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It was really a mystery to me how I even became friends with Ricky in the first place.
Ricky Pickering was what my mother would call trouble, and for once in my life, I agreed with her. He was an inimitable force, a tornado of bad decisions, alcohol induced fights, chain smoked cigarettes and home-pierced ears.
At a staggering height of 6 '3, Ricky was intimidating enough without his punk style and careless attitude. He always wore an old leather jacket which sported metal studs on the shoulders, and was littered in hand sewn patches of various, crude political statements and punk band logos. On the back square of this jacket, Ricky had spray painted across it in white the words So what? and poorly outlined a middle finger beneath it. Allegedly, Ricky had bought the jacket from a car boot sale for a dollar and had fixed it up himself over the many years he’d owned it. His hair was cut into a shaggy mullet one night in my parent’s bathroom. I had been poised on the tank of the toilet, feet planted on the lid, watching him as he hacked chunks out of his hair with craft scissors, only pausing every now and then to grin like a cat at me in the mirror. Of course, his hair was also neon green, like someone had poured slime over him and he’d simply left it that way. When he left it too long before dyeing it again, I could see his dark brown roots creeping through in streaks across his head.
Needless to say, Ricky was the embodiment of everything my parents admonished. He didn’t do well in school, in fact, I was sure he was only still enrolled because I let him copy my homework and gave him test answers. He spat wads of tobacco out on the street, drove recklessly, and was unemployed. I think all of this is what drew me towards him in the first place.
The first time I met him, the basis of our friendship was formed.
What you have to understand about Jason Hemmings is that he knew that he was a stereotypical bully, and he relished in it. It was almost comedic, the way he rocked around school with his goons like he owned it, in his sickening varsity jacket. His chin was like a boulder, large and protruding from his grim, square face. His features looked like they’d been slapped on, each one more ugly than the last. If he wasn’t built like a mighty bulldog, with broad shoulders and biceps the size of my head, I was sure he himself would be bullied for his appearance alone, let alone for his striking stupidity.
Of course, I was fresh meat to Jason’s crew, being a scrawny, quiet, intelligent kid with no friends and rich parents. I might as well have thrown myself into a lion’s den every time I walked into school. On this particular day, it wasn’t my first brush with Jason Hemmings, but it would be the last.
My locker door slammed shut with a bang and I turned to find Jason’s face inches from mine, eyes bulging at me. His goons, two snickering, equally foul boys by the names of Tommy Marks and Ryan Fielding, lingered behind him like hyenas as I was subjected to Jason’s glare. I sighed, rolling my eyes.
“Oh, what, are we keeping you, Portman?” Jason taunted. Tommy and Ryan hooted and hollered, the sound like nails on a chalkboard to me. “Got places to be? Book club?” They erupted into laughter and Jason preened, proud of himself for that one.
Others walked past us in the corridor, but nobody so much as raised their eyes to me. I didn’t blame them. I knew how this went by now. They’d tease me for a while for their own dumb pleasure until they either got bored or the bell rang. If they were feeling especially troublesome, they’d rough me up a bit once the corridor was empty enough. I wasn’t even scared at this point; they just bored me with their predictability.
“Just let me go, man,” I sighed, and made to shove my way past him. This proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated, as Jason’s shoulders were practically made of metal. Even if it weren’t for his ridiculously burly build, as soon as I had given the inclination I was trying to escape, Tommy and Ryan’s expressions darkened, and they bared their teeth at me as they moved closer together, forming some sort of human wall that would trap me in.
Jason’s huge hand found my sternum and I was pushed backwards against the lockers. They rattled loudly and a few people looked up as they passed. I winced. Jason shoved his big face impossibly closer towards me, hoping to intimidate me further. Really, it was all quite laughable, and maybe I would have laughed if I didn’t feel like my ribcage was about to cave in like I was a fortune cookie.
“I don’t think you’re going anywhere, pal,” he snarled, his thin lips curled into a smirk.
Craning my neck away from him, I looked down at Jason, my face screwed up in discomfort. I raised one eyebrow.
“Mind backing off a bit?” I mumbled. “Your breath fucking stinks.”
