre said angrily. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through! Yeah, we talk and shit like that, but you don’t know me, so stop acting like you do!”
Jake held his hands up in surrender, and doctored his coffee. Quatre sullenly watched the actions of the older boy, slumping even lower in his seat. His head was just barely level with the table, and Jake glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow. Under the table, he kicked the other boy’s shin, causing him to yowl, straightening in his seat.
Amid the curses of pain and promises of revenge, Jake said, “You know what? You’re luckier than most. You’ve got an auntie and an uncle that loves you very much, and would sacrifice a lot for you without any question or regard for their own agenda. You’ve got friends that watch out for you and would sacrifice their own comforts just to make sure that you’re happy. You’ve got a very promising career in basketball, and you’ve got...well...I would say good looks, but you’d think I was hitting on you.”
“Eat shit and die...”
“You’ve got it all, Winner. What’s it going to take for you to realize it, and for you to grab a hold of it?” Jake asked quietly, frowning as he lifted his coffee. “You don’t have kids...you don’t have to support yourself. You don’t even have to worry about any bills–in fact, the only one you really have is that cellphone of yours, and your ex handles that...”
Quatre wondered how Jake knew that, and immediately thought of Felicia. Christ–get that girl’s mouth flapping, and she’ll tell a person just how many hairs he had in his nose. He wondered where she was–she had to have gone to a party or something without telling him. Maybe meeting a secret boyfriend (girlfriend?) after the game.
Then he looked back at the other boy, and finally noted the exhaustion that was slowly causing the boy to slump his once confident shoulders. In fact, looking the way he did, Jake did not look like the arrogant, smirking prick that he’d met on court hours earlier. He just looked...exhausted. Worn. And completely defeated, as if things had been much too hard on him for the longest time.
It was hard seeing him that way–Quatre was just used to that cocky expression and rigid arrogance, that it was difficult seeing him any other way. He pulled in his bottom lip to worry it briefly, then sat up straight. He fiddled with the napkin dispenser and ketchup bottle.
“Look...sorry,” he grumbled. “I...I had a...I don’t know. Things are just weird right now, and I really don’t want to go back to Laramie. I want to stay here. I made so many friends here, and experienced a lot of things, and I feel much more comfortable here. Going back there’s going to totally suck, and...I’m not coping well with it.”
“Instead of moping around about it, why don’t you try having as much fun as you possibly can before you have to go back?” Jake suggested, a little annoyed about it. “Why waste the time crying and whining around about it when you could be–doing stuff? God...kids these days...”
“Like you’re so fuckin’ old! You’re not even...old.”
“I’m twenty years old, Quatre. But after all the shit I did, I feel like I’m thirty. It’s hard trying to fit in with people my age because they haven’t gone through what I have. I don’t fit in anywhere. My classmates think I’m stuck up and a fuck up for having a kid. The guys at the garage think I’m pathetic because I’m not out and about like they are, and drinking up the hours in between work. Because of a stupid choice I’d made with Celia over four–actually, six years ago, people have already decided that I’m going to fail in life. That I’ll turn to welfare and use social security to buy drugs, and have my kid taken away because I’d be too focused on myself. There are times when I want to give up, and just let those people be right. But then, my son will be taken away, and I’d be a failure to him. I’d be giving those people what they wanted. I don’t want to see other people making the same mistakes as I did, Winner, and that’s why I’m trying to talk to you. You’re letting things go because of a few petty mistakes–boyfriends...come and go. No pun. If one broke your heart, don’t let it pull you all the way down–it ain’t a tragedy. There are more important things out there that deserve a lot more consideration. Take a step back and look at those things.
“The reason why I got on your ass about your weight is because I overheard a couple of scouts for NPU and Syracuse consider you for their list your senior year...but they weren’t going to go through with it because you look like someone that doesn’t take his position seriously. They saw the potential and the chance. They will find programs to help you with your grades. They will get you places. But on the court, you looked like shit. I was trying to get you to realize this and step up your game.”
Quatre stopped picking at the edge of the table, shifting his sullen expression to the older boy across the table. He swallowed, straightening once more in his seat as he considered these words of wisdom. Really, it was quite odd that someone saw so much in him, especially considering all the shit-talking people did about him. Listening to them and experiencing all that he had was pulling him down, and in the resulting effort, his future was being affected.
He snorted, shaking his head as he leaned onto the table. Poking at the condensation on his orange juice glass, he said, “Well, it’s really cool that you decided on taking a charity case when you’re so obviously fucked.”
Jake chuckled, shaking his head as he sipped at his coffee. Peering at Quatre over the rim of his cup, he had to roll his eyes and hope that Michael did NOT turn out like this teen when he reached the age of seventeen.
“But...I don’t know. You said a lot of things that were really truthful and inspiring, but...we’re different people. What may be a crisis to you will be a bundle of laughs for me. Same to you. And I truly see what you’re saying, so–” Quatre began, cracking his knuckles as he spoke.
