There was only one rule at Buck's: Stay the fuck out of the back shed.

No problem-O.

So while it was odd that the door to the shed was ajar, I wasn't about to investigate. Besides, I was so excited to see my mom's car parked in the driveway that I left my bike right where it fell and bounded up the front yard, backpack bouncing rhythmically off my butt.

"Brandy!" I called out, letting myself into the house. "Shit!" The screen door caught on my backpack strap, sending me sprawling to the floor. Cursing up a storm, I righted myself and rubbed hard at my elbow.

I saw a lot of leather and camo when I looked up. A dozen grown men were in the family room, half of them on the couch and the other half milling about. All of them drunk. Their eyes were all over my body, the silence in the room turning eerie, and the air thick.

One guy in particular was really into it. He was stout and muscular, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. Tattoos covered all the skin on his arms and neck, and most of his head too, which was shaved to the skull. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled, never taking his eyes off of me.

I shuddered and tugged at the hem of my cutoffs, trying in vain to cover some skin. My mind scrambled desperately to try to figure out a way to make it up the stairs without having to treat this group of pervs to an eye full of ass in the process.

Thank God for Buck.

He came out of the kitchen, lugging a case of beer. As soon as he saw me, he scowled. "Get your ass up to your room and don't come back out until I say so. And put some God damn clothes on, girl!"

When I didn't move, he marched up to me and jabbed his finger at the stairs, effectively shielding me from everyone's eyes with his body.

I didn't waste any more time. I tore up the stairs like the devil himself was on my heels. Once out of sight, I peered back down out of morbid curiosity. Things were back to normal, people talking and drinking.

But the man with the tattoos had turned his head to stare up the stairwell.

From this angle, I saw the big black swastika tattooed on the side of his neck, all the way up his jawbone, and well onto his left cheek.

***

Hours later, still stuck in my sweltering room, I stared at the groaning and creaking ceiling fan until I could hardly tell which one of us was spinning.

"Seriously though," I told the fan. "That was some bullshit from Peyton at Sonic, wasn't it? The more I think about it, the more it's pissing me off."

The fan gave no shits, but I continued to talk to it. "I should call him out on it. This is getting ridiculous." Pensively, I picked at my nails. "Or maybe I just leave it alone and keep going with Jake, I mean, he practically gave me permission to, not that I need it or anything."

I pressed my fingers to my mouth as my mind wandered back to the kiss.

Give it a rest, Layla. Quit acting like a bitch in heat and focus on things that actually need attending to. Like the pageant and the scholarship money.

I tried, but hormones got the better of me. So I indulged myself, because, why not.

The three of us could move to Utah and become polygamists. I'd never seen snow, but I've always liked the idea of it. And they had ranches up there, didn't they? Peyton could buy one and Jake could work it, and Peyton and I could go back and forth to New York... Or I could stay in Utah with Jake. I wouldn't be picky about that.

I googled Utah and looked at the images. It looked pretty enough. I liked the canyons especially - much grander than the ones around here.

"I could totally live somewhere like this," I mumbled. So I pictured myself beaming in a beautiful white wedding dress, and Peyton and Jake on either side of me, dressed in jet black tuxedos. It was a pretty picture. Would I get two rings? If I did, would I wear one on each hand or stack them both on the left? Maybe the polygamist community had rules about that kind of stuff. I guess we'd worry about that when we got there.

For now, I googled threesome. You know, just because. The majority of the images featured two girls and a guy, so I scrolled forward until I found one with the ratio I was looking for.

Holy shit, one's in her butt.

Well now.

I didn't think I wanted to do that. Although...

Nah.

Right swipe.

I tilted my head sideways to get a better idea of what was going on.

Okay, now this, I think I can do...

And so it went, Layla Danner, the World's-Most-Ambitious-Virgin and her unreasonable expectations until I was jolted back to reality by a loud knock on the door.

"You decent?" asked Buck.

Not really.

I quickly hit the home button and slid the phone beneath my pillow.

"Yeah," I said.

Buck entered and tossed his phone onto my bed. "Put your number in my phone. Next time I have company over, I'm gonna text you when. If you're not in the house, you stay the out until I tell you it's okay to come home. If you're in the house, you stay out of sight. We clear?"

