Inhale, Exhale

by Matthews, C. L.

  But I still love him.

  After pushing through the lunchroom doors, I hurry to the salad bar. Throwing some crazy-looking concoction of salad, fruit, hot sauce, and cheese together, I make it to the counter to pay.

  Toby doesn’t follow me. He’s probably going to hang out with the douchebag outcasts that his brother hangs around and leave me to stew. It’s a punishment he dishes out when he’s pissed at me. Can’t say I blame him.

  “What the hell is that?” a masculine voice grounds out behind me.

  Not realizing that the voice is speaking to me, I hand the salad to the counter lady, and she weighs it.

  “No, really. That can’t be healthy,” the voice mocks.

  Are you fucking kidding me? People need to mind their damn business. A girl’s gotta eat, and it’s not like I’m sad about my ass and tits. I’m blessed to have my extra weight there.

  Handing the lady the amount she calls out, I turn and see the face behind the voice. It’s him. Jason Collins.

  “It’s just fine, dick,” I grumble under my breath, but he apparently heard me.

  “Tobe said you were feisty, but now witnessing it firsthand, I actually believe him.” He laughs, shaking his head in amusement.

  So, he really doesn’t recognize me?

  “Go fuck yourself,” I respond, heading to the table with Gunner, Gerome, Lia, and Cierra. Peace and...

  “Hey! Wait up!” Jason calls out, slowly jogging after me.

  What is it with them thinking I want to be in their presence? First Toby, now Jase.

  Get a clue, boys. Women aren’t here for your pleasure or amusement.

  “I’m not going to be your next lay, Jason. You can drop the nice guy act.” My voice comes out more menacing than I intended.

  He narrows his eyes at me, calculating, challenging me, and then he smirks. Cocky asshole.

  “Call me Jase,” he finally responds.

  As soon as the words leave his lips, the smirk is gone, the cocky demeanor suddenly nonexistent. Did he mysteriously decide to shut off his douchebagginess? Or is he playing me? Most likely the latter.

  I nod. “Sure.” When he turns his face to the other kids, I roll my eyes.

  We make it to the table, silence surrounding us the entire time. They’re all chatting about random events—the Spring Fling dance, the Alice play coming up, and my favorite, the cookout right before summer break. I love food. And I’m so entering that. My chili is to die for.

  Jase turns to me after sitting down. “Loren, is it?” he asks demurely, almost shy, like he’s suddenly nervous that his tricks won’t work on me.

  I did call him out on his shit. I’m glad it made him question his immaturity. Does he really not remember this entire conversation we had at the party? Did I magically dream it all up? We did meet, right?

  “Yup,” I respond instead of questioning him.

  When I finally look back at him, I notice his eyes are full of turmoil. They say so much when the rest of his face is impassive. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time because I sure as hell never noticed him before.

  I’ve seen Jason around school. He’s the big fish, the macho man, and the guy every chick has been with. But at this moment, when he’s sitting next to me, his knee brushing mine, he’s different. He’s not Jason Collins, the meathead. He’s Jase, the cool and collected cucumber. The one I met at that party. The one who took the air from my lungs with his lips.

  My gaze meets his again, and heat pools in my belly as I remember that night. He’s extremely handsome. I can see myself with him, and the thought doesn’t disgust me.

  But Toby.

  My best friend.

  He wouldn’t be accepting. And Jase is a tool. Or at least, can be.

  He has these lips that are kissable, almost sweet enough to lick and bite and nibble. How would they feel against mine again? Before, they tasted of whiskey and heartache. Now, with that goddamn smirk and soda, would he taste different?

  Almost as if hearing my thoughts, he licks his lips, leaning in closer.

  He doesn’t say anything but makes me shiver all the same. His hand brushes my bare thigh, and I curse myself for wearing a skirt. His hand is hot, scorching almost, and I feel entirely too naked underneath that palm. Turning away to gain some semblance of composure, I squeak when he grips my thigh tightly.

