Dinner is one of the few occasions our family has to socialize. My parents work the biggest part of the day, and I’m either at school, a friend’s place or locked up in my room.   

And how I wish I was in my room right now. After my mom repeatedly asked me when Blair was coming over again, I told her about our break-up (my misconduct omitted), and now she wants to know everything.

She really likes Blair. Probably because she’s sweet, polite and the first girl I’ve ever brought home, apart from Sophia, a cute little brunette with Italian roots. I’d totally hook up with her, had she been in to my kind, but she kissed a girl, and definitely liked it.

“But why? Last time I saw you together you looked so happy!” mom presses.

I could tell her about my infidelity, but decide not to. I’m really not in the mood for a lecture about trust and loyalty right now. Or ever. “Just finish your lasagna, mom.”

“Blake!” she says, giving me a warning look.

I sigh, “Can’t we discuss this some other time?”

“Why not now? Has something happened? Did Blair do something wrong?”

A wry laugh leaves my lips. She’s worried about me, while I’m the bad guy in this equation. “Blair didn’t do anything, mom.” I sigh, “I did...” The words leave my mouth involuntarily, and I groan, knowing there’s no way mom’s going to drop the matter after my confession.

“Talk, son.” dad chimes in. He sits a little straighter in his chair and looks at me intently.

I clear my throat, avoiding eye contact, “I,uh, cheated on her.” The words come out fast and unintelligible, but there’s no way I’m going to repeat myself. Fortunately (or unfortunately) they’ve heard it.

“Listen, Blake.” dad begins, a serious expression on his face, “I’m relying on you to carry on the Harvey-line, so you better start treating girls better or you’re going to end up like uncle Jeff.”

His lips turn up slightly as he looks at my horrified expression. Uncle Jeff is the embodiment of a man who’s given up all hope. I swear, at my niece's wedding last year he wore Crocs. With socks. I guess that says it all.

“What your dad is trying to say.” mom says, giving dad a look, “Is that you have to treat girls with respect. I get that you’re young, and want to have fun, but as ‘fun’ as this is, you’re going to regret it later.”

For some reason, dad’s warning was more effective.

“Do we have to have ‘the talk’ again?”

I cringe at the memory. It was more than awkward, “No, thank you, dad.”

“You’re using protection, though. Right, honey?” A worried mom asks.

I let my head fall on the table, “Kill me, please.”

“I’m serious, Blake!”

“Me too. Please stop.”

She huffs in defeat. “We are going to talk about this, though.”

+++

“Ouch!” Luke says rubbing his arm, “Violence isn’t the answer, Blake!”

“Well, you’ve stopped laughing, haven’t you?” I retort.

“Come on, it’s funny.”

“Being grounded at eighteen isn’t funny.” I tell him grumpily. “I feel like I’m ten.” I complain.

“They’re just trying to protect all the innocent girls from you.” He’s laughing again.

“You make it sound as if I’m some kind of sex offender.” I scoff. But thinking about it, that is probably the only reasons why my parents don’t want me to go to William’s party.

“Your words, not mine.” he replies, “Anyway, stop complaining and get ready. I need my wingman.”

“It’s been a while. I’m not sure if I still have it in me.”

“Please.” he says dramatically, rolling his eyes. “As if.”

+++

“And that is how Luke saved the old lady’s cat.”

As soon as I finish my made-up story, the two girls turn to Luke, looking at him in admiration, and clinging to his arms.“Really? That’s so sweet!”

“Yep. That totally happened.”

I grin as he mouths a thank you, and grab a drink from the counter before heading towards the makeshift dance floor in the living room.  

William is notorious for throwing great parties, and he’s living up to the expectations this evening. The music is blaring, the alcohol flowing, and the guest are dancing.

Dry humping might be a better word choice, though.

I smile at the scene and quickly finish my drink, ready to have some fun. I throw the red solo cup on the ground next to all the others carelessly, and head over to the dancing crowd. Someone yanks me deeper in the mass, and I yelp in surprise, earning a chuckle from the girl who’s pulled me towards her, “I’m Holly!” the cute brunette tells me brightly, her hand still clutched in mine, her voice barely audible above all the noise.

I move a little closer, a lopsided smirk on my lips, “Blake.”