“So you’re going to let your ex-makeup toy decide what’s best for you, instead of you deciding what’s best for you? Goddamn it, Winner! I let Celia dictate the same shit, and look where we ended up!” Jake snapped, slamming his coffee cup down. “I wanted to impress her. I wanted her to be happy with what I was doing. I basically shit all over myself just to make her happy, and everything that I did–getting a job, supporting her and Michael and myself–was just shit to her. You’re not going to please someone like him, Quatre, and you’re fucking over your future for him! I’ll bet, even at this fucking moment, you’re wondering what he’s doing and what he’ll think of you if you come groveling to him tomorrow morning, seeking his approval for your actions tonight....! Am I right?”
Quatre let his flushed face speak for him, and Jake looked at him in disgust. For a few moments, both of them were silent, then the older boy got tired of the whole situation, and took out his wallet. Quatre watched sullenly as two twenties were slapped onto the table, and Jake put his wallet away, still looking at him in disgust.
“You know, people like you ought to be shot,” he began, his voice dripping with dislike. His city accent was suddenly more pronounced the angrier he got, almost making it difficult for Quatre to understand him. It was similar to Felicia’s way of speech, because once the girl got going on something that roiled her emotionally, her words grew even more stunted and her drawl was more pronounced. So he furrowed his brow with concentration as he tried to discern what Jake was saying. “Ya’ll have all this shit comin’ ta ya, an’ you do nothin’ but pout around an’ fuckin’ get all fuckin’ teary-eyed over the stupidest shit. I’m not gonna spend all my fuckin’ free time tryin’ to get’cha ta see what the fuck yer doin’ to yerself. Fuck this bullshit. Mope an’ cry around about it, then talk ta me when ya’ll find yerself mopin’ around in a fuckin’ rental in the ghetto with some make-up wearin’ junkie...”
“Hey, look, I was just–! Things are different! You and I see things differently, and things just aren’t going to be the same when–!”
But Quatre was speaking to Jake’s back as the older boy got up from the table, and left, angrily stomping out the restaurant. The blond sighed, and hung his head back, slumping in his seat as he clapped his hands over his face.
“Why do people get so mad at me all the time?” he wondered out loud, the waitress hurrying over to start clearing the table.
“Honey, don’t even worry about him,” she said, taking the money and winking. “He’s a good boy. He’s just tired. He’ll forgive ya in the morning. They always do.”
“We’re not a couple,” he muttered, catching the implication of her words.
“Could have fooled me. I’ll be back with ya’ll’s change...”
“WE’RE NOT A COUPLE!” he bellowed after her, startling several diners.
An older couple gasped and whispered amongst themselves in scandalous design, looking at him differently. He turned to glare at them, and slumped in his seat once more. When she returned to his booth, handing him the change, she winked and sashayed off, cheerfully greeting new customers.
He looked at the fourteen dollars in change, then curled his fingers around it. He was just wondering what he was going to do with it when Max wandered around the corner, looking dazed. Quatre performed a double-take on the gorgeous beauty, who somehow recognized him in his state of mind.
“Oh...hello, Quatre!” Max greeted, sliding into the seat across from him.
Quatre stared blankly at him, rendered speechless by the guy’s good looks. It was impossible to think when he could see the tan, smooth skin of Max’s collarbone and chest, the way his neck flexed with movement as he scooted to the window at a sudden decision. He smelled deliciously good–of cologne and sweat, and Quatre felt uncomfortable as he had to slouch lower in his seat for a better fit of his suddenly tight pants.
He was just about to ask what he was doing there when that girl from earlier swept around the corner, looking scarily determined–and familiar. He watched with shock as she shoved Jake back into his seat next to Max, and plopped down into his seat.
She grinned at him, awkwardly shifting her green hankie that pretended to serve as a dress. “Hey, sex toy. What’s up?”
“...Do I know you?”
“Hi, my name’s Max Sheridan,” the newbie said to Jake, who performed a double-take in his direction. “I go to school with these two...your name is?”
The waitress returned, raising her eyebrows in question as she saw the new additions. She then looked a little annoyed at the girl that was currently causing waiters to fumble with their orders and for the cooks to peek out from over the counter.
“Your order?” she asked frostily, looking over at Max, and dropping her pad and pen.
In her haste to pick things up, she dumped Quatre’s orange juice and spilled Jake’s coffee, both liquids spilling over the counter top, causing all four to scurry out of the path. Several very quick waiters were there to wipe up the mess, all of them fumbling over each other to look at Felicia. She groaned in disappointment when she realized she had to bend down to pick up her dropped clutch from the floor.
After the chaos had ceased, and Max and Felicia’s orders were being processed, Jake looked at Felicia with a disgusted scowl, and took off his over shirt. He had been wearing the shirt over a plain white teen and jeans, and when he took off the over shirt, Max was checking him out from his position next to him. Years of playing ball, eating as healthily as he could and working had given him a pretty manly figure that had anyone checking him out on frame alone.
