by Roxy Gray
Before I can think of a reason to protest, Jamie sinks to his knees and trails his lips across my skin, making contact with my center.
“Oh,” I moan as I realize he’s more skilled in the bedroom than I thought.
This night could turn itself around after all.
* * *
The next morning, I wake up in Jamie’s room. Everything is quiet. The sun is shining in through his small window. Birds chirp outside, and I feel a breeze coming from there too.
Jamie must have moved in a few days ago because all of his things have already been unpacked. On his desk sits a large monitor and a video game console. Next to it, a pack of watercolour paint and some large, white brushes. A gym bag, a dark hoodie and a pair of running shoes rest in the corner on the floor. Two large blank canvases poke out from the side of his closet, which is packed full of clothing.
For a minute, I wish that Jamie wasn’t here. Then, I could go through all of his things. Rifling through a man’s bedroom is my tried and true method of finding out more about whatever poor soul fell into bed with me. It’s a system that has never failed me, and I swear by it. Violet has done it too. We agree that the best way to truly understand a man is to see what he really keeps in his sock drawer.
Beside me, Jamie lets out a large snore, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep. As he turns over, I carefully lift his arm so that I can slide out of bed.
I don’t want to be around when he wakes up. Awkward morning after conversations aren’t my forte, and I try to avoid them altogether.
On the floor, I find my bra and slip it back on. The rest of my clothes are in the other room. I carefully open Jamie’s door and shut it behind me. When I reach the living area, my face adopts a frown. There are two people passed out on the sofa and one on the floor. Beer bottles litter the carpet and coffee table, along with a few empty bags of chips.
My panties and shorts are in a wad on the floor, thankfully within arms’ reach. I pull them on quickly, coming to a horrible realization: my top isn’t within sight, and I’m going to have to leave without it. Just great.
Luckily, it’s still early. I should be able to get back to my room without anyone seeing me. In just my panties, shorts and bra, I leave quietly. The hall is empty. I practically sprint to our apartment, cursing myself the entire way. I should have had the foresight not to sleep with one of my neighbours. In the light of day, the decision seems obviously wrong. And now I’ll have to contend with the inevitable awkwardness between Jamie and I. Violet will never let me live this down.
Thankfully, I don’t run into anyone on the way to our place. I stop just outside the door, and my eyes bulge. Somehow, in last night’s fury of excitement over my newfound freedom, I had made another mistake. I forgot my key inside of my bedroom, and now I’m locked out.
This has to be my worst walk of shame yet.
I knock on the door three times, hoping that Violet is awake. I hope that Clay isn’t. The last thing I need is my new guy roommate thinking I’m slutty; I just like to have a good time. As the door creaks open, I realize that I won’t have to contend with Clay at all. This is worse. Much worse, and I speak before I can stop myself.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Jasper Blake’s eyes spark with recognition. He stands in front of me wearing nothing but pyjama pants. I haven’t seen him in years, but somehow I know that it’s him. It has to be. He’s bigger and broader. His eyes are just as green as I remember, their pupils focused on me. And his boyish good looks have matured into what can only be described as rough sex appeal.
“Me?” He laughs, his brows raised. “I live here. What are you doing here?”
A flood of memories rushes to mind as I take in the sight of him, reminding me that I’m not as tough as I’d like to be. I’m not even close. Because no matter how strong I’ve become over the years, I’m a thirteen-year-old girl underneath it all. One look from Jasper is more than enough to dredge up years of hurt.
I notice how well developed the musculature of his body is. His height, too, has nearly doubled since I saw him last. He looks intimidating. If I didn’t know him I would feel threatened, but there’s one thing I remember about Jasper Blake: he’s all talk, no action.
“I live here,” I say, becoming very aware of my nipples as his eyes land on my bra. I fold one arm over my chest, pushing past him through the open door.
“You don’t have a key. That means you don’t live here.”
“I have a key,” I grit my teeth. “It’s in my room. I accidentally locked it in there.”
He laughs again, loudly as he follows me through the apartment.
“So, where are you coming from this morning?” He asks. I feel myself redden under his suspicious gaze.
“None of your business.”
“Wow.” Jasper grins. “Only been here one day and already found a guy? You haven’t changed at all.”
“Shut up.”
Reaching the door to my room, I pull a bobby pin from my hair and start picking at the lock furiously.
“That’s not going to work,” Jasper says. He leans against his door frame, watching in amusement.
“Yes. It. Will.”
But after a few minutes of trying, I collapse on the floor, defeated. Jasper laughs again, obviously enjoying my suffering.
“Why don’t you help me instead of being an asshole?”
“This is more fun,” he shrugs.
“Guess I’m not the only one who hasn’t changed,” I mutter.
He disappears into his room without a word and I roll my eyes. Of course, Jasper isn’t going to help me. All he ever did when we were neighbours growing up was make me miserable. The day I moved away was likely the happiest of my life.
Except now he’s back.
“Move out of the way.”
Jasper re-appears with a toolbox and a hooded sweatshirt in hand. He tosses the hoodie to me and it lands in my lap.
