The Book of David Read Online Free PDF

long time ago. Maybe it was the Maker’s or maybe he really is the music man. Whatever the reason, my heart was racing and I laughed with him.
    â€œSorry,” he said. “When I get tipsy, I use my English vocabulary words.”
    We were sitting on a log by the remains of the big fire. The last couple kissing on the other side finally stood up and stumbled deeper into the woods to make poor choices in private, and I felt Jon bump my knee with his. Something about the touch of his leg against mine sent a spark straight through me like the loud crackle-pop from the fire in front of us, which sent a shower of embers into the Arkansas night over our heads.
    When I turned, Jon was smiling and holding the bottle my way. I grabbed it and took a swig. The thick, sweet liquid burned all the way down, and the warmth in my throat matched the heat of the place on my leg where Jon’s knee had bumped mine.
    I passed the bottle back, and my hand brushed Jon’s as he took it and swung it up to his lips. Why did I notice every tiny contact I had with him? It was like my skin was on fire, and he was covered in pins and needles. I took a deep breath, and even though it was a humid August night, a chill swept over me. I felt the hair on my arms stand up with goose bumps.
    â€œSo . . . happy birthday.”
    â€œWhat . . . ? Oh, yeah!” I said with a laugh.
    â€œDid you forget?” he asked. “Wasn’t this whole festival of sin in your honor?”
    â€œI guess—kinda, yeah.”
    â€œSo, you’re officially a man. How’s it feel?”
    I shrugged. “I dunno. Kinda . . . tipsy.”
    Jon smiled and handed me the bottle. “Finish it off, birthday boy.”
    â€œYou got it, Music Man.”
    He groaned. “Goddammit. That’s gonna stick, isn’t it?”
    I gulped down the last of the bourbon and tossed the bottle in a high, long arc into the river. It landed with a klerplop in the middle. “Shoulda led with the swim team thing.”
    â€œIt’s fine,” he said. “I do like music.”
    Jon stood up next to me and stretched. His shoulders were broad from all that swimming, and the bottom of his T-shirt hiked up above the belt loops on his skinny jeans. Evenin the dim light from the dying fire I could see chiseled abs disappearing into the waistband of his underwear. I thought about Tyler earlier in the locker room and felt my face go hot. I tried to look away, but Jon glanced down just as I did. Caught twice in twenty-four hours? I was getting sloppy.
    Jon smiled and cocked an eyebrow. I knew he was about to make some crack, but my mind was blank.
    To my surprise, he said nothing, which made my cheeks burn even hotter and forced me to try to say something—anything—to explain myself.
    â€œI—uh—I was . . . looking . . . at your T-shirt!” It came out too fast and too loud and too much like I was . . . well . . . an idiot. I’m blushing again just writing it down.
    Jon was staring at me, searching my face for a hidden answer I wasn’t sure was there. He slowly pulled the hem of his T-shirt out and down a few inches from where it hung and glanced at it.
    â€œThis ol’ thing?” He said it in a slow, lilting Southern drawl like he was in a movie. If he thought it was weird I was staring at his stomach, he didn’t let on.
    â€œWhat are pixies?” I asked, pointing to the words on his shirt.
    He glanced down at the writing, then smirked at me. “A pixie is a fairy or a sprite,” he said. “Especially a mischievous one.”
    Something about the way he said it made it sound like he was quoting from the dictionary, and I snorted through my nose, which made him laugh, too. He sat back down on the log next to me.
    I was wiping tears out of my eyes from laughing so hard. “So . . . wait . . .” I gasped.