Felicia snickered at the sight of Max checking out her friend, and thought a very brief, kinky fantasy concerning those two boys. Then she had to stop on that thought–she knew Jake for far too long, and he was more like a brother to her than anything else. Though...she could imagine things with his back turned in her fantasies, hiding his face–then she realized her ‘brother’ was talking to her with an irritated tone.
“You put that shit on right now, you hussy, and if you argue with me about it, I’ll tell these guys what you did with that guy–”
“Tell them in full detail, cuz I ain’t putting on shit–”
“–when you were both in Nordstorm’s in the menswear section, and that salesman thought you were a–”
Felicia hurriedly put on the over shirt, and there were numerous groans of disappointment from the kitchen area. She glanced over, muttering about a multiple gay orgy that she was missing out on while Max gave a slump of his shoulders in letdown.
Jake looked over at Quatre, and shrugged with a stiff movement. “Sorry. I’m a little tired. I didn’t mean to go off like that...”
Quatre gave an answering tilt of his own shoulders. “It’s all right. I deserve it, anyway. Sometimes I do focus in on my problems like they were the biggest thing, and they really aren’t. You’re right, though–I do need to do things differently. And think differently.”
Felicia raised her eyebrows in response to this new scene, but she didn’t say anything. She was too busy letting her toes do the talking to someone’s leg under the table. From the look on Max’s face, she had picked the right limb to play with, and she was having fun. Too much fun.
The waitress came by with their drinks, and asked the previous two if they were going to order anything more. When Jake shrugged and asked for another Coke, Quatre straightened in his seat, and decided to do what the older boy suggested–after all, he should be enjoying his time rather than mope around about it. What was the point of moping at this point? He agreed to the order, and sat back in his seat, to enjoy the company of his friends.
Who knew? It could have been his last...
“Man, Quat, ya’ll should’ve seen the losers there! I mean, it was like–”
“FELICIA?”
Max and Jake sighed in exasperation as Quatre finally realized that he did indeed know this girl, giving her a disbelieving expression while she scowled pointedly at him. He turned in his seat to kick at her when she grabbed his foot and wrestled it back to the floor, growling, “I’m sexy right now, and I’d appreciate it if ya’ll didn’t act so damn normal around me! I’m a sexy beast! Treat me like one!”
“Like HELL! Get off my seat!”
“No! Listen to me! I can convert you in this outfit alone!”
“You take that shirt off, and I’ll tell them, Felicia!”
“So, Jake...how old are you?”
“Foolish Games” Jewel
Max cleared his throat, clearing the last step to the fifth level of the dormitory. He was supposed to have met Felicia ten minutes ago, but he knew the rules about girls–one should never arrive on time because the girls were never ready. So he had taken his time in showering and dressing, and had even ventured onto the first level of the building to get some peace-keeping candy–he had discovered, quite by accident, that Felicia was more willing to accept him if he had candy on hand. So, Skittles in hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, he ventured toward her door, wondering if she would even take flowers.
She wasn’t the rose and expensive flower type–she was more daisies and sunflowers. Daisies because they were pretty being who and what they were, and sunflowers because they, to him, represented sunniness and cheer. She was pretty, inside and out. She may have a mouth that would scare sailors away, but she was really a caring individual that was fiercely protective and loving of her friends. He wanted to be part of that. He wanted to get to know the real her, and not this masked person that refused to go soft because people might make fun of her, thinking she was more than she actually was.
He had just passed four guys that were grumbling amongst each other, carrying cases and dress suits when they passed him, one of them doing a double take.
He heard the usual sound of bodies hitting the floor and slamming into walls, and someone even managed to take a diver down the steps. There was coughing and cursing, and someone stumbled against another; cases flew; shoes scattered about. He ignored this, reaching up to adjust his open collar, and approached her door. He lifted his hand to knock when he found himself bodily hauled away from the door and slammed against the opposite wall.
“I’ve word of advice for you, buddy,” the guy snarled, his white-blond hair frazzling in all directions atop of his head. Max found his attention riveted to the lip piercing that seemed to glitter with each movement of his lips. “You go and hurt this young, manly, future lesbian, and I’ll make it so that you’ll never EVER think with your dick again!...And...uh...you look very nice. How old are you? Do you like older men?”
“And, if that doesn’t work,” the other one growled, shoving the first away with a savage kick. His pitch black hair bobbed in his eyes as he held Max’s shirt within both fists, “I’m going to pick you up and force you to make your acquaintance with all the sex hungry prison shits on F4, after I castrate you and afix that appendage to your damn forehead!”
“Ur...who are you?” Max managed to ask.
“None of your damn business.”
He was then released, rather roughly, as both of them stood back and stared down at him with venomous glares. Well, one of them shifted to a lusty leer. But he couldn’t take them seriously–they were older than he by apparent looks, but their mannerisms and the way they carried themselves pitted a different opinion.
