25; jack daniels

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I KNOW THAT I LIKE YOU

"Can't believe I have to read this damned book," Two-bit grumbled, slamming the paperback on the Curtis's counter. "I have better things to be doing."

That earned snickers from around the table – Ponyboy, lounged on the sofa, Johnny with his knees hugging his chest on the floor, Sodapop flickering through the television, and myself, sandwiched between the two. Soda settled on some documentary that I wasn't paying enough attention to recognize what it was about.

"Oh yeah? What could you be doing that's so much more important than getting an education?"

Two-bit shot me an incredulous look. "I don't know, anything?"

I snickered and nodded to the book. "Hand me that, would you?"

He reached over and slung the book my way like a Frisbee. Soda spared the two of us a glance. "Oh, Two just wants to stay in high school forever."

"Please. Seems like a dream, never goin' back to that place."

The book that landed on my lap was tattered and fading at the edges. A vivid orange cover with bold yellowing letters, The Catcher in The Rye. I'd never read it for school myself, but I'd enjoyed it a few years back. It was a quick read.

"Ain't nothing wrong with this book." I threw it back at him. "Quit being a bum and read it."

"I can help ya if you'd like, Two." Ponyboy straightened up, tearing his eyes from the TV.

"Ah, a freshman helping me with my homework? No thank you."

I gave Ponyboy a look and rolled my eyes. "Don't worry Pony, maybe he'll consider it next year when he fails."

Keith stood from his seat and threw the book back down on the table. He glared at me fleetingly, then made his way to the kitchen. He yelled as he opened the fridge, "oh yeah, Holls? How much work you been gettin' done? You being gone all day yesterday, where were you, huh?"

"Maybe I was off readin' like I'm supposed to."

"I'd like to bet money on that."

He carried a few beer bottles along with an opener into the room and sat on the floor, emitting a heavy sigh when he finally settled. Soda used the extra room on the sofa to sprawl out.

"Yeah I'd like to know where you were off to, Steve was fumin'." Soda piped in. "Kinda a coincidence we didn't see Dallas, either."

"Huh." I scratched my chin and looked down. "Weird."

I'd gotten home the night before and Steve was waiting in the kitchen like he always was. I always knew when Steve was mad at me, but I could differentiate between angry and worried more often than not. He held back because he knew I was having a rough time, but I knew he wanted to yell at me. He knew me better than anybody.

Maybe he realized that yelling was never much of a solution anyways. We would have our fights, harsh words, sometimes tears, but they always ended the same way. I'd go off and do the same things all over again and he'd forget what I said. They were futile, but out of love.

"You run off with ol' Dal, Holls?" Two-bit tilted his head and shot a side-smirk, the peak of his eyebrow perking up. I scoffed and twisted my thumbs together.

"Yeah, we went for a walk. Needed to get out of my room for a little bit," I admitted, leaving out the biggest part. Dallas's romantic gesture. It was a tacit agreement that I don't tell anybody else how sentimental he could get, because despite all he still had a reputation to uphold.

I glanced back at the coffee table, the tattered copy of The Catcher in the Rye sitting idle on the table. Holden reminded me much of Dallas in his pessimistic view of the world and others. The utter feeling of being adrift in a world where everything was stacked against you. He was cynical but still cared. He would pick and chose what to care about, but when he did, it was the world to him. It was part of what drew me to Dallas.

Two-bit opened his mouth, probably to tease me, when the screen door slammed shut. Dallas strolled in, hands shoved in his worn leather coat, failing to kick off his shoes before making his way further into the living room. He barely gave anybody a second glance before making his way into the kitchen.

"Speak of the devil," Two-bit mumbled.

"Who you callin' the devil, huh?" Dallas came back out with his fingers wrapped around a beer. He leaned against the archway and kicked one foot over the other, a smirk crawling onto his lips and he slurped from the can.

"Who else would he be callin' the devil?" I piped in with a roll of the eyes. Dallas glared and finished off the can as quickly as possible, crushing it flat and tossing it into the garbage.

