Free On His Turf by Jennifer Watts Page A

into reverse. “Where to?”
    “There’s a great place right around the corner from my house that’s open late,” I suggest and he quickly agrees. “Can I ask you something though?”
    “Shoot,” he says, nodding.
    “Why did you drive to the club if you live downtown? Your place is probably a five minute walk from Terminal,” I ask and his lips twitch.
    “Thought you might need a ride.”
    “Hmm,” I say, noncommittally. It’s actually pretty thoughtful of him but also a bit presumptuous so I don’t know what to make of it. The car is silent as he merges on to the interstate and I think I surprise myself with my next words.
    “That was sweet,” I say and he looks at me strangely.
    “Well, I’m a sweet guy.”
    “Really?” I squint at him and he laughs.
    “No, not usually.”
    He switches on a country station and we ride the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. When we get close I give him directions to El Guapos. The restaurant is in a poorly-lit industrial area but it’s still packed even at this time of night. He finds a parking spot at the back of the building and looks around like he’s a little sketched out by the place so I take the lead and open my door.
    “Come on, pretty boy. They have hamburgers too, I promise.”
    “Pretty boy?” he repeats, shaking his head.
    We walk inside and I wave hello to the head waitress Ronnie as I lead him to my booth at the back. I let out a little cheer when I see that it’s free and slide across the ripped vinyl to pick up one of the menus that’s been left on the table.
    “I wasn’t kidding about the burgers. They are world class here,” I add in an attempt to put him at ease.
    “You come here alone?” he asks, flipping over the menu to read the other side.
    “With Matty mostly. I love this place,” I sigh.
    “You walk or drive?”
    “Why?”
    “Just curious.” He rests his elbows on the table and stares at me.
    “My place isn’t that close so I drive.”
    “Good,” he says, sounding relieved. Ronnie comes over to take our orders and Shane goes for a chicken burger with no sauce and a side salad while I opt for the street tacos. She returns with two glasses of water and I start to almost salivate at the thought of food. I didn’t realize until we walked in how hungry I am. Shane takes a big sip of his water before speaking.
    “So tell me about Matty - you two seem close. Is he like your cousin or something?” he asks, clearing his throat.
    “No, he’s not my cousin. Matty is my best friend and he’s been there through all of the good and the bad,” I explain.
    “What bad, babe?”
    “You don’t need a sob story,” I force a laugh.
    “Maybe I want one.” He’s looking at me carefully - like he can see right through me - and I doubt that he’s going to let it go so I relent.
    “I like to remind myself regularly that I am where I am today because of the life I had not in spite of it and that someone, somewhere always has it worse.”
    “That doesn’t make your bad any less important,” he says seriously. The sincerity in his voice and the depth of his comment both surprise me and just like that I’m opening up to him.
    “My mother is…troubled. My dad left us when I was just a baby and she never let me forget it. She blames me I guess but in a way I think she blames herself more which is probably why she drinks so much.” I take a breath and continue.
    “I don’t remember much about the first years of my life but I met Matty in kindergarten when we learned we lived next door to one another. My mother would have these all-night parties with music so loud my walls would shake. I remember all the voices and noises and strange smells. It would scare me so much that I’d cry myself to sleep most nights. I guess one night he heard me and climbed in through my window. He hugged me all night until I fell asleep. As we got older and the parties continued the same ‘friends’ who used to ignore me started paying more