Then they both cringed at the same time, and tore down the hall, racing like little kids toward the stairway. The two men they’d left behind picked up the cases and dress suits with a grumbling haste, turning to race after them. Max stared after them in bewildered shock, unsure of what had just happened and why it had. Then he turned, straightening his clothes, and prepared to approach Felicia’s door once more.
But he had to pause, his breath halted with a noiseless gasp.
Felicia lifted an eyebrow, staring at him as she stood outside her door, carelessly twirling a white clutch around her wrist. Her hair was loose, but fluttered around her face and shoulders in careless waves, much of which left him wondering if she’d just tumbled out of bed–in a fashionable way, of course. And she was wearing a dress----it wasn’t a dress, per se, but more rather a slip that should be covered immediately with something incredibly modest–like a blanket, perhaps. It was a mixture of green and blue, and should have been considered a hankie or a scarf from the way it covered her short frame. The single-spaghetti straps were mere threads that clung to her toned shoulders, looking hardly able to hold up two slips of greenish cloth that managed to somehow cover both breasts–of which were visible with obvious curves and jiggling movement whenever she happened to shift. These strips of cloth encircled her upper frame, but allowed a generous open vee from her collarbone to her diaphragm. The rest was just a fleeting amount of cloth that just barely danced across the middle of her thighs in a flutter of color and gossamer material. Her toned, short legs were accentuated with a pair of black shoes that should have been featured in a Fetish magazine. From her ears dangled long drips of diamonds. Her eyes were smoky and promising, and her lips were glossy and slightly pink.
This was Angelina Jolie incarnated into a shorter frame.
“I was ready twenty minutes ago,” she said with a frown. “Haven’t you realized that I ain’t like the other girls, an’ don’t need th’ whole day just to get ready?”
For several long moments, Max couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind was simply blank by the sight before him. He’d seen how the other girls were dressed–in long gowns with trains and silky material that classily draped their girlish frames, but this–this wasn’t a dress! It was...it was something else entirely!
He worked his mouth, but he couldn’t find his voice, nor even think of what he wanted to say. So, instead of saying anything, he thrust the flowers at her. One eyebrow rose in coquettish fashion as heavily made eyes took in the daisies and sunflowers.
“So...plain...”
Oh, God, this was a challenge. Something that he’d known before hand that she’d say. And he knew what he wanted to say, and knew how to say it–! But all he could think of was how smooth her skin looked, how tanned, how utterly supple her female curves were–!
Felicia curved her lips into a smug smile, seeing that Max was still at a loss for things to say. Things were going rather well–the court was all hers to master...
She took the flowers, examining them with a careless eye–but she was ready to call Dallas back and ask him how to dry them so that she could save them–how did the guy know she loved these two flowers? She opened her door, disappearing briefly to set the bouquet aside (rather lovingly on top of her vanity set) and reappeared to see Max still in that same state she left him.
She paused, deliberately taking her time to look at him and his state of wear. He’d gone casual, which was surprising–she’d expected a stiff tux and rose tucked in a lapel. No, this guy was wearing a very dark blue button up shirt, the collar splayed open and displaying the straight lines of his collarbone. It was tucked quite loosely into a pair of black dress pants that hung very low on his hips, the belt doing nothing but being there to look fashionable, rather than working its actual cause. Instead of the usual dress shoes, he wore a pair of black Allen Iversons with the shoelaces undone and tucked behind the tongue. She suppressed the urge to drool, and had to swallow quickly. She couldn’t let him win this round looking that delicious...
She smiled up at him, taking his arm within hers, and started dragging him with her. Inside, she was laughing hysterically, slapping at her knee and snorting and snotting with glee–but outside, she was cool and composed, a man-eater that threatened to bite (gently if needed) if a guy tried to regain control. She was confident, strong, utterly sensual! There was nothing in this world that could cause this moment to disappear, not even Quatre Winner as he left his room, turning to look at them with a bored expression, shower toiletries in hand.
She stopped before him, smirking once more as his jaw dropped, and he looked–really looked–at her once more. His gaze roamed from her hair to her feet, and she lifted an eyebrow for a comment. Something that would cause her to spring forth with her zany personality once more.
But he merely stepped aside, eyes wide and mouth open. She whisked by him, dragging Max along behind her. She had to laugh, though, as she descended the stairs. She wondered if Quatre even knew that it was her...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
It was nearly after ten when Quatre persuaded the security guards at the gate that he’d be back before eleven-thirty. Jake had called him earlier, and said that he’d meet him at a nearby restaurant after he finished his business with Celia’s parents, both of whom lived in the east section of New Park. It was a fifteen minute route by bus, and he didn’t mind taking it. He had nothing to do, and thinking about his future had been impossibly hard to concentrate on when he was treated to the immense silence of the dorm building. Usually, he’d been able to hear the sounds of the other students outside his door, but it seemed that everyone was attending the dance. He had been so down that he was alone, that he had readily agreed when Jake suggested that they get something to eat.
Denny’s wasn’t that crowded for this night–he found Jake easily when he walked in. It was suspiciously quiet and odd without Michael being there–he felt weird as he sat across from the other boy, who was moping over a half filled Coke glass.
