The squeal that escapes her as she contemplates the non-information given—her own conclusion—irritates me worse than today has.
“He’s so freaking annoying,” I grumble, caving into her antics.
She sits at the table, tapping the chair next to hers, proceeding to place her fist under her chin. “Please, my dear. Tell me more.”
Rolling my eyes dramatically, I scoot out the chair and plop on it unenthusiastically. She’s so attentive, her eyes wide, her smile unwilling to hide.
“Today at lunch, he decided to stick his tongue down some slut’s mouth.”
She immediately pipes in. “Loren Geraldine Tanner, in this house, we don’t slut shame.”
I open my mouth to argue.
Mom stops me. “Women are allowed to kiss men in public. They’re allowed to accept and use their sexuality how they please. And you—of all people—should be accepting of this. Women are meant to lift each other up, support, and love with no fault.”
Again, I open my mouth to speak.
She puts up her hand. “If I’m to teach you anything in life, it’ll be to accept that jealousy or envy and then let it go. Acting upon it, raging out and calling names, or even doing something you’ll regret later aren’t acceptable behaviors.” Mom brushes the hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “My sweet, sweet girl, I love you more than the universe loves living things, but I hope one day when you’re a mom, you’ll understand why I teach these important lessons.”
A tear escapes my eye. She went from friend to mom in two-seconds flat. Her realism and avoidance of idealisms about the world always stun me in the best way. She opens herself, speaking freely in the hopes I don’t feel like a child, and it’s beautiful.
“So...” She nudges my chin, trying to break the bubble of tension. “Why was he kissing another girl, and why are you jealous?” she questions conspiratorially. Her mom mode disappears as soon as it came, and she’s back to the woman wanting the gossip.
“It’s weird,” I mutter.
My confidence is gone. I didn’t mean to slut shame. It’s not that I would’ve cared, but it’s Toby. That’s what made me act out. It was wrong, and Mom’s right.
“Yes?” she prods, rubbing my arm, trying to show me she only got mad to teach, not to belittle me.
“It’s not like normal jealousy. Like, I don’t wish the girl was me. It didn’t make me mad because he’s supposed to be mine or something. The rage came from a shift in us. He’s my best friend. He’s always here for me, Mom. If he gets a girlfriend, that all changes. They’ll hate him spending time with me, and I’ll lose the one person who understands me.”
She nods in understanding, her lips pursed, almost as if she wants to say something but doesn’t know how I’ll take it. Her fingers tap the table. The contemplation in her face is obvious. Mom’s smart. She knows I’m a temperamental teenager who needs guidance, and again, the fact she’s that perceptive only makes me love and appreciate her more.
Standing up, she heads to the island, grabs the brownies she made last night, and sets the entire pan of them on the table. When she doesn’t say anything, I raise an eyebrow. Mom bites her bottom lip then moves her mouth side to side. The silence is awkward and unwelcome.
“Please say something. Even for us, this is weird.”
She scoots the tray of brownies my way. “Eat up, pretty girl. Shit’s about to get real.”
I laugh at her hipster impression, pick a brownie slice, and take the biggest unladylike bite out of it.
While I chew the chocolatey goodness that tastes like euphoria, I stare at my mom. She doesn’t say any more. She watches me, analyzes me, just like I do others. It’s only now that I realize the grays at the hairline of her head. They’re subtle, simply streaks of history and wonder, capitalizing her age. Her eyes, brown like mine, hold so much wisdom and love it makes it hard to breathe. She has always cared for me in a way that makes zero sense. It’s as if I’m the only one who matters. Yeah, there’s Dad and Nate, but when I’m with her, it’s only me.
She finally takes a brownie, eating around all the edges like a psychopath. I watch in half horror and half amusement as she makes a circle out of the square. Goosebumps overtake my flesh, reminding me how much I hate when people do questionable shit.
“Stop.” I over-exaggerate the word, wishing she would leave the room to make weird circle brownies on her own. “I can’t handle it.”