"Yeah, okay." That was a good plan.

He waited, sipping from his can of Bud. "And you stay away from my business associates, you hear? Stay the fuck away from Gunnar Keith especially."

"Who's that?"

"That nasty skinhead fucker."

I made a face. "Why are you hanging out with people like that anyway?" Buck was a lot of things, but he wasn't racist. Mom certainly wasn't, the men she brought home thoroughly represented the full spectrum of the human rainbow.

"Business is business, money is money. Don't matter to me whose pockets it's coming from."

"Mmm hmmm." I handed his phone back to him. The less I knew about his business, the better.

He slipped it back into his pocket. I waited for him to leave, but he sat down on the lone chair by the dresser and propped his feet up on my backpack instead. I stifled a sigh. Buck was one of those guys who didn't like to be alone, and he really loved to talk.

"You hear what I said?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes and opened up Candy Crush. "Yes, I heard you just fine, you don't have to yell."

"I ain't yelling."

No, you're just drunk.

Buck enjoyed the rest of his beer. Truth was, he wasn't all that bad. He was crass, obnoxious, and sometimes annoying, but he loved Brandy and was mostly a goofy, harmless guy. Well, aside from the Meth thing.

"So what's all this business with you and Jake Waites?"

Oh, and he was a total gossip whore.

"There's no business between me and Jake," I said.

Wait a second...

"Why, do you know him? Jake?" I asked.

Buck shrugged. "I knew his daddy, he used to be a real cool cat. Helluva shame what happened to him."

I grunted. I wasn't all that interested in Earl Waites.

"Had it all going for him too. Great looking guy, making good money with the whole boxing thing and the horse thing, the girls couldn't get enough of him."

"What boxing thing?"

"He used to be a fighter. Sure, it was amateur level, fight clubs and the like, but there's a lot of money to be had there. Things were looking real good for him on the national level too, but then Jeanine happened." Buck whistled. "Single handedly ruined a good man, if you ask me."

"Who's Jeanine?"

"Jake's mama. Boy, she was a real piece of work, that one." Buck made a sour face. "I myself don't condone men beatin' up on women, but that one really had it coming."

Grunting again, I focused on my game.

"He was head over heels over the girl, but nothing was never good enough for her, including him. Always nagging and complaining, going on and on and on... Enough to drive any man to the bottle, for real. Then one day, she just up and left." Buck shrugged. "And Waites, he never could get drunk enough to get her out his head, I guess." Buck shrugged. "Tragic story, there's a song in there somewhere." Buck started humming to himself, nodding along and tapping his fingers on his knees.

"Do you know why Jake went to Juvenile Hall?"

He scratched his head. "Yeah, yeah, he beat the shit out of... God damn, I can't remember that fucker's name... what was it? Adam? Craig? Jamie? Something like that."

Those names sounded nothing alike but whatever, I couldn't care less what the guy's name was. "Why?" I asked.

"Some shit to do with Carson Beaudry's kid, wasn't it? Doggoneit, can't remember her name neither. Jessica? Nadine? Madison? Yeah, that sounds about right. Madison."

Electra.

"The one who died?" I asked.

"She dead? They finally found the body?"

"Huh?"

Buck shrugged. "I thought she was kidnapped."

"She was kidnapped?"

He shrugged. "That's what I thought. And that guy Craig was the guy who took her, or sold her out or some shit."

I was willing to bet that his name was anything but Craig but that didn't matter. "What do you mean sold her out?"

Buck frowned. "You know, I can't remember. All this shit went down near ten years ago and the details get fuzzy." Buck gave his head a quick shake. "Don't be talking about this shit out in public though, he don't like it."

"Who doesn't like it?"

"Beaudry."

"Oh, I won't."

"There's a lot more to the story, if ya ask me. That's why he don't like people runnin' their mouths about it. It was shady as fuck how the girl gets taken, then a few years later all that business with Waites' boy goes down. You know what I think? Old man Beaudry's still lookin', and he ain't gonna stop 'till he's good and dead."

I tried not to roll my eyes. Because of his reclusive nature, all kinds of stories circulated about Carson Beaudry. Around here, he was the Pied Piper, the Boogeyman and everything in between. Having never met the man myself, I didn't really know what to think.

