by McLean, Jay
A whimper. Perfect.
I press my lips to her neck before letting my smile spread. One hand on her hip, the other in her hair, I murmur, “Should we?”
“Leo.”
“Think they’d hear us?”
She moans, her head tilting to the side, giving me access. Giving me permission. I part my lips, kiss a trail from her collarbone to her neck, up to her jaw, where I bite gently, and she rewards me with another sound of pleasure. Fuck, I love her like this. At my mercy. I have her trapped against the door now, my erection pressed into her, and she hasn’t pushed me away, hasn’t asked me to stop. I rear back, fist a handful of hair, and pull.
She bites down on her bottom lip to stop the groan, but I hear it. I fucking feel it. My dick twitches between us, and with her neck craned, her lust-filled eyes are on mine again. “Ever since I saw you in those heels and had that dream, that’s what I use to get off every night.” She exhales through her nose, her lips pressed tight, her pulse beating wildly in the dip of her collarbone. “But I think I have a new fantasy now,” I tell her, running my thumb over her bright red lips. “Your lipstick. This exact shade. Smeared all over my cock.”
Her eyes close, and they stay that way, and just when I think she’s about to end this little game, her lips part, taking my thumb into her mouth, sucking, tongue swirling. It’s such an unexpected move, that my knees buckle beneath me and I almost blow my load.
Almost.
“Jesus, fuck, Mia,” I groan into her shoulder. I have to steady myself with my forearm on the door, right above her head, while she pulls back slowly, her teeth gliding against my thumb, and I imagine her mouth lower, right where I want it to be. I unzip my slacks, shove a hand down there, and start easing the pressure she caused. Her eyes trail from my pumping hand, up my torso, so fucking slow, it’s torturous. And when her eyes lock on mine, I realize that ever since she kissed me last year, I’ve compared every girl I’ve been with to her. And whenever I sleep with them, I close my eyes, and I pretend it’s Mia, because it’s the only way I can get off. I tell her all of this—it’s part of the game. And when her eyes widen, fill with something other than lust, I’m quick to realize I’m about to be annihilated.
“You said you haven’t dated in a year,’ she says, pushing me away.
I run both hands through my hair, frustrated. I was so close. To what? I don’t fucking know. “I haven’t dated.”
“So, you just sleep around?” There’s accusation in her tone, and she has no right.
I keep my narrowed eyes on hers. “You’re not allowed to be pissed about that.”
“I’m allowed to feel however I want to feel.”
“Mia, your boyfriend is right outside this fucking door!” I whisper-yell, pointing to the kitchen, and I don’t know why I’m keeping my voice down. Why the fuck am I protecting her?
She’s shaking her head, looking down at the floor. “Lucky I didn’t break up with him when you told me to,” she says, her voice cracking as she looks up at me, eyes filled with unshed tears. “Maybe I’d be just another one of those girls you sleep with who means nothing.”
“You know that’s not what you are to me, Mia. You’re being pathetic right now.”
She scoffs. “I’m pathetic? No, Leo. What would’ve been pathetic is if I did break up with him, and you and I—” she air quotes “—dated.” She pushes off the door and past me, trying to get distance. “I’d be in New York, and you’d be here, and who knows what you’d get up to while I wasn’t around.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of shit. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I can’t trust what you would or wouldn’t do for me!” she snaps. “Hasn’t that been proven?”
“That’s not fair, Mia,” I mumble, change the subject because it hurts too much to go back there. “You don’t worry about him messing around on you while you’re away for the summer?”
“No,” she’s quick to answer. “I don’t.”
I scoff. “Maybe because he’s a giant fucking nerd who wears sweater vests.”
Everything stops in that moment.
Mia stops moving.
My heart stops beating.
Her tears stop falling.
My breaths stop coming.
Then her lips part, her exhale the only sound in the room. She starts to speak, and then stops, and then lets it all out—though I wish she didn’t. “You sound just like your brothers, Leo.” She smiles, but it’s sad. “And I don’t like it.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Mia
Drake and I have dated for almost a year.
Dated.
As in, we go on dates, and that’s basically as far as it goes. We don’t spend entire days together, or nights, for that matter, and so the fact that he’s here and we have zero plans of what to do is… weird. And intimidating. And he keeps looking at me sideways as if he’s waiting for something, and I don’t know what it is. An admission of my guilt?
Drake lives in student housing with three roommates, so we don’t spend a lot of time alone. And he’s into tech. We don’t even have a flat-screen TV. Or Wi-Fi.
I can’t even drive us into town because Leo took the keys to my grandpa’s truck when he left with Holden right after our little… whatever that was. For the entire day, Drake and I have done nothing but sit. Side by side. On the couch. Holding hands. For hours.
We went through Papa’s DVD collection and finally settled on Rocky. Then we watched Rocky II. Now we’re on to Shawshank Redemption, one of Papa’s favorites. I’m not really watching, though, and I doubt Drake is either.
He runs his thumb along the inside of my wrist, his thumb catching on the clasp of the pale-yellow bracelet. He lifts my hand to get a closer look. “What’s this?”