“Okay, okay.” She chuckles, the sound melodic and carefree. We’re so different, her and I, but she gets me. She shoves the rest of it in her mouth, and I don’t know how she doesn’t choke.
“Gross. And you say Nate needs manners. What are you, a Neanderthal?” I joke, making her laugh and cough.
She finishes, wiping her mouth and then staring at me again like a complete weirdo.
“Well?” I push, wondering why she’s gawking at me the way she is.
“I think you’re going to have a challenging love life, my sweet.”
“Why do you say that?” I immediately ask. Not that I have a love life, but Jason did just barge right in like the Kool-Aid man.
“You love so expressively. It’s unique and profound, almost like you feel the entire world’s love and squeeze it into your tiny body. You consume every touch like it’s a drug and give back more than you have. Change will destroy you in a way I’m not prepared for. Your first heartbreak might hurt me more than it hurts you for the sake that you feel so extensively like me.”
Her words make little sense.
They’re full of wisdom but confuse me all the same.
“I-I don’t think I understand,” I muster the words. I gnaw on my inner cheek like it’s my tether to this conversation.
“You will, baby. You will. Just know that when you’re ready, he’ll already be waiting.”
As soon as she says those words, I know she isn’t talking about Toby, but she can’t possibly know about Jase. I’ve never mentioned him.
chapter six
Jase
“Okay, we only have three more games this season. Each are imperative to get to the playoffs. Let’s get ‘em, boys!” our coach yells while we’re prepping for the game in the locker room.
We’re finishing getting dressed, and right before we leave, I wave everyone over.
“All in,” I roar, placing my fist in between the circle. Everyone else does the same. “In it to win it, brotherhood of strikers, forged in blood, the all-star fighters!”
They all repeat after me, and we holler in excitement. We jog out to the field, making our way to the banner the cheerleaders had made, and continue our chant. It’s something we came up with last season to recite and take notice at games. It works, and even the crowd joins in. I’m so busy paying attention to the bleachers, trying to find her, that I trip and roll.
Faking it from an onlooker’s point of view, I almost appear to be doing some roll and fumble stunt. In reality, I lost my footing from bumping into Barrett, making him stumble, too. He’s not a small guy either, that’s why he’s our front lineman. Even him moving from my action shows how easily I could have barreled into the entire team, causing a ruckus.
“Sorry, man,” I apologize with a laugh.
“I don’t even want to know,” he jokes, slapping my shoulder. Shaking his head at my clumsiness, he heads toward the banner we’re supposed to rip through.
The people around us scream, their raucous chants make my blood feel like it’s pumped full of energy. I’m going to kick ass tonight.
We’re huddled on the field discussing plans when I feel like I’m being watched. Of course, I am. I’m getting ready to play one of the biggest games of the season. Then I look at my brother and see him staring at someone in the crowd. He’s sad, the way his brows are pinched, and the pained expression marring his face only confirms my suspicions.
When I scan the onlookers, I see her. I smile from ear to ear. I can’t help it. It’s an all-consuming and joyous feeling. She came. She kept he
r word, and I’m nearly keeling over in glee.
She’s staring back at me, offering the smallest of smiles and a wave, and it just made my entire fucking night. Let’s hope I’m as lucky as I feel.
I wink, giving her a cheesy smile and an air kiss to be a tease. She glares, her face flushed and embarrassed. Realizing I do this makes me want to accomplish this task every day for the rest of my life. If I could love any color, it’d be the color her cheeks tint when I make her blush. I’m guessing I’ll be loving many things in life because of this girl.
The game starts, and everything is going great. I catch two touchdowns, netting the most yards in the game for the season.
Halfway through the game, I fake an end-around, but the opposing team doesn’t fall for it. The huge tackle coming at me is no joke. He’s got at least thirty pounds on me. Immediately, I see how this will play out and try to over-correct my spin. In doing so, I leave my side open to be hit by the huge tackle and then I’m toppled by another from the opposite side. The scissoring action of their bodies makes me land in an odd position. My ears hear it before I feel it.