  Scooting ever so slightly, I resume my earlier eating. Shoveling my hot sauce and salad concoction, I forget him momentarily. My moan in contentment of the flavors bursting through my mouth has all eyes on me.

  “I can’t tell if I should be turned on or disgusted,” Jase muses beside me, smiling widely.

  Swallowing my chewed food, I point my finger at him. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, perv,” I challenge, grabbing my fork and forcing it into his hand. “Eat, you big baby.”

  He visibly swallows, his face appearing nervous, but he won’t back down. “I’ll eat it if you go to the football game tonight and watch me play.”

  No freaking way.

  I prepare to shake my head then think better of it. I already promised Toby I’d go and watch him, so I nod a little too enthusiastically. He probably thinks he’s won and that I’m a sucker. Well, he’s sorely mistaken.

  “Really?” he questions. His eyebrows are nearly touching his hairline, disbelieving and curious all at once. “The school nerd at a big ol’ sweat fest with ball throwing?”

  If there was a bad way of describing a sport, he just did that.

  “Yup. Now, eat up, buttercup.”

  He grimaces, and I smile wider. He’s in for a treat. I have special taste buds and can build something disgusting in appearance that tastes like a gourmet meal.

  Opening his perfectly plump lips, he forks a huge amount into his mouth. I watch the way he licks the remaining hot sauce off his lips. Watching someone eat has never felt sensual until this moment. He swipes his mouth one last time, and with the glint in his eye, it’s proof how intentional the move is. He’s begging to be kissed, and that thought alone makes me cringe.

  Jase chews enthusiastically like he can’t imagine how something so strange could taste this good. Believe me. I know.

  “That’s one damn good salad,” he approves, his mouth still full.

  “Don’t be a pig. Swallow first, buddy,” I chastise.

  “Not much of a swallower,” he jokes, sending heat to my core and making me blush ten shades of garnet.

  I try to fix my face and make it not as obvious that I’m embarrassed, but I can’t.

  “You’re disgusting,” I bite back halfheartedly.

  Taking my plate of food back, I start eating. Avoiding his intense eyes, I try to catch up to the conversations around me. I continue ignoring the extremely attractive brute sitting beside me, the one whose hand won’t leave my flushed skin.

  “Can you believe that?” Cierra, one of the groupies, questions, her finger pointing to the back of her throat, pretending to gag. She’s not the worst of the snobs, but tends to insert herself in all the drama around campus just the same.

  “What did I miss?”

  They all look at me as if realizing I was here for the first time. As I’ve said, I’m not popular, and I’m only here because the boys are.

  “Uh...” Gunner, the second-string tight-end pauses, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. He’s the adorable grunt of the group. He’s tall, bulky, and one helluva looker. But he’s also shy and dorky and just... him. Out of all the tablemates Toby has me around, he’s the nicest and the least harassing. It’s refreshing.

  What the hell did I miss? My stomach churns, and it must not be good because they all look at me guiltily.

  “Spit it out,” I growl, not knowing why her friends are being dingleberries. If Ellie were here, she’d kick their asses into next Tuesday. She hates people who beat around the bush instead of spitting what they know out. It would be based on her own agenda rather than defending me, but I wouldn’t feel like a chicken with its head cut off
either.

  “Toby,” Gerome starts before Gunner smacks the back of his head. He makes a cutting motion at his throat, warning him to shut up. Gerome is as honest as the day is long. Well, as honest as you can get from this bunch. He’s not the guy every girl wants—not because of his looks, but because of the sake of his mouth. Whether it’s what you want or not, he’s as transparent as a ghost. He’s as harsh as he is factual. When it hurts, it hurts.

  “Toby is tongue-fucking some girl over there,” Lia answers bitterly, giving the boys an admonishing look. Lia. She’s my favorite. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t hide her distaste for the guys and their lies. It could even be her way of sticking up for me when the other girls are bitches. Who knows? All I know is that she’s tolerable. It’s hard to find bearable females nowadays.