For awhile, neither of them said anything–they made their orders, and they watched people come and go. It wasn’t until he’d started into his Breakfast Grand Slam when Jake finally began talking.
“You know, your game wasn’t the same as it was last year...”
Quatre snorted, pushing his plate aside. He’d eaten half of everything, but his stomach was grumbling for more. Habit insisted, though, and he fiddled with his orange juice while the nimble waitress took his half full plate away.
“That’s what Ramos said...I don’t know. I kinda noticed that things were different this year. It’s like it isn’t as important.”
Jake raised an eyebrow as he poured ketchup onto his steak. He glanced at the other boy, then at the lack of a plate before him. “You’re pushing yourself harder than you should have been. How much do you weigh?”
“I don’t know...last physical I had was–you know what? That was a total girl question to ask.”
“And you were about answering it. No. Seriously...how much?”
Quatre shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. One thirty. That was about a month or so ago, though, so–”
“You added inches since then. That could be why you’ve slowed down a lot. Does your coach have you guys weight-train? Take nutrition classes?”
“Yeah...we do that with one of the assistant coaches about three days a week...plus, I have weight-training classes instead of P.E., so...it isn’t that.”
“You’re not right, man. That’s why you slowed down. You’re five-ten, now. You should be weighing twenty pounds more than what you do now, especially if you’re in this sport. The reason why everyone was slamming you around was because you don’t look so tough–our Abbie is shorter than you are, but she weighs more. More muscle mass equals more power–and you don’t have it. You need to gain weight to do better on court.”
Quatre stared at him in disgust, then stubbornly set his jaw. “Whatever. GOD! What is it with you people? First, someone’s telling me I need to lose weight. Then you’re telling me to gain weight–!”
“Who told you to lose weight?” Jake asked incredulously, lowering his fork. “Look at you! Last year, you were completely healthy for someone your size. Now, it’s like–someone’s lucky you’ve got meat on your arms when they bump into you. It’s really unhealthy! You’re an athlete, for fuck’s sake! Wait a minute...your ex told you to lose weight, didn’t he?”
“Well...over the summer, I did gain over...uh...twenty pounds...”
“It was there because you were going to add inches to your height. GOD. You fucking rich kids piss me off, sometimes. It’s all about image to the lot of you! Who cares if you don’t weigh this much and look like that? An athlete needs mass, and you aren’t getting anywhere looking like that! Most scouts would cringe at the thought of recruiting you,” Jake muttered, shaking his head. “Gain weight. You have enough muscle, but you don’t have the mass.”
Quatre clenched his fingers into a fist, and stared at him with a murderous expression. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. I’ve been playing fine. If you’re so fucking concerned with the way I look–”
“I’m telling you this because you’re slacking in your game!” Jake snapped at him. “You had the numbers racked up on your profile all last year, even with the trouble you were having on your team! Your numbers dropped this year, Quatre, and it isn’t because you have better players on your team–it’s because your body’s giving out because you decided to go skeleton.”
“FUCK! Why do you people think you have the right to tell me what I should or should not be doing?” Quatre cried, hitting the table, ignoring the stares coming their way. “I have one person telling me I’m fucking fat; I have another person telling me I’m not good enough for academics; I have another shit head telling me that I wasn’t good enough for my ex; and I have you telling me that I need to fucking gain weight! Can’t you people just let me do my own thing without having to say shit about what I need or have to be doing? Can’t I figure this shit out on my fucking own and be happy with things? GOD!”
Jake stared at him in silence for several moments, then continued eating. Quatre frowned, watching as the older boy silently continued to slice through the rest of his steak, everything else either finished completely or mostly gone. He relaxed his shoulders, aware that they were completely tense.
He glanced at the others that were dining in the same room, embarrassed at his own outburst. He focused on the clean table space before him, anxiously running his thumb over the edge of the table.
Jake took his time in eating, ignoring Quatre while he concentrated on this task. When he finished, politely requesting a refill with his Coke, Quatre let out a quiet sigh, slumping in his seat.
“Did that feel better?” Jake then asked, lifting both eyebrows as he looked at the blond across from him. “It seemed like you were holding a lot of things in.”
“I...yeah. I suppose.”
“The only reason why I was telling you that, Quatre, was because no one else was. You’re too skinny for such a high-profile position on the court. You’re going to be facing men that are stronger and taller than you in college ball, and you can’t go to college looking like that. You’ll be destroyed before even setting foot near their gym.”
“I don’t need you telling me what I should be looking like.”
Jake quieted, then gave Quatre a fierce stare, one that made the blond suddenly feel as if he should be rolling onto the floor and kicking his legs out like Michael had earlier this evening.
“I’m only saying, Winner,” he stressed, rather sarcastically, “that you’re not going to go far if you continue like this.”
