Alley-Oops I Think I'm Falling in Love (With the Wrong Guy)

[17] Honorary Dick

"Are you... drunk?" I whispered incredulously, my eyes widening.

Roscoe fidgeted uncomfortably, but when he realized I wasn't going to drop it, he grouched, while mimicking the outrage in my tone, "No. I'm not drunk..." When I cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him, he shrugged and added, "... anymore..."

I sucked my teeth and glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone else had spotted this mangy stray hanging around on my porch.

He needed to go, like now. If my dad caught him here, like this, at this hour... well, he'd automatically jump to the worst possible conclusion — that Roscoe had spent the night and was sneaking out. It didn't matter that I hadn't so much as held hands with a guy before, my dad couldn't stand the thought of me dating. It haunted his nightmares. And Roscoe was the boogeyman.

I latched onto Roscoe's arm and towed him down the driveway, off our property, and preferably out of sight from any nosy neighbors. Roscoe didn't resist, not exactly — he didn't tug his arm free or dig in his heels, but he did refuse to walk any faster than his usual, casual, saunter.

I shoved him in the back as we closed in on his car that was parked on the street, one house down. "Don't come here again, Tate." I warned.

He pivoted to face me, leaning against his door. "Oh come on, Aria, I know you want to know why I'm here. You're not gonna let it go like that."

"You're drunk... or hungover... or whatever. You probably don't even know why you're here." I shot back. The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

I made a face at him and turned on my way. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of acting interested, but inside my curiosity was raging. What in the bloody hell was he up to? The Prince of Pepperwood High didn't just show up at the hovels of his unruly serfs. Not at 6am. Not my hovel — we loathed each other.

This had to mean he had a nefarious motive, there was no other explanation.

The dickwad.

I heard him open his door, but before it closed, he griped, "Don't be annoying, Aria. Get in the car."

I froze.

What in our history made him think I'd do as he asked?  Had I ever?

I didn't even bother turning around. I thrust my fist into the air, flipping him off.

His engine roared to life and I thought that would be the end of it. But a moment later, he pulled his car around and coasted alongside me, rolling down the window.

"What will your dad think?" He asked jadedly. I resisted the urge to look at him and continued walking, but I couldn't stop my face from scrunching at such an odd question.

Roscoe wasn't deterred. Next he asked, "He's a cop right?"  My eyes flashed at him, wondering where the heck he was going with this. He seemed pleased to have finally gotten my attention. "How does he feel about driving under the influence? I mean, I think I'm sober, but I was pretty faded just a few hours ago..."

I whirled on him, my heart fluttering apprehensively in my chest. "How is that my problem?"

Roscoe shrugged, lifting his hands as if weighing his options, "I need a designated driver."

I stared at him, flummoxed. "Do you have the brain of a homing pigeon? You just return to the last place you remember being?"

Roscoe chortled at my obstinance and let his head fall back against the headrest. Just once I wished I could get a rise out of him.

I sped up, hoping he'd catch the hint and leave me alone. In the back of my mind though, I couldn't shake the worry about his mental state, if it were safe for him to drive, safe for everyone else on the road. I didn't have my license yet, but my reflexes were bound to be better than his.