"Don't be turnin' your nose up at me, girl. Beaudry's a mean old son of a bitch and ain't nobody taking nothin' from him without payin' for it one way or another." Buck leaned forward conspiratorially. "Behind every great fortune, there's a great crime." He raised his eyebrow and lifted his beer can toward me. "Beaudry got his start in drugs." Buck nodded, as if that was the surest thing in the world, and as if, by virtue of that, he too, would one day rise to Beaudry's heights.

Whatever. All that was none of my business. I briefly considered asking him what Peyton had to do with all that, but I didn't want to start any fires.

Buck burped and looked up at the ceiling fan. "The fuck? That fucker's making making more racket than doin' what it's there for. I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"Thank you. It's real hot in the house."

Buck crushed the now empty beer can down against his knee. "Brandy and me have some plans for the future so things should be getting better real soon. We're gonna make things better for Amber and you."

Coming from him, that sounded rather ominous. "What kind of plans?"

"That part ain't none of your fucking business."

I rolled my eyes and drew circles on the faded floral sheets. "So, do you think Jake Waites is a bad guy?"

"Why, because of the Juvy thing? Naw, every dog's got a few fleas. Hell, I went to Juvy twice and I turned out alright so I wouldn't hold that against him if that's what you're worried about."

Oh, Buck.

"But what about the Bishop boy? I thought-"

"We're just friends, Buck."

Buck shrugged. "Whatever you say. Don't matter to me none if you're playing the field. Who says men should have all the fun? You want some advice? You're only young once and it don't last long so enjoy it."

"Okay. I'm going to sleep, good night." I turned my back on him and pretended to sleep because if I didn't, Buck would go on all night. He sat a while longer and only got up to leave once I made it real clear I wasn't getting back up.

Five minutes after he left, I sat up.

"No, we're not just friends, we never were. And it's long past time we cleaned out this closet. I'm calling him." I pulled out my phone. "Better yet, FaceTime. That's right Peyton, you look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me."

He didn't pick up so I dialed again. And again.

What the hell?

By that time, I'd gotten myself worked up to a point where I could no longer tell the difference between pissed off and psychotic. Gritting my teeth, I kept pushing the little green button until he finally picked up.

He was drenched in sweat and out of breath.

"Why are you sweating like that?" I demanded.

"Running," he said, lifting and dragging the neck of his shirt over his face.

"At eleven o'clock?"

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"Huh?"

"Twenty seven missed calls?"

Oops.

I stared at him and he stared back, deadpan.

Just tell him.

"Peyton?"

We said his name at the same time. Me and his Alice. Peyton turned around and my screen went black.

Did you just hide your phone to hide me from her?

Oh, hell no.

"Peyton!" I yelled his name, shriller than a banshee stubbing her toe.

"Layla, hang on. What is it Alice?"

To my satisfaction, he sounded fairly annoyed with her. Alice responded so softly that I didn't even try to make her words out.

Peyton's face reappeared on the screen. "Can I call you back?"

"No!" I said.

"What is wrong with the two of you tonight? Fine then, talk to Alice while I shower, I'm dripping all over the place."

Peyton must've thrust the phone into Alice's hands because all of a sudden, there she was in profile. Together, we stared at Peyton's retreating back, pulling his shirt off as he went.

What is this? Oh, so, you go out of your way to stay perfectly dressed in front of me, but you're okay with taking your clothes in front of her? Why is she even in your room?

Alice stared at his back until he disappeared, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Reluctantly, she turned her face to mine and blinked.

I blinked. She blinked. We kept at it until it became clear that she wasn't going to break the silence.

"Hi," I said.

"Hello," she breathed in her little-girl-lost voice.

She was wearing workout clothes too, her hair sweaty, and her face rosy with exertion. Still very pretty though, in a Snow White kind of way. She tried to smile, but couldn't manage.

I stayed quiet because I had no fucks left to give.

She chewed her lower lip and took turns staring longingly at the closed bathroom door and my face. Me? I just stared at her.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Bishop knocked and came into the room.

Alice looked as though she'd been given a stay of execution.

I rolled my eyes and hung up.

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