My mouth has a fantastic way of getting me out of and into trouble. It’s simultaneously one of my best and worst traits. After he had processed my words, which took him a few seconds longer than the average person, I watched Jason’s entire face darken and felt the first little quiver of fear in my chest. I should have seen it coming when Jason’s fist abruptly pummelled into my stomach, but I didn’t, and I doubled over slightly with a pained huff of air.
“You wanna get smart with me, huh, Portman?” he practically growled, forcing me back against the lockers. “Let’s see if you can run your mouth with a busted lip.”
And he raised his fist as if to follow through. I braced for impact, mostly just wishing that Tommy and Ryan would cease their infuriating cackling, when a gruff, unfamiliar voice rose from the clamour -
“Christ, Hemmings, you got nothing better to do?”
Jason froze comedically in place and his head snapped to the source of the sound, as did mine.
There Ricky stood, all 6’3 of him. He sported his green hair, clad in his leather jacket, a band tee I didn’t recognise, a studded belt, and ripped black jeans. I’d seen him around before, but had thought nothing of him. He was just another punk kid in school I’d never really thought of speaking to. Now, he had an eyebrow cocked almost in disappointment, lips pulled into a straight line as he stared down at Jason.
The corridor was mostly empty now, save for a few people who lingered at their locker and tried to look like they weren’t glancing our way suspiciously. The bell was about to ring.
“You stay out of this, Pickering, you fucking freak,” Jason glowered at him.
“Freak?” Ricky scoffed, folding his arms. “The only thing that’s freakish is that zit crawling over your chin. Seriously, man, that’s grotesque.”
I made the mistake of letting out a small chuckle. Ricky glanced at me with a smirk but Jason was much less amused. He rounded on me and his hand pushed impossibly harsher against my sternum; I was sure I was about to hear a crack.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing, you little faggot.”
It happened so fast that I barely had time to dodge Ricky’s elbow when he suddenly lurched forward and landed a mean right hook right in the middle of Jason Hemming’s stupid face. He staggered backwards, bumping into his goons who were standing, bewildered. He was clutching the bridge of his nose, from which dark red blood was gushing onto his lip. I blinked, my heart beating quickly and adrenaline surging through my veins as I watched Jason let out a series of moans and groans, opening his eyes with difficulty.
Ricky sniffed nonchalantly, readjusting his jacket over his shoulders with a shrug. He glanced at me and saw me looking at him in astonishment.
“I fucking hate that word,” he grumbled as an explanation.
I couldn’t help it, I grinned at him. He paused, as if only just noticing me. I watched his eyes flicker across my face like he was scrutinising me, picking me apart. To this day I wonder what he was thinking when first he saw me that day. It must have been something good, however, because eventually he grinned back.
A stern teacher by the name of Mr Atkinson rounded the corner not long after this exchange, and after a cry of outrage from Jason and his gang, complete with pointed fingers at me and Ricky, we both landed ourselves two weeks detention with Mr Atkinson, and Ricky got a harsh talking to about how violence is never the answer. He tried to argue his case, I remember it well. Him jeering up at Mr Atkinson in his office, accusing him of blatant homophobia and discrimination and I’m pretty sure facism at one point, was a sight I don’t think I’ll be able to forget for a while. Jason Hemmings walked around school for the next few weeks with a broken nose and a meeker attitude which eventually fizzled away after a good while. But he never really bothered with me much after that.
Since that day, much to my parents' dismay, Ricky and I were pretty much inseparable, him fiercely protective of me and me constantly in admiration of his courage. My parents told me time and time again that he was a bad influence, and it turned out they were right.
“Come on, Special Ed, just one hit.”
Underneath the orange glow of the street light, Ricky’s face was illuminated like he was telling me a ghost story as he leaned over to me, clutching a joint between his thumb and forefinger. We were leaning against his battered Crown Vic one night on the side of a deserted road. I had no idea what time it was and no intention of finding out any time soon.
Ricky grinned at me, his lips curling upwards in an almost manic fashion. He presented the joint to me like a magician holding out a spread of playing cards. Pick a card, any card. I scrunched up my face and turned away, my hands in my pockets.
“That reeks,” I said, dodging his question.
“Oh come on,” Ricky dramatically threw his head back. “Come on, Jakey, please!”
I turned back to him with one eyebrow raised, watching as he brought the joint to his lips.