“Put it on. Unless you want me to keep looking at you, that is.” His eyes wander down to my bare torso again. “You have a lot of tattoos now. You look different,” he observes.
“Yeah, well I’m all grown up,” I reply, pulling the soft material over my head. I catch a whiff of cologne in the fabric, and will myself not to inhale its intoxicating scent.
“You definitely are,” he grins. “No more good girl Ivy anymore, yeah?”
I ignore him.
Jasper kneels in front of my door. He opens the box, revealing a set of metal picks.
“You have tools to pick locks? Why?” I ask.
“None of your business.”
I roll my eyes again. “You always were getting into trouble. Looks like you’re still up to your old tricks.”
The door finally opens with a click.
“There you go,” Jasper says. “You’re welcome.”
My face softens.
“Thank you, Jasper. Really.”
We stand there for a minute, staring at one another. I take in his chestnut brown hair, which has just the slightest wave. His face is clean-shaven, though I can see a hint of stubble; evidence that he’s no longer the heartbreaking boy I once knew.
Jasper looks at me too, his eyes examining my face, my hair… my body.
Maybe I’m imagining it. Or maybe I’ve gone mad, but I feel something between us. Something more than when we were kids and we annoyed the crap out of one another. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that I was attracted to him. But I do know better. Jasper has never looked at me that way, and he’d never let me live it down if he found out that I thought he was…sexy or something. Some things are better left unsaid.
Clay emerges from his bedroom, taking notice of Jasper and me.
“Hey, you guys are up! Ivy, have you met Jasper? Jasper, this is Ivy.”
“We already know each other,” Jasper says flatly, his eyes not moving from my face.
“Oh. Weird,” Clay sa
ys, looking puzzled.
“We used to be neighbours.”
I match Jasper’s snappy tone, meeting his steely gaze briefly. Clay looks between us for a second uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, he disappears into the kitchen. I try to ignore Jasper, who’s still looking at me.
“I’m going to take a shower and get to class.”
I escape quickly to my room. Behind the closed door, I take a few deep breaths to calm myself in the quiet. I thought I was done with Jasper the day I moved away. Jasper and his taunting insults, his rude behaviour, and his stupid good looks.
How am I going to avoid him now?
2
___
WEEK ONE
HIM
I met Violet this week.
And wow, she is beautiful. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Big tits. She even has freckled skin.
There’s something special about her. I swear, even her voice is perfect. It’s sweet and soft, sugar-coated when she speaks with those lips. The same lips that I want to kiss, but I can’t. The same lips that I want to be wrapped around my…never mind.
That’s never going to happen.
It doesn’t matter what I want. I’ve become accustomed to not getting my way. After all this time, it’s become more of a fact than a fear. Some people are winners in life, and others are losers. I’ve come to terms with being the latter. I’m a realist, and I know that she’ll never go for me. Especially not with all of the other men around.
It’s probably for the best anyway.
Violet would be a distraction that I can’t afford. I need to focus on school and my future. I want to make something out of myself. I want to help people. I want to become something more than I already am.
And I’ve already found someone to help.
Her name is Amanda. Sure, she’s not quite as pretty as Violet, and not nearly as nice. But that doesn’t mean she’s not deserving of help. She has a problem, and I’m going to be the one to help her.
IVY
“Shit. I’m late,” I realize as I look up from my book. I had planned to get a head start on my reading, but somehow two hours went by in a blink. My class is starting in exactly eight minutes, and I definitely won’t make it on time.
Shit. What am I going to wear? Is it cold outside? Do I need to bring my book? I hop out of bed, searching the floor for clothes. I move quickly, aware that every second is precious. I need to arrive in class before our crazy professor locks the doors under the claim that “there’s no excuse for showing up late.” Major eye roll.
A sharp knock sounds at my door, and I’m filled with panic and dread at the possibility that it could be Jasper.
“Ivy? Are you coming to class?”
Violet’s sweet voice filters in from outside, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can picture her there, impatiently tapping her foot as she does when I’m taking too long. It’s not the first time. Admittedly, I’m always late. I blame my tardiness on my creativity; people who are dreamers can’t always be expected to stay on schedule.
“I need a few more minutes!” I shout. I pull on a pair of clean underwear, scouring my drawer for a bra. The distant murmur of Violet making small talk with Jasper seeps through the crack in my door.
Great. I guess he is home.
“Violet, I’ll just meet you there!” I shout, interrupting their conversation. I choose a sports bra, the only one I can find, and rifle through my closet looking for an outfit.
“Okay, bye!” Violet says. Her footsteps fade, and quiet resumes. I’d been hiding out in my room all morning, intentionally avoiding Jasper. Same thing yesterday. Knowing he’s on the other side of my wall is throwing me for a loop. I’m sure he knows it too. Jasper derives pleasure from pushing my buttons; always has. And after the tension between us yesterday, trying to force a conversation with him would be worse than a trip to the dentist.
He doesn’t know you anymore. Don’t let him get to you, I tell myself.