“I’m not going to continue anything,” Quatre muttered, slouching further in his seat. There was just something completely paternal about the way Jake was staring him down. It made him feel sulky and whiny just to try and defend himself. “I’m moving back to Wyoming.”
“I know. I was there to hear that. So...are you going to keep playing ball, or give up?”
“I ain’t giving up on anything, I’m just saying–!”
“Why don’t you start talking your age? I feel like I’m talking to Michael, and it’s creeping me out,” Jake complained, leaning back in his seat as the waitress came back, having refilled both their glasses.
Quatre straightened in his seat, thanking the woman before she left. He looked back at Jake. “I’m just saying, I don’t know if I’ll be able to play ball in Laramie. Politics. Simple as that. As small as that place is compared to this giant fuckhole, I’ll be lucky if they let me back into high school.”
“‘Politics’?”
“Familie s. It’s all about the families, and who you know. And...uh, gays aren’t as easily accepted over there as they are over here. It’ll be completely different.”
“All the more reason to bulk up.”
“I know, just...I hate it when people tell me what I should be doing.”
“When people are doing that just to piss you off and looking to get something out of you, yes, it can be annoying. But I’m actually trying to help you out. This is my last year–I finally have enough credits to graduate, and I already have people talking to me about scholarships and grants. I want to play for NPU–the thought of leaving the city gives me the creeps. I’ve lived here all my life, and I don’t plan on uprooting everything that I’ve had to work hard for just for some two year stint across the States,” Jake grumbled, leaning on the table and glaring at his plate. “And I don’t want people making the same mistakes as I did. Everyone has a really good chance of getting far in life–but all it takes is one stupid mistake to mess it all up. No one takes me seriously because they think it won’t happen to them. But it can. Anything can. I’m just...trying to push you to do your best, Winner, and don’t get caught up in the stupidity of things around you. You’re getting caught up in things, and you have so much potential to do better and get far in life, and you’re fucking it up over some stupid drag queen and stupider ideals he sets on you...”
Quatre snorted, glaring at the bench seat he sat on. The waitress came by, quietly asking if they wanted any dessert. At the simple request for coffee, she left to get some.
Jake leaned back in his seat once more, slumping tiredly as he looked at Quatre once more.
With a light snort, he commented, “If that lip sticks out any further, she’ll be pouring my coffee into your mouth.”
“Shut up. Don’t you have something to do? Like get a life?”
Jake chuckled as the waitress returned, filling up a cup for him, and leaving the check on the table. “You’re such a baby, Winner. Someone comes down hard on you an’ you sit there an’ cry about it instead of doing something about it.”
“You don’t fucking know me,” Quatre said angrily. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through! Yeah, we talk and shit like that, but you don’t know me, so stop acting like you do!”
Jake held his hands up in surrender, and doctored his coffee. Quatre sullenly watched the actions of the older boy, slumping even lower in his seat. His head was just barely level with the table, and Jake glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow. Under the table, he kicked the other boy’s shin, causing him to yowl, straightening in his seat.
Amid the curses of pain and promises of revenge, Jake said, “You know what? You’re luckier than most. You’ve got an auntie and an uncle that loves you very much, and would sacrifice a lot for you without any question or regard for their own agenda. You’ve got friends that watch out for you and would sacrifice their own comforts just to make sure that you’re happy. You’ve got a very promising career in basketball, and you’ve got...well...I would say good looks, but you’d think I was hitting on you.”
“Eat shit and die...”
“You’ve got it all, Winner. What’s it going to take for you to realize it, and for you to grab a hold of it?” Jake asked quietly, frowning as he lifted his coffee. “You don’t have kids...you don’t have to support yourself. You don’t even have to worry about any bills–in fact, the only one you really have is that cellphone of yours, and your ex handles that...”
Quatre wondered how Jake knew that, and immediately thought of Felicia. Christ–get that girl’s mouth flapping, and she’ll tell a person just how many hairs he had in his nose. He wondered where she was–she had to have gone to a party or something without telling him. Maybe meeting a secret boyfriend (girlfriend?) after the game.
Then he looked back at the other boy, and finally noted the exhaustion that was slowly causing the boy to slump his once confident shoulders. In fact, looking the way he did, Jake did not look like the arrogant, smirking prick that he’d met on court hours earlier. He just looked...exhausted. Worn. And completely defeated, as if things had been much too hard on him for the longest time.
It was hard seeing him that way–Quatre was just used to that cocky expression and rigid arrogance, that it was difficult seeing him any other way. He pulled in his bottom lip to worry it briefly, then sat up straight. He fiddled with the napkin dispenser and ketchup bottle.
“Look...sorry,” he grumbled. “I...I had a...I don’t know. Things are just weird right now, and I really don’t want to go back to Laramie. I want to stay here. I made so many friends here, and experienced a lot of things, and I feel much more comfortable here. Going back there’s going to totally suck, and...I’m not coping well with it.”
“Instead of moping around about it, why don’t you try having as much fun as you possibly can before you have to go back?” Jake suggested, a little annoyed about it. “Why waste the time crying and whining around about it when you could be–doing stuff? God...kids these days...”