  My gaze lands on my best friend. The anger I feel isn’t jealousy as much as annoyance. He can do whatever the fuck he likes, but the way he stares back at me, not really into the kiss with the bimbo, makes me want to chop off his nuts, especially since he’s being aggressive with her to mask the anger meant for me.

  He’s not my boyfriend.

  He has no hold over me.

  Toby Hayes can go fuck himself.

  I flip him the bird, take my garbage, and, before leaving the cafeteria, toss it in the trash.

  Soon after stomping through the double doors, someone tugs my arm, effectively turning me around.

  “What?” I shout, huffing out a breath.

  “Are you jealous?” Jason asks, appearing amused at this revelation.

  “No, just pissed that he’s using some skank to get to me.”

  I’m not jealous. Nope.

  Maybe.

  Even if so, anyone willing to use me isn’t worth my anger or admiration.

  “Liar,” he scolds, trying to ease some tension.

  “Go fuck yourself too, Jason. I don’t need you or your prick of a brother in my life.”

  Without another word or a backward glance, I turn and leave.

  chapter five

  Jase

  I don’t know what it is about her. The first time I saw her, I had to know her name. Since then, I’ve been on a mission to know everything about her. Tobe isn’t forthcoming. He’s protective of her. Overbearing is a better term. He always has his arms around her or touches her whenever other guys think of hitting on her.

  It’s frustrating and, quite frankly, irritating. He’s not her boyfriend. I only know because I watch her whenever she’s around. I’ve seen her whenever she’s with him. They are close, but she keeps up a wall. It’s in the way she holds back, how she pushes him away, and how she doesn’t pursue him in response to his constant flirting. Her actions are more telling than her blatant denial whenever anyone asks.

  She probably thinks I’ve forgotten how we first met. For a while, I believed it to be a dream, but dreams don’t feel as real as the memory of her kissing me at that party. Drunk or not, I’ll never forget her lips on mine. I’m not sure why it hasn’t been brought up, but talking about it with her seems like it’ll get me a kick to the nuts. Especially after blowing her off when she came over the week after.

  “Loren is coming over. Do me a favor and make yourself disappear,” Toby explains, opening the fridge for a Gatorade. Dick. He grabs one of my grape ones, instead of complaining like usual, I ask for more information.

  “Yeah? What for?” In reality, the need to beg for information is on the tip of my tongue, barely being restrained. I want to ask if she has mentioned me since the party—make sure I wasn’t dreaming. It was her body against mine, her lips, her moans...

  Fuck.

  “She always comes over to hang out. One of these times, we’ll make it official.” He waggles his eyebrows and continues to drone on as it hits me that he can’t have her.

  The flavor of her is still ingrained into my taste buds.

  Peaches.

  About fifteen minutes later, she shows up while Toby’s in the shower. When I answer the door, her face is staring at the ground for some reason. Without thinking better of it, I tip her chin softly, regretting it immediately.

  “Hey,” I say. Her gaze connects with mine. It’s almost as if she’s annoyed.

  “What do you want?” she barks, her little angry voice is almost funny. She glares at me, as if I’ve hurt her somehow. That has my hackles rising with a defense mechanism. Is she mad I didn’t reach out? There are valid reasons for that. Ones I pray she never finds out.

  Dropping my hand, I step backward, allowing her inside. “He’s in the shower.”

  She nods, brushing past me like I’m inconsequential. What changed? A week ago, she liked me. Is that a teenage chick thing? It’s hard to know when they never stick around long enough for me to notice.

  “Wait.” I stop her. Not knowing what to say to her.

  “Not interested in excuses, Jason. Get lost.”

  My eyes narrow, wondering what could have possibly caused this one-eighty. Instead of pushing, I do the worst thing possible.

  “Just wanted to warn you to stay in Tobe’s room,” I respond. The venom in my voice is unnecessary, but for some reason, her being closed-off hit the wrong nerve. She narrows her eyes at me, giving me a sardonic expression.

  “Why would I care?” she questions, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Didn’t want you to hear the moans from my next lay. Just looking out for you, sweetness.”