“This is peer pressure, Pickering,” I told him, and I leaned forward as if to punctuate my next words. “Peer. Pressure.”
In response, Ricky blew a cloud of smoke into my face with a smug little grin, and I reeled, coughing a little as the foul, earthy taste hit the back of my throat. Ricky laughed loudly, a little too loudly in my opinion, and then started to cough himself. He doubled over, caught in a spluttering cough-laugh attack. I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms across my chest and waiting for him to compose himself.
“Oh, ha, ha, very funny. Very mature,” I commented, as sarcastically as I could. Ricky eventually straightened up again and his face emerged out of the darkness, lit up in an orange glow. To my disappointment, he was still grinning widely.
“You know I’m just gonna keep pestering ya the more you resist,” he said, still holding out the joint like he was offering it to me on a silver platter. With one eyebrow raised, he peered at me expectantly, and the silence between us stretched out for a few seconds before I finally relented.
“Fine.” I snatched the joint out of his hands. “You know, all of those ads warning against peer pressure were truly onto something.”
Ricky just chuckled, still watching me intently, like he knew something I didn’t. I paused to frown at him but then waited no longer. I’d smoked cigarettes with Ricky before; I figured smoking weed was pretty similar. Trying to emulate how I’d watched him do it a million times before, I brought the joint to my lips and inhaled slowly, feeling Ricky’s eyes on me the whole time. It tasted like I’d expected it to; like spicy wet grass and surprisingly similar to how it smelled. Still, the way the taste pervaded my senses, ran down my throat and up my nose and into my eyes, caught me off guard a little, and I coughed out the rest of the smoke, beating on my chest as I did.
Beside me, Ricky laughed fondly, and I felt him pluck the joint from my finger tips.
“Pussy,” he mumbled with a sharp little smirk.
I looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Fuck you.”
He glanced at me. I glanced at him. Then we promptly descended into a session of manic laughter, both unsure what was so funny. I think he was a little high by then, but I definitely wasn’t.
In the midst of our mirth, I faltered like I was just realising where I was and who I was with. I felt the cold metal of the car spread across my back like it had only just materialised. Like a whistle, the night air swept around me and tousled my hair, palming my numb cheeks. A little dazed, I turned to my side, to see if Ricky was feeling this strange revelation too, this sudden, earth-shaking realisation that I was alive and I was there in that moment. I simultaneously felt the most aware of myself I had ever been, whilst also feeling like my limbs had been detached and stretched just barely out of my reach. Ricky was oblivious and still basking in his idiotic laughter. I stopped to watch him, really watch him.
Head thrown back, Ricky’s profile appeared carved out of the night itself, emerging in some vivid technicolour which made him look other worldly (though not like an angel, per se, like an alien so elusive and captivating it stops you in your tracks).The slope of his neck was hypnotising, the curve of his nose was prominent, his open mouth was weirdly intriguing. His sharp incisors twinkled, reflecting the dim light around us. My eyes traced each crease of his closed eyes as if I were committing it to memory, enamoured by the way his cheeks and nose were slightly flushed. I found myself strangely unable to tear my eyes away from him. He was hypnotic in that moment, encased in an opioid haze, smothered in night’s blanket, gleeful and wild and alive.
I felt the wind be knocked out of me like I had been punched, as I came to the world-tilting realisation that I was crushing on my best and only friend. Hard.
I think Ricky figured it out before I did, to be honest. I’m quite clever, but I’m stunningly slow when it comes to this sort of thing. I had tried my best to ignore it at first, to attribute my weird bout of feelings to just standard admiration for him, which I’d grown accustomed to. I did admire Ricky to a great extent, and I was sure I could convince myself that that was all it was - nothing more, nothing less. Until that one night in his stupid, battered Crown Vic car, and his stupid, stupid grin.
The hoarse groan of his car’s horn reached me from my bedroom at home and I started, putting down the book I had been flicking through absently. I tore down the stairs, past my mom and dad, who were frowning at me from their respective seats on the living room couch. I resolved to walk so quickly past them that they didn’t have a chance to reprimand me before I flung open the door.
As I had expected, Ricky’s Crown Vic gleamed at me from the curb, and Ricky himself was leaning out of the window. With one hand on the wheel, he looked amusedly at me, like he was about to tell me a joke that I would find positively hilarious.