"What you up to tonight?" Two asked, nodding at Dallas. He seemed to think for a moment, tilting his head to the ceiling.

"Buck's probably, why?"

"Man, I wanted to get back out on the streets. Today's been such a bore. Have to read this book for class, god damn if I haven't seen so many words in my life."

Dallas glanced at the book and shrugged his broad shoulders, his lips pursing together. He looked as if he were pondering the idea, then his eyes landed on me, and his body ceased to move for a few moments. His lips parted, and his gaze lingered while he responded. "I ain't lookin' to get in any trouble with the fuzz tonight, man."

Everybody stopped what they were doing and looked at Dallas. I held onto my breath, trying not to let a smile break out on my face.

"Did I just hear that right?" Two asked.

Dallas got defensive. "You got ears? Yeah, you heard me right. I'm getting shit-faced at Buck's tonight."

"Alright, man. I'll be there." He held his hands up. "I'd have to be crazy to pass up that."

Dallas had never refused the opportunity to break the law, I could tell by the expression on everyone's face. He lived to break every rule that was put in place. Dallas was trying to be good, intentionally, and it took everything in me not to stand up and hug him. He didn't want to be put in the cooler again. I didn't want him to be put in the cooler again.

"Mind if I tag along?" I asked, looking up at him.

He raised both brows and shifted his position against the wall. "Nah, any of ya can come."

With that, he shoved his hands back in his pocket and made his way toward the door. I hurriedly shuffled up from my feet and made my way toward him. "Wait up."

A few snickers sounded behind me. I flipped my head and shot them all a mean look.

Dallas was on the porch lighting a cigarette that dangled from the corner of his lip. He looked up with his large brown eyes and smiled. I always loved when he did that – a genuine grin with the stick dangling from the corner of his lips. He inhaled the smoke deep inside his lungs and took the weed between his fingers.

"You comin' with?" he asked. His voice was smooth for a smoker's.

"Well I ain't stickin' around and listening to Two's complainin' all day."

He blew puffs of smoke with his laughter. "Good choice." He nodded his head toward the road. "C'mon, we're walkin'."

A few minutes of silence fell between us as Dallas wrapped his arm around my waist, the other flicking his ashes to the ground. The walk to Buck's place wasn't very long, but it was enough on a hot day.

"So," I said, then stopped. I looked down at my fingers, my thumbs tugging at each other nervously. "Any reason you aren't gettin' into trouble with the law?"

He shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant, but I took notice of the way his jaw locked. He was trying to carefully choose his answer. "Ain't no fun bein' in the cooler, man." He scrunched his nose and lowered his head. "Don't want your dad chasin' me down, do ya?"

I wondered for a short second if my dad had ever come across Dallas, or even arrested him. By the record he had, there was no way they weren't acquainted.

"Sometimes I forget my dad's a police officer. He's probably busted a few people I know."

"Yeah, caught me in a fight once outside the The Dingo."

I snorted and kicked the pebbles once we came to a stop. Buck's was already blasting music, the red lights peaking through his sheer curtains. "I guess I should invite you for dinner then, huh? Can't have my dad thinkin' your some kinda delinquent."

He gave a half-eye roll, twisting his jaw. "I am a delinquent."

"I don't think a delinquent would pass up the opportunity for trouble."

He didn't say anything after that, but slid his hand from my waist down my my wrist, then interlocked his fingers with mine. He didn't let go until we got to the front door. He flicked the bud of his weed into the tall grass and opened the door, strolling in as if he owned the place. A couple heads turned. They always did. Everybody knew Dallas's name. It lasted for a few moments before they went back to dancing.

Out of all places to work I'd chosen Buck's and then gone and made a scene. The only bar in town. I'd hold onto the hope that Buck didn't completely hate my guts and get as drunk as possible. It seemed like Dallas had the same idea in mind. He beckoned the bartender over and ordered a row of shots for the both of us.