Pop.
It wouldn’t have been so brutal if the cocksucker didn’t mess up my ankle. I don’t cry. I just bite my lip and let out a strangled groan. They hop off quickly, but I know this is the last game of my final season. I’m graduating this year, and I don’t plan on playing in college.
Fuck. It hurts. The burning sensation in my ankle throbs. I try to hold back grunts but can’t. My ankle is already swelling, and if not for the pain, I’d think it was separated from my body entirely. It’s odd having the feeling of numbness and disconnection to one of your bones.
I bet my baby bro is happier than a virgin boy about to get his first lay. He’ll be taking my spot after this season anyway. Being my back-up, he barely sees any time, it has always gotten under his skin.
Everyone around me is asking if I’m okay. Of course I’m not okay, but I can’t respond. The pain is fogging my brain.
Her voice, though, that I hear clear as day. “Jase!” Her tone is so soft and caring even while shouting across the field, like when I was sick as a kid and my mom used her “tender” voice on me.
One second, I’m on the ground, keeping pressure off my ankle. The next second, the coach and my brother are hoisting my limp form up. They hook my arms across their shoulders and tow me into the locker rooms. The school’s nurse will be looking me over soon, but I’m sure it’s not going to be pretty.
“You’re going to be just fine,” Coach remarks. I’d believe him if his face didn’t show so much disappointment. It only proves this won’t go away before I graduate.
“Yeah, bro. You’ll be back at it before you know it,” Tobe adds. His reassurance doesn’t seem feigned, he always has more faith than I do.
The walk takes too long, and my body feels strained and exhausted. They leave me to get checked for my injury. Until I’m set down, leg elevated, I don’t even notice Loren, but when her beautiful brown eyes invade my vision, peering at me in worry, I feel whole. No matter what this means for the season and rest of the school year, I have her in this moment.
Even if I don’t have her.
“You weren’t kidding about giving me a show,” she attempts to joke even with the sadness in her expression.
I smile, unable to help it while around her. She’s not even in touching distance, and her peachy scent invades my nose, making me hum in delight. The memory of her is so real because of her delicate smell.
“I think I tripped, falling for you,” I tease right back and then laugh at the stupidity.
She giggles, and it’s adorable and soft like her.
“Does that work on anyone?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“Possibly, but I never have to talk much.” I wink at her, losing track of my original intent.
“Wow. I knew you were a man slut, but you painted the clearest picture right then,” she mutters and closes her eyes in attempt to wash it away.
“I want to, though,” I state simply. “I want to talk to you. You make me feel lighter—things I’ve never felt before.”
“You know you sound like a sappy, lovesick teenager, right?” She arches her brow. “Who’d have thought?”
“And what if I am?” I goad, liking this freer side of her, the one without Toby’s watchful eyes. She doesn’t hold back and her snark is as pleasant as her taste.
“Am what?” she mocks, her eyes wide with an uncertain expression.
“A lovesick teenager,” I press.
“Then, I’d have to tell you it’s impossible. You don’t even know me.” She huffs a bit, her standoffish demeanor adorable.
“But I want to,” I counter.
And I do. The fact that she doesn’t put up with my shit and fights me at every turn makes her interesting and not just a doornail waiting to be pounded. Every little tidbit about this girl is something I need to know. She’s in my every thought, and that has never happened before. Lo intrigues me, and no girl ever keeps my attention.
“You seem to want a lot of things, Jason.”
“Jase.” I pause, scanning her short skirt and tight crop top. The slightest midriff shows, and I want to touch the skin there. Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. “I only want you and everything that comes with that knowledge.”
In these few moments, the pain is ebbing, the numbness from not moving my ankle has me dizzy. It’s like I’m high on her—sedated by peaches.
“Jase,” she agrees thoughtfully. “How about we start with being friends?”
“I’ve seen what you do with your friends. I don’t want to be in that category, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone else to be with you. I’m not settling for less than a date with you.”