“Wanna go for a drive?” he called out.
I did. Desperately. “I’ll get my shoes.”
The moment I closed the door, my parents were like bloodhounds out for my scent.
“That’s not Ricky again, is it?” Mom called out as I delved into the rack of shoes in the hallway to find my threadbare, old converse. I hid the rips in them from my parents because I knew they'd try and buy me new ones if they saw them, and I had become weirdly attached to my shoes in a way which no regular person should have been. I tugged them onto my feet.
“Maybe,” I responded, clamouring with the laces.
“Jake, it’s dark outside!” Dad announced.
“I know,” I responded, now darting towards the front door.
“You’re not even going to ask for our permission?” Mom cried, incredulous.
I paused, one hand on the door handle. I spun around and they were glaring at me from the couch.
“Can I go?” I asked, to humour them.
“No!” They exclaimed comedically in unison. I promptly swung open the door and left before they could get up off the couch.
When I climbed into the passenger seat, Ricky was grinning at me devilishly, as per usual. He pushed the car into ignition with the right amount of force required for his poor, ancient car (which was a lot), and the engine sputtered into life, gasping and coughing.
“Surprised your fellas let you come out,” he mumbled, as the car slowly crawled off the curb.
“They didn’t,” I stated. “You oughta drive faster before they burst out of the house with baseball bats.”
At this, Ricky barked out a laugh. He was always jumping into things - abruptly clapping me on the shoulder, abruptly laughing at an unfunny joke, abruptly turning up outside my door. Everything about him kept me on my toes and I never knew what he was going to do next. I was ashamed to say that I was enamoured by his spontaneity.
I’d been on many drives like this one with Ricky. We’d cruise through the bright Summer night like it was just us in the big, wide world together. It certainly felt that way, with the roads we drove down weirdly empty. As the sun set, it seemed to stretch across the sky, smattering wisps of pink and purple and blood orange so intense that my eyes burned. Ricky always had a CD on the go, usually one of his own playlists. Ricky’s music was rapid and loud, full of bashing drums and quick guitar solos and singers who screamed like their vocal chords were on fire. Ricky would play his music so loud that the whole Crown Vic would tremble, the vibrations making their way into my chest. I would watch Ricky drum his fingers on the edge of the steering wheel, entranced by the simplicity of their movement.
Sometimes we would talk and sometimes we wouldn’t. When we did talk, you could bet on it being about nothing important. No one could make me laugh like Ricky could, especially not on those impromptu late night drives. There was something absurd and minutely reckless about them which made everything hilarious, and I could laugh for what felt like hours until my jaw ached and my stomach was in knots. When we didn’t talk, it was still pleasant. Quietness was never awkward with Ricky. Nothing was ever awkward when I was with Ricky; everything felt right in the world.
That night started off as one of those pensive, quiet nights. We let Ricky’s music tremble in our chests and let the Florida roads fly past us at speeds which were probably above the speed limit (Ricky almost never drove at the speed limit). I was peaceful in my silence, my mind turning with unimportant but blissful thoughts, until Ricky broke my reverie. He sat up in his seat and leaned over to where I was in the passenger seat.
He pulled down the glove compartment and it fell open onto my lap. I tried not to focus on the way my skin bristled when the back of his hand brushed my knee. After rummaging around in the mess of his glove compartment, awkwardly leaning across me with one hand on the wheel, he grit his teeth and swore under his breath.
“Damnnit.” He gave up, straightening up again and putting both hands on the wheel. “Get me a cigarette, would you, Jake?”
I found the pack of cigarettes he had been searching for and tapped it until one of the white sticks fell out into the palm of my hand. I held it out to Ricky, who took it.
“Mind lighting it for me? There should be a lighter in there somewhere,” he said, his voice muffled as the cigarette dangled from his lips.
“Sure,” I replied. A neon green lighter glinted at me from the depths of the glove compartment and I retrieved it. Eyes glancing between me and the road, Ricky leaned in towards me. I flicked the lighter, struggling for a moment to get it to spark. I swore underneath my breath and Ricky, looking up at me, chuckled.