“It’s… nothing,” I say, covering it with my other hand.
“It’s, like, not what you normally wear. Where’s your real jewelry?”
“Up in my room,” I tell him. I hadn’t bothered to wear any of it, but I did make an effort with the “fancy” clothes and makeup. It’s the only version of me he knows.
Drake puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer until my head’s on his chest. I close my eyes, wish for butterflies. They never come. Even when I saw him for the first time in weeks, they didn’t make an appearance—treacherous little things.
It’s because he’s safe, I try to convince myself. And that safety is exactly what I need.
When the credits begin to roll, Drake releases a long breath, and I wait for the bomb to drop. “What does your room look like?”
It burns my throat when I swallow. “Well, you’ll see it tonight,” I tell him, pulling my legs beneath me and turning my body toward him. “I’ll sleep in Papa’s bed. You can stay there.”
He eyes me sideways, the way he’s been doing all dang day. “What did you and Leo talk about earlier? In his room?”
I stand quickly. “Are you hungry? I can make dinner.” I start walking to the kitchen. “I don’t know what we have, but I’m sure I can put something together.”
“Did you not hear my question?” he asks, watching me from the couch.
After opening the fridge, I scan the items in there and give him a weak, “Huh?”
“Leo,” Drake deadpans, getting up to stand beside me. “What’s with him?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug.
“He’s kind of a dick, Mia.”
I go back to scanning the contents of the fridge. “I should be able to make a basic pasta—”
“Why are you protecting him?” Drake spits. “Do you still have feelings for him?”
“No!” It’s a lie. A big, fat, giant lie. “But he’s my friend, so I don’t want to speak badly of him, especially behind his back.” Besides, I know how that feels, and it sucks.
Drake’s shoulders slump, and he closes the fridge, takes both my hands in his. After a sigh, he tells me, “You’re too good a person, Mia.” He moves forward, runs the tip o
f his nose along my jaw and up to my ear. “That’s why I love you; you know that?”
It’s not the first time he’s said it, and I really, really wish I could say it back. He lets go of my hands, only to grab my waist, and then he’s pushing me gently up against the fridge. His mouth parts on my neck, kissing me there, and I reach up, grasp handfuls of his hair.
When my eyes close, I see Leo.
I force them open.
And… I see Leo.
Standing by the front door with my best friend next to him, Leo’s looking down at the floor with his hands shoved in his pockets. He won’t look up. He’s already seen enough.
I push against Drake’s chest. “Hey…”
Drake turns to them before adjusting the front of his shorts. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”
Holden looks pissed, and Leo… I don’t even know what his reaction is. I swallow, nerves swimming through me like a swarm of bees stinging the inside of my flesh. Finally, Leo looks up, his eyes half-hooded, and he starts for the stairs. “We’re just grabbing my mattress,” he says. “I’ll take it out to the barn. Give you guys some privacy.” Holden follows behind him, his glare enough to darken the room.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, at the same time Drake mumbles, “Appreciate it.”
Holden scoffs but doesn’t say anything more. They’re up the stairs and out of view when I hear voices coming from outside. I make my way to the door and see two cars, two girls.
The ache in my chest forces my eyes to shut tight. Not just because I don’t want to see what I’m seeing, but because I need to hide the sudden tears. Quick. Because Drake is right behind me, his front pressed to my back. His hands are on my waist again, his mouth pressing on my bare shoulder. Instinctively, I reach up, never once taking my eyes off the girls, and run a hand through his hair. It’s Brianna, Holden’s date from last night, and another girl… and this girl is everything I’m not. She oozes sex appeal in a way I’ll never be able to, and she’s here.
For Leo.
She’s tall, and she’s tanned, and her hair’s the perfect shade of auburn I’ve always wanted. Her jeans are tight, her thin-strapped tank even tighter. She has curves upon curves and the kind of laugh that comes with confidence.
I bet she was never called a fat, brace-face heifer.
“Can you move?” Holden snaps. And then adds a, “Please.”
Drake pulls me back and right into his chest, and I stand there, with my boyfriend’s arms wrapped around me, feeling like an outsider in my own home.
I lower my lashes, let a single tear escape, and when I look up, there’s nothing but dull blue eyes behind an ocean of anguish.
“Show me your room, babe,” Drake says, loud enough for everyone to hear.
I keep my eyes on Leo and give him the same treatment he once offered me.
I give him silence.
Chapter Forty-Four
Mia
Drake and I don’t go up to my room. I make us dinner, we watch another movie, and then he tells me he’s tired. I tell him that it would be disrespectful to my grandpa if we slept in the same bed under his roof without his knowing. And Drake, being Drake, accepts this for what it is: another giant lie to go with all the others.
I lie in Papa’s bed, my eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling. Behind the bed is a window, and through the window are their voices. Their laughter. All four them. Music plays, the bass just loud enough to rattle my brain and drive me insane.
Slowly.
Surely.