“One date,” she concedes without much of a fight.
I lie here, wondering why it’s been so easy. Life never hands you lemons. It throws solid rocks, impaling you and making you wish you were dead. Then, when the bruises are all over your body, you realize you’re barely surviving, barely holding on.
I’m no saint, not even a lucky bastard. I just hold onto the good things like they’re all I survive for.
“Come here,” I demand gently.
My tone would be gruffer, but she told me to fuck off twice already. I don’t want to try for three. I’m also a fan of my balls, and she looks like she wouldn’t think twice before hitting them.
She sits next to me, her face impassive, like she doesn’t want to show her cards. I don’t blame her. She’s heard about my reputation. Not many haven’t.
Man whore.
Heartbreaker.
Cheater.
They’re not all wrong, but they’re not exactly right either.
She’s so small. She can’t weigh much. I hoist her onto my lap so she’s straddling me, but not before she squirms.
“Put me down, Jase!” she squeals, her voice high-pitched but not angry.
Her hands grab onto my shoulders to balance herself. Her short skirt rises from my actions. It takes everything in me to keep my palms on her hips and avoid trailing them lower. Avoid being the guy she believes I am. I’m trying my damndest to not be a prick, to show her I really want to know her and not just her pussy.
Though I want that too.
She smacks my arm, and when I flinch from a jolt of pain to my ankle, the apology is all over her expression. My ankle throbs, but I ignore it the best I can.
“I’m so sorry,” she pouts, and she actually sounds sincere.
“It’s really okay,” I reply, hoping she sees it’s the last thing on my mind. As I adjust my hips to make her better settled, she lets out a yelp. That noise goes straight to my groin. Such a bad position for her to be wiggling in any way, but at the same time, it is the perfect position. It’s exactly where I want her.
Usually when a girl straddles me, I take advantage and already have them on their back thrusting between their legs to further my pleasure. But not with Loren. For
some reason, I need to know her first, to make her know me, understand me, and want only me.
Knowing she has feelings for my brother in any shape or form gives me a pang of resentment I’ve never been known to have.
My palms rest on her bare thighs, and we just stare at each other. It’s not awkward, but comfortable, like we’re speaking on an unforeseen level. Her eyes and mine tell each other every little secret without so much as a word.
Trailing my hands up her stomach, her chest, and then reaching her neck, I cup her cheeks, bringing her body flush with mine. The movement causes me to harden, but I push the sexual desire away to give her this moment.
Her lips are a whisper away. I can feel her breath on mine and the way it has picked up. Her beautiful brown eyes lock with mine, all-knowing, all-consuming, and simply breathtaking.
“So, are you going to—” she starts, tickling my mouth with her words, but I stop her with my kiss.
I crush my lips against hers while gripping her throat, making love to her mouth in the same way I’ll make love to her body someday. She moans on top of me, brushing her heat against my uniform-clad waist.
Our tongues twist, almost fighting for the upper hand. I never knew it could feel this good, that a kiss could consume me and make me want to keep a person forever.
I’m a teenager, but I know I’ll marry her one day. It’s in the way she groans and rocks against me, the way our tongues won’t concede to one another, and the way I can see her as mine. The only problem? I graduate this year, and she’ll probably hate long distance. Who’s to say I wouldn’t hate it too?
Our lips continue their battle, and she holds my face, making sure I know she’s in as much control of this as I am. We’re equals, battling for a common ground. And that she’s confident makes it so much hotter.
Finally giving in, I release her neck and gently pull us apart.
Her lips are swollen and red, and I love the sight too damn much. I brush my finger across her plump kiss-swollen lips and smile so fucking big that my face feels like it’ll break. I’m not much of a kisser. Of all the women I’ve been with, which isn’t a short list, she’s only the third to get kisses and direct eye contact from me. I’m not a connection-type person, that’s why I’m grabbing this with abandon. She’s what I want. Maybe it won’t last. Most things in my life don’t, but I’m holding onto it.
Inhale, Exhale Page 5
