It was about 7:30 Friday evening, the sun was casting red and orange flares into the sky, struggling to keep from sinking into the ocean, it was a war... California night, god, so pretty; but I was doomed to sit alone in my bedroom with only my smartphone to keep me company. Dad called me out, “Mykal, come on, to the back yard, it’s time to talk about your crimes.” I slumped through the house, head hung low, dreading what was coming. My father had taken two days to figure out what he was going. There are wing men and then there are wing men; this guy is the Red Baron of wing men. As my friends settled into chatting with Jeff, I moved around the table bit by bit so Margaret and I could hear each other better (yes, I know – any excuse.) She still had a slight accent. Those lips were begging to be kissed. I wasn’t trying to hide the fact that I thought she was hot, and she didn’t seem to mind. She was definitely getting a little tipsy. I had never tried the classic/cliché move of rubbing. More

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