Students of the Game by Sarah Bumpus Page A

and holds it open for me chivalrously, then shuts it after I’m all bucked in.
    After we pull out of the driveway, he puts on a band that I surprisingly don’t recognize and am too embarrassed to ask about. So I just nervously stare out the window.
    Carver glances over at me. “Relax, Joy. I don’t bite…unless of course you want me too,” he says flirtatiously, then leans over and brushes a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. He skims my neck with his fingers and I feel like I’m going to physically combust. A warm flush starts in my face and channels its way down to the tips of my toes. You’ve heard of those strange cases where they find people randomly dead in big piles of ash on the floor…Cause of death, spontaneous human combustion due to one, Carver Halsey.
    Suddenly, I recognize the song that comes on the stereo. “I like this song,” I say, trying to change the subject, before I’m a pile of dusty black soot ruining his leather upholstery.
    He laughs, obviously knowing my intention, and after that we don’t talk much while we drive. Traffic is heavy going into the city and Carver has to focus on not getting rear-ended. I don’t blame him. If this was my car, I wouldn’t want it to get rear-ended either.
    We finally park and walk a few blocks to the club. At the door and there’s a large man with an even larger belly, checking Ids. Carver hands him his license, and the man nods, before giving it back. I reluctantly hand mine over. Shit. Why didn’t I think to ask Carver if the show was all ages?
    “Sorry,” the bouncer shakes his head, “it’s eighteen plus.”
    Carver looks pissed.
    Why am I so stupid? I should have told him I was still seventeen.
    Someone in line behind us yells a joke about a daycare center up the street, causing a few people snicker. Carver’s face reddens with anger and he gets up close to the bouncer. “What the hell, man? You think those blonde bitches you just let in are eighteen?”
    The bouncer gets inches from Carver’s face and aggressively remarks, “Yeah, man… I do. Their Ids said they were. I think you’d better leave before I have to make you.”
    “Try it, asshol e!” Carver sneers and he shoves the bouncer in the chest.
    Shit. The real ‘Bad Boy’ has decided to make himself known. I thought maybe it was just an image thing, but suddenly I know I was wrong. I quickly snatch my Id from the guy’s hand, and do my best to yank Carver off him. I somehow pry him away, and he turns to walk away, kicking over a chained partition in his wake. Carver heads down the street shaking his head, still heated about the whole thing, and I follow along.
    When we’re two block away from the car, Carver comes to a stop. “Fuck!” he exclaims and throws his hands up. “Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t eighteen yet?”
    Still stunned from the little altercation, I don’t respond. I just stand there feeling a mixture of guilt and shame, like an overexcited dog, being scolded at for peeing on the floor. Carver’s features suddenly soften. He takes my chin in hand and turns it up to his face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Look, it’s not your fault. That guy was an asshole. If I had a vagina he would have let us both in.” He smiles and then continues, “And, if I had known you were seventeen, we would have gotten you a fake Id first.”
    “I’m sorry,” I start to apologize, but he places his fingers over my lips. I feel any unpleasantness dissolve with his touch.
    “Forget about it, Joy. It’s no big deal,” Carver smiles. “C’mon, let’s just go back to my place.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in a playful headlock. I get a slight whiff of his cologne, the familiar scent that’s embedded into that hounds tooth scarf, and it makes my stomach do back flips.
    Yeah, we should have just done that to begin with.
    I feel a slow burn in my lower belly, and the image of the scene I’ve just witness is now completely