But he used to know me. Very well, in fact. He knows that I was afraid of the woods near our house, always believing it was haunted. He knows I never had many female friends growing up because I was too much of a tomboy. And he also knows that the place I felt safest was our little tree fort in the back yard, where we’d be for hours on end, trying to predict what we’d be when we finally grew up.
I can’t hide from any of that, which is likely why I’m so bothered by Jasper’s resurgence in my life. He’s one of the only people in the world who knew me back when I was a bratty, weak girl. I’m not ready to see if he thinks I still am. I don’t want to find out that all of the years I’ve worked to become independent and strong can be reversed by one appearance of Jasper. Especially when I had promised myself that I wouldn’t let other people dictate how I feel.
I’m not about to start now.
After hastily slipping on a pair of sneakers, I stuff my book into my bag. I run out of my bedroom, ready to jog all the way to class, but I collide with something solid. Or rather, someone solid.
Jasper’s backpack falls to the floor, spilling open as we collide with one another. “Ow, fuck, Ivy. What is your fucking problem?” He says, squinting as he covers one eye with his hand.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” I say. I tilt my head upward to get a look at him. “Are you okay? I’m late for class — didn’t see you.”
“Yeah? Well so am I,” Jasper grumbles. He pushes past me and slams the front door.
Well, at least the tension is gone.
When I finally arrive at my class, I notice Violet in the back row, saving me a seat. “Hey,” I whisper, sliding in next to her. “Did I miss anything important?” Violet yawns, shaking her head.
“Oh, not really. Just that if you want to sign up to help with the school paper to see Professor Stein after class,” she replies.
I lean back in my seat, opening my laptop to take notes. This course is titled Investigative Journalism: Famous killers and investigations in Canadian History. The professor is examining the role played by the media in the arrest of Robert Pickton, a famous serial killer.
“So disgusting. How did it take so long for them to catch him?” Violet whispers, her lip curling downward in revolt.
“Yeah, he was one of the worst in the country. I can’t believe there are people out there who get off on hurting women. It’s nasty,” I say.
“But remember,” the professor continues, “your job as an investigative reporter is to assist the authorities, not impede their investigation.”
“What if the police aren’t doing a good job?” Someone pipes in from the front row. I squint my eyes to see, noticing the speaker is none other than Jamie.
“Is that Jamie from down the hall?” Violet whispers to me.
“Yeah,” I nod.
“Well, unfortunately, the rule still applies,” the professor continues. “As much as it can be painful, we have to accept that the police are the experts.”
“He’s hot,” Violet says, chewing on the end of her pencil.
“He is,” I agree. “But not so great in bed. Good tongue, though.”
Violet stifles a laugh, giving me a knowing look.
“I knew it,” she says. “You fuck like a man.”
“Hey, a girl has needs,” I shrug.
“Yeah? So do I. I just keep them to myself,” she grumbles.
After class, I make a point to sign up for the school newspaper.
“Are you going to join too?” I ask Violet as we pack up our things.
“No, I don’t think I have the time,” she says.
“What do you mean? We have the same number of classes, Violet. Come on, it’ll be fun!”
Violet shakes her head insistently. “No, I have too many other things going on. Anyway, I have to go, Tuesdays are jam-packed for me.”
She rushes out of the room before I can object. “I’ll see you at home later,” I call after her.
Did I do something to make Violet mad at me?
When I walk into our place, I notice men’s shoes near the door and make a beeline for my room, shutting myself inside. My plan to avoid Jasper may have faltered earlier, but I’m going to continue on with it. I resume my reading assignment and flop onto my bed, burrowing into the pillows.
The book’s cover features the face of an angry man, split down the middle by two different colour tints. Half of his face is blue, the other is black. And beneath it, the title in blood-red letters:
Cold North Killers: A History of 60 Canadian Serial Murderers
This is going to be gruesome, I think. Especially since the book seems to be filled with graphic images and illustrations. I feel my stomach start to turn as I leaf through the pages, revolted by the content. Cursing my weak gag reflex, I decide a tea would calm my nerves.
I get up and head for my door.
Until I hear it and freeze.
It begins as a rhythmic knocking sound, slow and quiet. Next, an audible series of female moans. Then the slap of two bodies meeting. And most disturbing of all, the unmistakable timbre of Jasper’s voice through the wall.
“Fuck, yeah. So fucking good.”
Are you kidding me?
Who does he think he is, bringing women home in the middle of the day? How did he even find one so quickly? He’s barely left our place since he moved in. I live here too, and I’m not about to let Jasper’s extracurricular activities interfere with my work. Knowing him, if I don’t set boundaries now this will become a common occurrence.
I’m not going to let that happen. I fling my door open and rap on his loudly. It takes a few seconds for the moans to subside. Jasper opens the door six inches, completely naked other than the sheet he’s holding in front of his privates.
“What do you want?” He demands.
“I’m trying to get some work done. Can you and your friend please keep it down?” I ask, mimicking his impatient tone.
I hear a giggle from behind him.
“Sorry, sugar, no can do. Unless you want to join us, I suggest you find somewhere else to ‘work’,” Jasper says, slamming the door in my face.