“Like you’re so fuckin’ old! You’re not even...old.”
“I’m twenty years old, Quatre. But after all the shit I did, I feel like I’m thirty. It’s hard trying to fit in with people my age because they haven’t gone through what I have. I don’t fit in anywhere. My classmates think I’m stuck up and a fuck up for having a kid. The guys at the garage think I’m pathetic because I’m not out and about like they are, and drinking up the hours in between work. Because of a stupid choice I’d made with Celia over four–actually, six years ago, people have already decided that I’m going to fail in life. That I’ll turn to welfare and use social security to buy drugs, and have my kid taken away because I’d be too focused on myself. There are times when I want to give up, and just let those people be right. But then, my son will be taken away, and I’d be a failure to him. I’d be giving those people what they wanted. I don’t want to see other people making the same mistakes as I did, Winner, and that’s why I’m trying to talk to you. You’re letting things go because of a few petty mistakes–boyfriends...come and go. No pun. If one broke your heart, don’t let it pull you all the way down–it ain’t a tragedy. There are more important things out there that deserve a lot more consideration. Take a step back and look at those things.
“The reason why I got on your ass about your weight is because I overheard a couple of scouts for NPU and Syracuse consider you for their list your senior year...but they weren’t going to go through with it because you look like someone that doesn’t take his position seriously. They saw the potential and the chance. They will find programs to help you with your grades. They will get you places. But on the court, you looked like shit. I was trying to get you to realize this and step up your game.”
Quatre stopped picking at the edge of the table, shifting his sullen expression to the older boy across the table. He swallowed, straightening once more in his seat as he considered these words of wisdom. Really, it was quite odd that someone saw so much in him, especially considering all the shit-talking people did about him. Listening to them and experiencing all that he had was pulling him down, and in the resulting effort, his future was being affected.
He snorted, shaking his head as he leaned onto the table. Poking at the condensation on his orange juice glass, he said, “Well, it’s really cool that you decided on taking a charity case when you’re so obviously fucked.”
Jake chuckled, shaking his head as he sipped at his coffee. Peering at Quatre over the rim of his cup, he had to roll his eyes and hope that Michael did NOT turn out like this teen when he reached the age of seventeen.
“But...I don’t know. You said a lot of things that were really truthful and inspiring, but...we’re different people. What may be a crisis to you will be a bundle of laughs for me. Same to you. And I truly see what you’re saying, so–” Quatre began, cracking his knuckles as he spoke.
“So you’re going to let your ex-makeup toy decide what’s best for you, instead of you deciding what’s best for you? Goddamn it, Winner! I let Celia dictate the same shit, and look where we ended up!” Jake snapped, slamming his coffee cup down. “I wanted to impress her. I wanted her to be happy with what I was doing. I basically shit all over myself just to make her happy, and everything that I did–getting a job, supporting her and Michael and myself–was just shit to her. You’re not going to please someone like him, Quatre, and you’re fucking over your future for him! I’ll bet, even at this fucking moment, you’re wondering what he’s doing and what he’ll think of you if you come groveling to him tomorrow morning, seeking his approval for your actions tonight....! Am I right?”
Quatre let his flushed face speak for him, and Jake looked at him in disgust. For a few moments, both of them were silent, then the older boy got tired of the whole situation, and took out his wallet. Quatre watched sullenly as two twenties were slapped onto the table, and Jake put his wallet away, still looking at him in disgust.
“You know, people like you ought to be shot,” he began, his voice dripping with dislike. His city accent was suddenly more pronounced the angrier he got, almost making it difficult for Quatre to understand him. It was similar to Felicia’s way of speech, because once the girl got going on something that roiled her emotionally, her words grew even more stunted and her drawl was more pronounced. So he furrowed his brow with concentration as he tried to discern what Jake was saying. “Ya’ll have all this shit comin’ ta ya, an’ you do nothin’ but pout around an’ fuckin’ get all fuckin’ teary-eyed over the stupidest shit. I’m not gonna spend all my fuckin’ free time tryin’ to get’cha ta see what the fuck yer doin’ to yerself. Fuck this bullshit. Mope an’ cry around about it, then talk ta me when ya’ll find yerself mopin’ around in a fuckin’ rental in the ghetto with some make-up wearin’ junkie...”
“Hey, look, I was just–! Things are different! You and I see things differently, and things just aren’t going to be the same when–!”
But Quatre was speaking to Jake’s back as the older boy got up from the table, and left, angrily stomping out the restaurant. The blond sighed, and hung his head back, slumping in his seat as he clapped his hands over his face.
“Why do people get so mad at me all the time?” he wondered out loud, the waitress hurrying over to start clearing the table.
“Honey, don’t even worry about him,” she said, taking the money and winking. “He’s a good boy. He’s just tired. He’ll forgive ya in the morning. They always do.”
“We’re not a couple,” he muttered, catching the implication of her words.