  Her eyes bulge, her mouth dropping soon after, and I’m stuck here feeling both extremely guilty for lying and proud that she cares enough to look offended. Smirking instead of showing any semblance of care, I wait for her rebuttal. She’s bound to have one.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Not my type,” I reply, walking toward my room and away from her. Such a fucking liar.

  Shaking my head at how badly our last occurrence went, I remember the night she was mine. If only for that moment, that’s what she was. Mine.

  I want to tumble those walls down and own every piece of her—limbs, mind, and essence. My desire for her is far more than sexual. It’s her dreams I want to know, what she wants to do when she grows up, what she craves most in the world. I want to know her.

  Finally getting some guts, I introduced myself to her. Again. She wasn’t having it, and after accusing her of being jealous of Tobe, she shut me out. There are no regrets there. Anyone could see the jealousy and anger licking her pretty eyes like a kraken to a ship. She’s just in denial, hiding that he means more to her than she allows.

  In the moment that I brushed her skin, felt the warmth underneath my fingertips, I knew there was something between us. It isn’t all in my brother’s words anymore. It’s tangible. She’s a sweet peach hiding behind a tangy nectarine bravado, and I want to meet the sweetness in hiding, to know her soft spots and weaknesses, to protect her and challenge her, and most of all, to just be with her.

  Earlier in the morning, I asked Tobe to introduce us. After, he texted me, telling me she said no. Can’t deny I was bummed and realized there was no waiting for an invite when I’m in a certain headspace. Honestly, I’m glad I went for it. She’ll be mine one day soon. I know it.

  Is she still going to watch me at my game tonight? She said she would if I ate her weird food. Let’s hope she keeps her word.

  Either way, that food was bomb, despite its unappetizing appearance.

  Lo

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Mom asks as soon as I walk through the kitchen, clearly spotting my scrunched forehead as I make my way to the fridge.

  It’s been hours, yet I’m still pissed about Tobe. The fact that he thought he could ruin my day by making out with someone is frustrating. It’s not lost on me that I care too much. The jealousy I feel is unlike any I’ve experienced before. It’s not as if we’re together or I’m holding some kind of crush on him. I’m more worried about the dynamics of our friendship changing.

  If he dates someone else, even in revenge, will we still be friends? Wil
l I lose the only person who gets me because he can’t handle me talking to his brother? Will he stay when his new person can’t stand him loving someone other than her?

  Boys. I’ll never understand them.

  “Loren? Don’t ignore me.”

  I can’t help but groan in response to her immediate awareness. My mom, for better terms, is my best friend. Weird, right? It’s not like with Ellie and I. It’s a bond I never saw coming. Who imagines being closer to their parent than any other human? Plus, she’ll love me unconditionally forever. She knows when I’m off, whether it’s that mother’s intuition crap or just how perceptive she is. Either way, she won’t stop badgering until I tell her.

  And she’s already starting with her questioning looks.

  Today I need mom mode and not friend mode though. When she’s in friend mode, she gives me advice that is too spirited. When she’s in mom mode, she dissects what I need in a more clinical way. Emotional isn’t what is needed. Detachment is. She does that. She goes for whatever I need. Again, it’s her perceptiveness that has made us so close.

  “Come on, Loren. Don’t make me pester. I can tell you’re upset.”

  The more she asks, the more my chest aches. The more she cares, the more the pain resurfaces. The more she stares at me like that, the more I want to curl up into a ball and hide.

  “Mom, I-I just...” I pause, not wanting to talk about boys. Boys. I’ve never been your average teen. Guys of any sort are the last thing on my mind. School. Studies. Books. Those are my priorities—in that particular order—and nothing, not even Toby Hayes, will come between me and my goals.

  “Is it a boy?”

  With that inquiry, her eyes light up. Mom stands, nearly knocking into me with excitement. She does this little jump, almost like she’s been waiting for this moment her entire life. Maybe she has, but I’m not sure why. Boys are the least interesting part of life.

  She stops, seeing my glare. “Oh my lord! Is it Tobias?”