“No,” I whispered.
He ran his hands through his short but messy hair. “Stacey, do you want to…you know…”
I knew. And for the past year I had wanted this exact moment, but not like this.
“I… no, Frank. Not like this,” I clumsily admitted. I just couldn’t take advantage of him like that.
Frank sighed and assured me, “That’s okay, if I were you I wouldn’t fuck a mess like me either. I respect that in you.”
“I’m sorry, but… you’re not a mess,” I said, sort of lying. He sat up and took out another bottle of Gatorade and took a sip before he got out a baggie of pot from the glove compartment and started to roll a joint as I nervously stared at him. He lit it and asked me if I wanted a hit and I have to admit that since I never tried it before, I was tempted, even if I knew better.