“Could have fooled me. I’ll be back with ya’ll’s change...”
“WE’RE NOT A COUPLE!” he bellowed after her, startling several diners.
An older couple gasped and whispered amongst themselves in scandalous design, looking at him differently. He turned to glare at them, and slumped in his seat once more. When she returned to his booth, handing him the change, she winked and sashayed off, cheerfully greeting new customers.
He looked at the fourteen dollars in change, then curled his fingers around it. He was just wondering what he was going to do with it when Max wandered around the corner, looking dazed. Quatre performed a double-take on the gorgeous beauty, who somehow recognized him in his state of mind.
“Oh...hello, Quatre!” Max greeted, sliding into the seat across from him.
Quatre stared blankly at him, rendered speechless by the guy’s good looks. It was impossible to think when he could see the tan, smooth skin of Max’s collarbone and chest, the way his neck flexed with movement as he scooted to the window at a sudden decision. He smelled deliciously good–of cologne and sweat, and Quatre felt uncomfortable as he had to slouch lower in his seat for a better fit of his suddenly tight pants.
He was just about to ask what he was doing there when that girl from earlier swept around the corner, looking scarily determined–and familiar. He watched with shock as she shoved Jake back into his seat next to Max, and plopped down into his seat.
She grinned at him, awkwardly shifting her green hankie that pretended to serve as a dress. “Hey, sex toy. What’s up?”
“...Do I know you?”
“Hi, my name’s Max Sheridan,” the newbie said to Jake, who performed a double-take in his direction. “I go to school with these two...your name is?”
The waitress returned, raising her eyebrows in question as she saw the new additions. She then looked a little annoyed at the girl that was currently causing waiters to fumble with their orders and for the cooks to peek out from over the counter.
“Your order?” she asked frostily, looking over at Max, and dropping her pad and pen.
In her haste to pick things up, she dumped Quatre’s orange juice and spilled Jake’s coffee, both liquids spilling over the counter top, causing all four to scurry out of the path. Several very quick waiters were there to wipe up the mess, all of them fumbling over each other to look at Felicia. She groaned in disappointment when she realized she had to bend down to pick up her dropped clutch from the floor.
After the chaos had ceased, and Max and Felicia’s orders were being processed, Jake looked at Felicia with a disgusted scowl, and took off his over shirt. He had been wearing the shirt over a plain white teen and jeans, and when he took off the over shirt, Max was checking him out from his position next to him. Years of playing ball, eating as healthily as he could and working had given him a pretty manly figure that had anyone checking him out on frame alone.
Felicia snickered at the sight of Max checking out her friend, and thought a very brief, kinky fantasy concerning those two boys. Then she had to stop on that thought–she knew Jake for far too long, and he was more like a brother to her than anything else. Though...she could imagine things with his back turned in her fantasies, hiding his face–then she realized her ‘brother’ was talking to her with an irritated tone.
“You put that shit on right now, you hussy, and if you argue with me about it, I’ll tell these guys what you did with that guy–”
“Tell them in full detail, cuz I ain’t putting on shit–”
“–when you were both in Nordstorm’s in the menswear section, and that salesman thought you were a–”
Felicia hurriedly put on the over shirt, and there were numerous groans of disappointment from the kitchen area. She glanced over, muttering about a multiple gay orgy that she was missing out on while Max gave a slump of his shoulders in letdown.
Jake looked over at Quatre, and shrugged with a stiff movement. “Sorry. I’m a little tired. I didn’t mean to go off like that...”
Quatre gave an answering tilt of his own shoulders. “It’s all right. I deserve it, anyway. Sometimes I do focus in on my problems like they were the biggest thing, and they really aren’t. You’re right, though–I do need to do things differently. And think differently.”
Felicia raised her eyebrows in response to this new scene, but she didn’t say anything. She was too busy letting her toes do the talking to someone’s leg under the table. From the look on Max’s face, she had picked the right limb to play with, and she was having fun. Too much fun.
The waitress came by with their drinks, and asked the previous two if they were going to order anything more. When Jake shrugged and asked for another Coke, Quatre straightened in his seat, and decided to do what the older boy suggested–after all, he should be enjoying his time rather than mope around about it. What was the point of moping at this point? He agreed to the order, and sat back in his seat, to enjoy the company of his friends.
Who knew? It could have been his last...
“Man, Quat, ya’ll should’ve seen the losers there! I mean, it was like–”
“FELICIA?”
Max and Jake sighed in exasperation as Quatre finally realized that he did indeed know this girl, giving her a disbelieving expression while she scowled pointedly at him. He turned in his seat to kick at her when she grabbed his foot and wrestled it back to the floor, growling, “I’m sexy right now, and I’d appreciate it if ya’ll didn’t act so damn normal around me! I’m a sexy beast! Treat me like one!”
“Like HELL! Get off my seat!”
“No! Listen to me! I can convert you in this outfit alone!”
“You take that shirt off, and I’ll tell them, Felicia!”
“So, Jake...how old are you?”