"Hope you can hold your alcohol," he challenged with a side-smirk.

"Please," I scoffed. "I should be saying that to you."

The one time I'd seen Dallas drunk was on my birthday, but that was only off a few beers. He was still functioning then – slurred words, stumbling here and there, but it seemed his heart grew ten times the size when he had a few.

The bartender lined the shots up in front of us, barely glancing at us both before catering to another man across the room. I shot Dallas a challenging look as he eyed the six tiny glasses between the two of us.

"Whoever downs three the quickest wins?" I said.

He jerked his brows. "Oh yeah? What's the prize?"

"Bragging rights."

"Right." He scoffed and wrapped his hand around the first glass. "One, two..."

By the time three slipped from his tongue, I'd already had the first shot burning the back of my throat. I kept going until the last glass was dry and slammed it against the counter. I looked at Dallas with bated breath to see that he was just downing his last. When he saw that I had beaten him, he scrunched his face.

"Guess you got bragging rights, huh?"

"Well, it ain't much to brag about." I waved my hand toward the bartender. I ordered two drinks for the both of us, something to take it slow for the rest of the night.

"I know you can dance, Winston," I teased, grabbing his hand and backing up. "I've seen it."

"No way in hell."

"Come on, please?" I jutted my lower lip in hopes that I'd somehow convince him. He rolled his jaw and shook his head, moving slowly toward me. His hands snaked their way to my hips, mine around the nape of his neck. We probably looked crazy slow dancing to the fast music, but I didn't mind much, not as long as I had him dancing.

Buck's wasn't a pleasant area; it reeked of alcohol and strange odours, unfamiliar faces and loud music. But I liked the way Dallas looked in the red light, the way his eyes hooded from intoxication and tranquility. I liked that I could get him to sway to the beat when he had a few shots in his system.

"You're a lightweight, huh?" I joked.

"Shut your trap."

I rested my head into the crook of his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind.

I wasn't sure how much time passed. Alcohol and loud music could be distorting, and the smoke that billowed throughout the room obliterated my view of the clock. It wasn't until I got pushed into Dallas's chest that I awoke from my daze.

I turned around. Two-bit was grinning wide, his hands on his knees as his deafening laughter filled the room. I shot Dallas a look. His brows were knitted, eyes flicking to the ceiling in annoyance.

"C'mon Two, don't be immature," I said.

"You're a real fool, you know that?" Dallas shouted over the loud music. It wasn't hard to tell that Two-bit was already heavily inebriated.

"Y'all are a cute couple. Man, makes me wish I had a girl and everything. You mind sharing, Dal?" Two punched his shoulder and Dallas jerked back, his eyes hardening. I breathed a sharp breath of air.

"Screw off, man."

He burst into another fit of laughter and Dallas pulled me closer to his side.

"Are the others here?" I asked as an attempt to steer the subject.

"Except the little uns. Yeah, Steve and Soda are here. Probably flirtin' it up with some girls."

"You should join 'em," Dallas said. "Go be stupid somewhere else."

"Aye aye." He raised his hand to his forehead and saluted, stumbling somewhere in the crowd.

I turned to Dallas after scanning the room, looking for any familiar faces. Soda was fun to party with, but wherever he went, Steve was right behind him.

"You wanna go upstairs? Last thing I wanna do right now is run into my brother."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm kinda drained." He rubbed his hand down his tired eyes.

With a half empty bottle of alcohol dangling from his hand, Dallas made his way toward the creaky staircase and huffed once he reached the top. I climbed behind him with my fingers crossed that the dilapidated wood wouldn't cave underneath me. He led me toward his room with his hand hovering on my opposite shoulder.

"Why do ya think Two bit likes alcohol so much?" I asked, somewhat out of the blue.

Dallas took a deep breath through his nose and jerked his shoulders up. "Same reason we all do."