“Come on, Special Ed, you got it,” he drawled, his voice oddly saturated with something I couldn’t quite place. Ignoring the way my stomach twisted itself into a knot, I emerged victorious in my fight with Ricky’s lighter, and managed at last to light his cigarette. Humming appreciatively, Ricky leaned back into his seat. The end of the cigarette glowed as he inhaled, and then he plucked it out of his mouth to exhale a plume of smoke.
“Atta boy, knew you’d get there in the end,” he chuckled, cranking down the car window.
I swallowed thickly, starting to feel as though the car had suddenly grown hotter. Without asking, I helped myself to one of his cigarettes, cupping the flame of his lighter with one hand as I lit it, this time with much more ease. I stuffed everything back into the glove compartment and shoved it closed, inhaling my cigarette as deeply as I could. I could feel Ricky’s eyes glancing sideways at me, narrowed and inquisitive, and did my best to ignore them. Cranking my window down, I exhaled a cloud of smoke audibly.
“You good, man?” Ricky spoke up, and I could hear the grin in his voice.
“I’m good,” I nodded.
“You don’t seem good.” Ricky sounded far too amused for my liking and I, with my infamously short temper, instantly became frustrated.
“I’m fine,” I choked out, raking a hand through my hair.
“You sure?” Ricky continued, his voice swimming in mirth. “You seem a little worked up about somethi-”
“Ricky,” I cut him off, my tone weary.
To my surprise, he only chuckled like he’d been expecting that response. With something akin to thoughtfulness, he raised his cigarette to his lips. I watched his smirking lips curl around the end of it, which was a rookie mistake on my part. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he grins like that.
He coughed out the smoke, shoulders heaving a little. That same strange trance had locked me again in quiet admiration of him, and I watched every small movement like I was taking notes. His fingers flexed against the steering wheel. His chest rose and fell with each shaky cough. The smoke puffed out of his lips in broken sections, before dispersing into the close air.
“What are you staring at, Special Ed?” he said, suddenly, his eyes only flickering over me for a second. It was like he could just sense me looking at him.
I ripped my gaze away. “I wasn’t, I just spaced out,” I mumbled, defensively, a little embarrassed. Ricky gave a funny sort of hum which told me he didn’t believe me, but said nothing else.
Now, things were awkward. I wasn’t sure if Ricky had also felt this strange shift in the air or if it was my own paranoia convincing myself that he was on to me. A bloodhound catching a whiff of my scent. My heart felt heavy in my chest and there was a lump in my throat that I couldn’t dislodge no matter how hard I tried. Ash coated my tongue and taste buds and suddenly the cigarette I absently puffed on was making me feel sick. I tossed it out of the window without a word.
Ricky was as elusive to me as sunlight was to a sunflower. I was always turned to him, admiring him, wanting so desperately to have him, but he was untethered and burned far out of my reach, solar systems away. Like the smoke from his cigarette that wrapped around him, he wouldn’t stay put between my fingertips, always dancing and twisting into nothingness. But he lingered in my mind like the smell of smoke did in his old Crown Vic. I wanted him so badly I was sure it was going to kill me. I wanted him so badly and I felt like he could read my mind and knew all about it. Ricky knew everything about me.
When the car suddenly stopped I lurched forward and blinked as I looked around us. It seemed that Ricky had pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, the car tucked into a little vessel among the withered trees and foliage. Confused, I turned to Ricky, who was staring ahead of us nonchalantly. He took a final drag of his cigarette and then tossed it out of the window. And then he turned to me.
“Do you wanna kiss me, Jake?”
My jaw fell open. I suddenly had no idea where to look. Ricky’s eyes were piercing me with a look I had never seen him wear before, but still he came across as smooth as ever, cool and casual and brash. He waited silently while I gawped at him.
“What?” It was the best I could come up with, the syllables being brought together in fragments by my baffled brain.
Ricky huffed out a laugh. “Jesus Christ, Special Ed,” he mumbled, fondly.