I fist a handful of blankets when I hear Leo’s voice so loud and unrestrained. I toss. I turn. Over and over until my body and the sheets resemble a sushi roll. I get out of bed, fix the covers, and then dive back in.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
A girl squeals and Holden hollers, and I look at the clock on the nightstand. It’s close to midnight. If we had neighbors, they’d be pissed this was happening on a Sunday night. If I were petty, I’d call the cops. If I didn’t feel pathetic dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear, I’d go out there and tell them to shut the heck up.
I’m not confident enough to do any of those things, so instead, I lie there, and I try to take my mind away to another time.
When we were little, like seven or eight, Holden and I found an injured baby squirrel on the side of the road. We were on our bikes, and it was getting dark out, so I told him to just let it be. But he couldn’t. He picked it up and cradled it like a football all the way back to his house. He showed his parents, and at first, they were annoyed. Squirrels were everywhere, and most of the farmers considered them a nuisance, and then there was their son, bringing one into their home. It only took one look at Holden’s face, the sadness in his eyes, for his parents to cave. They put it in a cardboard box lined with towels and told us they’d take care of it in the morning. I slept in his room that night, on the spare bed opposite his. He was already snoring when I heard his parents talking. Tammy, his mom, said that she was proud to be raising a boy with so much compassion, and his father agreed. I didn’t know what compassion meant. When I woke up the next morning, I asked Tammy for the definition.
Compassion: sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others.
“Holden likes to take things that are broken, or injured, or even sad, and he likes to fix them,” Tammy told me.
I remember looking at up at her, my head tilted. “Is that why he likes me?”
* * *
It’s an hour later when the music kicks up in volume, along with murmured voices. A light shines through the window, indicating the barn door’s open. I sit up a little, my ears straining to hear. A moment later, a car door opens and closes, and then another. The engine starts, and then tires spin on loose gravel. The light from the barn dims, and I listen closer, pray harder. There were two cars in the driveway, and only one has left.
I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait.
And then I have enough of waiting, and I get up, light on my feet, and move to the living room where I peek through the curtains. Holden’s car is gone. A stranger’s car is still here.
The reality of what’s happening slams into my chest, and my stomach turns at the thought. I’ve never tasted bitterness as sour as the bile in my throat, and I can’t breathe through the pain, through the heartache. I shuffle back to bed, my heart by my feet, and crawl under the covers. The thumping of the bass continues, but now it’s doubled in volume. It rattles the walls, shakes the windows, and suddenly, all those emotions I’d felt only a minute ago are replaced with a single one: rage.
I open my grandpa’s closet and unlock the safe where he keeps a set of spare keys. I don’t bother being quiet as I slip outside, my hands shaking, angry tears falling fast and free. I unlock the barn door, my eyes instantly closing as I wince at the loudness of the music blaring.
And then I open my eyes.
And I wish I hadn’t.
Leo’s sitting on a couch with the girl straddling his lap, her knees on either side. They’ve both stripped down to their bottoms, their tops discarded on the floor beside them. His large hands—hands I’ve fantasized about—are on her butt, his grip so tight his fingers are white. She grinds on him, her head thrown back, the ends of her perfect auburn hair gliding against his knees every time she moves. One of her hands is in his hair, tugging, the other using his broad shoulder for balance. Leo glides a hand up to the small of her back, spreading his fingers, his thumb stroking along the clasp of her bra. His entire hand spans her tiny waist, and I know I should look away.
But I can’t.
Because I know, deep down, a part of me needs to see this.
Needs to own this.
So I can finally start to pick up the shattered pieces of the heart he broke all those years ago.
I make it to the stereo and switch it off. “Get out!” I seethe.
“Shit! Get off!” Leo huffs, pushing the girl o
ff his lap. He picks up her tank and hands it to her, and—as self-destructive as it is—I watch her put on her top, and then scramble for her purse, her keys, her shoes. When she’s done, Leo leads her out the door with his hand on her elbow. I wait just inside, my arms crossed, a tornado of emotions twisting inside me, building higher and higher, coming out in the form of tears too heated to ignore. The car starts, headlights shine and then disappear, and a moment later, Leo enters the barn, slamming the door behind him. He opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “How fucking dare you!”
“How dare I what, Mia?” he spits.
“Disrespect me like this!”
“Like what?!” he shouts, closing in on me. I back away until I’m pressed against a set of lockers. He’s so close I can feel every one of his heated breaths along the top of my head. “Your boyfriend’s sleeping in your bed right now, so don’t—”
“I know that!” I cut in, my heart pumping so fast, I can barely breathe.
“Then why the fuck are you here!” he roars, his closed fist slamming against the metal right beside my head.
I jerk at the sudden sound, the sudden movement, and shriek in fear, my hands covering my face.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers in a rush, and his words are filled with so much pain and regret that when he cradles my head to his chest, I let him. “I’m so sorry.” I’m shaking in his arms, unable to catch my breath, and I don’t know if it’s his pulse I can hear or mine, but it’s so loud, so deafening. His entire body envelopes mine, filling all the empty spaces with warmth. “I’m sorry,” he says again, his face nuzzled in my neck. “I never wanted to be like this, Mia… not with you.” He holds me tighter, and I let out a whimper—the first sound I’ve made since he put his hands on me.