"I guess it just brings out his real personality, like it does everyone else. The part of us we suppress, you know." I sat on the edge of Dallas's bed, the sheets strewn everywhere and his pillow hanging half off the mattress. His room was a real mess, but he didn't seem to mind.

He shot me a half-smirk. "You drunk?"

"No. I'm not the one that nearly downed half that bottle." I gestured toward the Jack Daniels.

"Hey, I've been working on this bottle for a couple weeks now. You think I drank this all in the past hour? I ain't that stupid, Holls."

"Can't blame me for thinking you would."

"Why's that?"

I stood up from his bed and shuffled closer. "You said it yourself. You've got a reputation."

He scoffed and placed the bottle on his desk. "Yeah, yeah. I know how to handle myself. Ain't need nobody telling me I drink too much." He licked his lips and angrily took a swig from the glass. I cringed and took the bottle from him, placing it to the side.

"Doesn't that burn you?"

"Nah, I'm used to it."

"Don't know how anyone could get used to the taste of Jack Daniels, but whatever."

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and slugged down on his bed, hanging his head over his knees. I was sure his head must be feeling fuzzy from the amount of alcohol he'd consumed so quickly. I sat beside him and placed a hand on his jaw, slowly trailing it up to the scant hairs pricking his cheek. I pushed his hair out of his face and took in the sight of his drawn expression, dark under eyes, and bloodshot whites looking back at me. He appeared as if he'd been crying the whole night but not a single tear had touched his cheek. His eyes were glazed over from inebriation, and he had a look that could only be interpreted as amazement.

"You're somethin', Holls."

I raised my brows. "Thanks, I guess."

"It's a compliment." He shut his red eyes and scrunched his face. "Damn, sorry. I ain't good at this."

I took a second to move his tilt his face back in my direction, and give him a reassuring smile. "At what?"

"You're important," he mumbled, his lips barely opening, as if he didn't want to say it at all. "To me."

His tired eyes trailed back to his stained and dirty carpet, where his clothes were tossed here and there. "Hell, you don't need this." He motioned toward his room, the floors and the paint chipped walls. "You shouldn't want this."

I hadn't seen Dallas look genuinely sad until that moment. I'd caught him at a vulnerable time, something that not many people had ever gotten the chance to see. You'd never think someone like Dallas Winston was ashamed to be a greaser. Hell, he probably wasn't. He gloated every chance he got. But there was nothing glamorous about the life he lived.

"C'mon, Winston. What is it you think I need then?" I asked, hoping that he'd stay silent. He did. "Someone like James? He's got nice stuff, sure, but you know I don't need that. I don't want what he has. I don't want what any of them Soc's have. I want you."

He nodded subtly, then drunkenly sprawled himself of the bed, and pulled the covers up to his chin. He was still clad in jeans and a tight fitting tee.

"You'll stay tonight?" He asked.

"Yeah, why not." I shuffled over to the light switch and turned it off, leaving on the small fluorescent lamp by his bedside. I watched as Dallas struggled to pull off his clothes, before tossing them to the ground.

"Take one of my shirts," he slurred, then rolled onto his side.

It wasn't hard to find a plain white tee shirt that hung mid-thigh on me, and I stripped from the rest of my clothes before slipping it onto my body. I crawled into bed beside him, the warm sheets hugging my body while Dallas's bare back pressed against my side. He took a deep breath before muttering my name.

"Holls?"

I hummed. Dallas's voice was much softer when he drank.

"I don't know a ton of things, you know."

I'd always figured Dallas was very unsure of himself. It wasn't something we talked about.

I held my breath as he spoke. "But you, Holls. I know you. I know it's 580 steps to Barnes street, and you couldn't put down a damn book if you tried. You were best friends with an eighty year old man, and shit, I was too. I know that I like you, a whole damn lot."

There was a long, lingering moment of silence, before I leaned over and tilted his face toward mine, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. There was the slight taste of Jack Daniels but I didn't mind.

"Get some sleep, Dallas."

He mumbled in agreement and I switched off the lamp, letting the room flicker into darkness.

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