I opened my mouth to retort, to argue that what he had said was not something you just say out of the blue, but I was abruptly interrupted when I felt his hand suddenly take hold of my chin, turning my face in his direction. I made a soft noise of surprise as his lips first surged against mine, the speed and bluntness of it catching me horribly off guard. It was in a daze that I first began to kiss back, tentatively moving my lips against his and feeling the oddest sense of relief flood over me, like I had been starved for weeks and this was my first meal. His fingers practically scorched my burning skin where they held onto my jaw, the touch uncharacteristically apprehensive. Ricky’s lips were chapped and coarse but suddenly that didn’t matter. Nothing did. The world fell away around me and for a moment it was just me and him in that old Crown Vic, the music still humming in our ribcages, the smell and taste of smoke still hanging in the air.
Ricky pulled away and I unabashedly chased his lips, which earned me a laugh which seemed to rise from his stomach and tremble into his throat.
“You’re not subtle at all, you know that?” he teased, his thumb dragging along my chin in a way which I wasn’t sure was intentional or not. Regardless, it made me shiver.
“Shut up,” I groaned, trying to pretend I wasn’t embarrassed. In a brash act of false confidence, I jumped forward to kiss him again, hoping to catch him off guard like he had me. But, once again, Ricky knew everything about me, and it was like he knew that I was going to try to do that as well. Even when I wrapped my hand around the nape of his neck, fingers skirting the ends of his too-long hair, he didn’t falter, and kissed me back immediately.
This time it was purposeful, it was determined, and I was blinded by a haze of carelessness which would have been unheard of just seconds ago. I kissed him fiercely, faster than he had kissed me, because I needed him to know how much I’d craved this, dreamt of this, wished for this - for him. He hummed into my mouth like he understood every unspoken word I was saying with my lips and I felt my stomach flip over on itself. When his tongue darted questioningly against my lips I wasted no time in parting them. It was embarrassing how eager I was.
Ricky’s mouth tasted vaguely of cigarette smoke, which should have been unpleasant, but it was so reminiscent of him that it only made me feel dizzy. His tongue licked into my mouth like a tide rolling in and out of the shore, and I was desperate to keep up with him.
We were both breathing heavily at this point, the air in the car stirring like water in a boiling pot. Ricky suddenly broke away from our kiss but his mouth was just next to mine. I felt his breath against my face when he said,
“Come here.”
I obliged immediately, like there was no universe out there where I would have even thought about not listening to him. It was with difficulty that I climbed across into the driver’s seat, my hands bracing myself anywhere I could, and my knees knocking against the wheel. Ricky laid back in his seat to allow me room, so that when I had slipped into his lap, planting my knees either side of his hips, he was looking up at me in a way which made my stomach sink.
I had stared at Ricky many times before but never had he looked so captivating. Half-lidded and intense, his eyes were locking me in a stand still like he was daring me to speak. Through slightly parted lips, he exhaled audibly and deeply, his whole chest pulsating. My own heart thrummed against my ribcage, a desperate fluttering bird, and I searched Ricky’s eyes, dragging my gaze across his face. There were so many things I wanted to say but I couldn’t piece the words together in my fragmented, hazy mind.
It turned out that I didn’t have to, though. After a moment, I registered the feeling of Ricky’s hand around the back of my neck, fingers curling into my hair, and he was pulling me forward again into what was a surprisingly gentle kiss. Slow and gradual, he swiped his tongue across my lower lip, slipped it into my mouth, hummed and tightened his hand on the back of my neck. It felt like waiting for a steam train to leave the station, wheels turning so slowly their movement was imperceptible; the train crawling forward. We gathered speed, Ricky groaned and pushed against me, saying everything that couldn’t be said with words. I steadied myself on his shoulders, fingers skirting the edge of his sharp, jutting collarbones.
His lips dropped to the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then he was coaxing my head back with a tug of his hand in my hair and I gasped, breathless now, wild. With his teeth, his lips, and his tongue, he mapped his way down my throat, and I could feel my breath being ripped out of me. When Ricky hummed against my neck, my pulse jumped erratically and I groaned.
“I’ve never heard you sound like this,” Ricky mused as he dragged his lips back up to mine. He was breathless, his voice ragged. “You’re usually so…uptight.”
I huffed out a disbelieving laugh, letting my eyes flutter open and fall onto the sight of Ricky in front of me. His pupils were blown wide, his lips were pink, his skin was flushed. God he was beautiful. He was beautiful in the way that something strange and unknown is beautiful - you can’t figure out why but you just can’t look away.
“Uptight?” I echoed, raising one eyebrow. “That’s mean.”
