Applewild by Heather Lin

circle. Wayne was here, which meant the music was here. She knew he’d have a mix of hip hop and upbeat country music to blast through his ridiculously loud subwoofer. And she knew about four drinks in she’d be dancing like crazy in the bed of his truck.
    She glanced at Alton. The two girls who had been lounging and gossiping had come over to join the conversation. They were giggling and flirting, and they must have played it cool because he seemed surprisingly receptive. A stab of disappointment hit Monroe. She’d feel really stupid if she ditched Rodney just to be ditched by Alton.
    She’d waited long enough for that beer. She hopped on the tire farthest from Alton, hoping he might just not see her, but he caught her eye. She pretended not to notice and grabbed a Yuengling before walking to Wayne’s truck.
    She approached the open passenger side door. He was in the driver’s seat, a trucker cap shielding his unshaven face from view as he fiddled with an MP3 player.
    “Hey, Wayne.”
    He looked up and smiled around a wad of tobacco. “Hey, ‘Roe. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
    “Why, thank you.” She pretended to blush. “Where’s the lady friend?”
    “She’s already run off on me. Gabbin’ with Hayley or somethin’.” He gestured to a corner of the clearing where the fire light barely reached, and Monroe could just make out two figures in the midst of a conversation. “That girl’s got some kinda drama goin’ on. As usual. And as usual, I don’t want to know about it.”
    “Did she and Brett break up? For the fiftieth time?”
    “Probably.” He shrugged and pressed a button on his souped-up faceplate. A few seconds of music blasted from the speakers. Monroe covered both ears, the gloves saving her from the brunt of the noise. “Sorry. Checkin’ the levels.”
    “The levels are loud,” Monroe informed him.
    He gave a deep chuckle and pulled four bottles out from under his seat. “This might help. Honey wine.”
    “You are my hero. I’m keeping this bottle for myself.”
    “Do what you need to do. Secret’s safe with me.” He winked.
    Monroe packed three bottles in the ice in the back of her truck, forcing herself to keep from scoping out Alton’s current location.
    But he found her. She felt his approach before he spoke. She already knew exactly what his presence felt like.
    “What do you have there?”
    “Honey wine. Wayne makes it in his basement.”
    “Can I have a glass?”
    “We don’t have glasses.”
    Alton’s brow furrowed. They were on one side of the vehicle, near some bushes beginning to encroach on the clearing. The firelight didn’t reach them. Shannon, Mark, and some new arrivals were chatting on the other side, drinking beer, paying no attention to the rising heat just a few feet away. And the heat was definitely rising. Alton and Monroe were close, secluded, and they’d given up hiding the attraction between them.
    Monroe set her beer down, popped the cork on the wine, and took a long sip. She handed it to Alton. He watched her lips, still moist and sweet, and drank.
    “That’s some good stuff,” he said, handing the bottle back, those deep brown eyes holding her gaze.
    There were reasons this shouldn’t happen. But for the life of her, Monroe couldn’t remember one. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to kiss him back. She bit her lip and absently flexed her right hand.
    “So what’s up with the gloves?” he asked.
    The question caught Monroe off guard. She hadn’t expected the action to deviate from sensual. The moment was dead, any physical urges replaced by a mental scramble to field the inquiry. She didn’t talk about her scars with just anyone. Her foster parents, the child psychiatrist, a few select friends. It was easy enough to find out the answers just by looking through local newspapers from ten years ago, but she didn’t talk about it.
    Alton seemed to realize he’d overstepped a boundary. “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s just