Calm Like Home by Kaisa Clark

time they absconded with a massive display bottle of red wine, which they proceeded to use to play power hour with in Damien’s bedroom.
    “You played power hour with a bottle of wine?” I ask, incredulous. “How many shots did you make it through?”
    “Not many…” He grimaces. “Worst. Idea. Ever. I ended up kicking the screen out of his bedroom window and puking red wine all over the side of his house. Luckily it was raining so it didn’t stain or that would’ve been challenging to explain.” He’s laughing animatedly now, that deep throaty sound I’ve come to love so much. It’s music to my ears.
    “That sounds remarkably like the time Annabelle and I drank Red Bull and vodka to stay awake after finals. Also the worst idea ever. We tried to make it over to Javier’s apartment for a party but she toppled us both down my stairs. I swear I almost broke my arm again.”
    He chuckles at the image then raises his eyebrows quizzically. “Again? What happened the first time?”
    “I was this budding gymnast in grade school. I thought I was pretty hot stuff, and my brother of course didn’t, so I climbed up on our basement coffee table to show him what’s up. I went to flip off the end, only my hand slipped off the edge of the table when I kicked my legs up over my head and I came crashing down on my arm.”
    I hold it up at a cockeyed angle to demonstrate the break near my wrist. “Freaking older brothers.”
    “Believe it or not, us older brothers feel bad about that stuff. Damien and I used to give my little brother a hard time about not being able to catch when he started playing baseball. One day we found him on the couch in our basement, which was right beside the stairs, and Damien got this brilliant idea to toss our little Bichon over the side, yelling ‘ Catch this .’ The dog was absolutely terrified and when she fell she dug her claws into his chest so hard my mom had to take him to get stiches. I still feel horrible about that one.”
    He grows quiet and a subtle look of alarm creeps over his face. It seems odd given the story he told me. I quickly look out the windshield to see if he might’ve seen something on the road, but it’s empty.
    “I didn’t know you have a brother,” I say in disbelief, turning back to him. I find it hard to imagine two Westbrook boys wandering this world, disarming unsuspecting women with their charm.
    He nods once and I can just make out the word “Isaac.” His voice is barely audible, his face completely slack. Then an instant later the look is gone and he’s changing the subject. “So tell me more about gymnastics. You must be pretty flexible, huh?” He glances over at me, his eyes brimming with mischief and intrigue. The look is so alluring I have no choice but to indulge him.
    Suddenly flashing lights flood the night air, bright red and blue illumination swirling behind us. As I turn to gaze out the back window I realize we’ve made it all the way to some small town far from the city lights. I’ve been so wrapped up in the sound of Adam’s voice, I never even noticed us leaving.
    “Well shit,” Adam mumbles as he eases the car over to the side of the road. “Can you hand me my insurance card?” He gestures toward the glove box.
    I pull out the card as a policeman saunters up to his window.
    “I need to see your license,” he says in a booming voice, shining the beam of a flashlight into the car. He’s an older man, graying, with a rotund belly protruding over his belt buckle.
    Adam hands over the insurance card and shifts to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. His shirt tugs up slightly, revealing tanned skin and the waistband of his boxers. I quickly look out the window because ogling him in front of a cop seems mildly inappropriate.
    The policeman peers into the car, looking from Adam to me. “Where are you two headed?”
    “We’re just driving.”
    The policeman nods once. “Is that your girlfriend?”
    My stomach lurches at the