“Was it?” Ricky’s lips were pulled into a sharp little smirk. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”
My chest pressed against Ricky’s. I could feel his heart beating erratically, thudding through his ribcage and meeting my own frantic pulse. The only thing reminding me that I was alive, that this was real, that I wasn’t going insane, was the dull ache of blood surging through my body like a livewire. I felt more alive than I had in a long time. I let my lips collide messily with Ricky’s again, and Ricky didn’t move to stop me. He entangled our mouths with ease, stealing my gasping breaths. I jumped at the feeling of his warm hands on my waist and my fingernails scraped lazily against the nape of his neck.
“How about…” Ricky mumbled against my lips between kisses, and I hummed distractedly in response. “How about you stop being so uptight, Special Ed?”
Before I could even think to retort, I felt the sudden movement of Ricky rolling his hips upward where our bodies had slotted into place. The gasp that lurched out of me was high-pitched and surprised me, but what surprised me more was Ricky’s low groan in response. With his firm hands planted on my waist, I ground my hips against his. My face and neck were burning - the windows in the old car had started to lose their clarity, fogged up by the harsh gasps of mixed breath.
The sound of a phone ringing sliced through the thick air and made both of us jump, snapping out of the trance we’d been simultaneously locked in. I blinked at Ricky, heart still beating quickly. Ricky looked around the car in confusion, chest rising and falling.
“It’s yours. On the seat,” he said, breathless, gesturing to the passenger seat where my phone lay discarded. The screen was lit up with the name Mom in glaring white, and the ringing was just as incessant as her nagging voice.
“Fuck, it’s my mom,” I groaned. Ricky huffed and his head fell back against the head rest. I reached over and retrieved my mobile, begrudgingly hitting the answer button and bringing it to the side of my face.
“Hello?” I said, still slightly breathless and trying to keep my voice level. I didn’t miss the way Ricky’s lips just barely twitched upwards.
“Jacob? Where are you?” Her shrill and cutting voice made me wince.
I dragged an exasperated hand over my face. “Jeez, uh, I don’t know, mom. Why?”
“You don’t know? How can you not know? What are you-”
I shot Ricky a look which he returned, only a little more amused about the situation than I was.
“Mom, mom, it’s fine. I’m with Ricky,” I cut her off. Ricky raised his eyebrows as if to say is that going to make it any better?
“Well, I don’t care, Jacob. You need to come home now. You’ve been out for long enough and your father and I-”
“Fine, fine,” I shook my head. “Fine, I’ll be home in 10.” I hung up before she could respond.
When I lowered the phone, Ricky was looking at me, eyes twinkling with amusement like Christmas lights blinking on and off. His cat-like grin was back again, and I had to look away, rolling my eyes. Ricky had this magnificent way of making every awful situation even worse, with just one stupid, amused look.
“I don’t find this as funny as you do,” I huffed, which earned me a laugh. Ricky leaned forward and pressed a kiss that reeked of gentleness against the side of my neck. It landed like a snowflake - delicate and beautiful and that made me shiver.
“I think it’s pretty funny how much I piss off your parents,” he mused.
“You have no idea. They hate you,” I agreed. I chanced to turn my face to the side again to chase Ricky’s lips, stealing a gentle snowflake kiss from his lips. Ricky hummed against my mouth.
“Oh yeah?” he mumbled.
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “They think you’re trouble.”
I felt Ricky’s lips curl into a grin against mine. “Good.”
Eventually we prised ourselves apart, mainly after my own light hearted protests and warnings. As gracefully as I had climbed out of it, I climbed back into the passenger seat and Ricky readjusted his seat forward. Like nothing had happened. The old Crown Vic chuntered to life again, like a great lumbering beast awakening from sleep. Ricky drove us down the roads we’d driven down together a million times before, listening to music we’d listened to together a million times before, telling me jokes he’d probably told me a million times before, only this time was slightly different.
This time, whenever I glanced sideways at him, or he sideways at me, there was a gravity to our looks which made the air in the car seem charged with a new, fizzling, crackling excitement. He grinned at me once - that stupid, stupid grin - and I couldn’t help but grin back.
Ricky Pickering was what my mother would call trouble, but for once, I didn’t care.