by Cassie James
He shrugs. “Sure, I don’t see why not. It’s my dad’s, but I’ve never actually seen him read it, so I can’t imagine he’ll even notice it’s gone.”
“Thanks.” I stand on my tiptoes so I can reach him for a kiss. “Hey, I probably need to get going. Will you walk me out now that the rain has stopped?”
I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as Ace walks me out to my car, pausing just long enough for me to say goodbye to his sister and brother-in-law before I go. We share one last kiss before I climb into the car, carefully setting Francis Van Doren’s copy of Moby Dick on the seat beside me. Things just got very, very interesting.
Chapter Eighteen
I’ve barely put the car in park before I fling the door open, the book tucked under my arm as I dart from my driveway to Smith’s house. I called him to tell him I was on my way over, though I didn’t mention why, so the front door opens just as I’m reaching it.
“Woah.” He puts his hands up to catch me as I nearly bowl him over. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and thrust the book out to him, watching his face as he turns it over in his hands. “Open it,” I tell him. He looks at me curiously but does what I asked, eyes skimming over the inscription.
“Okay, what exactly has you in such a panic? Did you find something new in here?” He squints at the page like something new might appear right before his eyes. But I shake my head profusely as I point to the book.
“Smith. That’s not the book you gave me.” He starts to shake his head like he doesn’t get it, but then his mouth falls open as understanding finally hits him. Now he gets it. He grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the house with him. No one else is around he leads me upstairs into what I’m assuming is his bedroom. I look around, wanting to take it all in as I see his room for the first time. It’s a little bit distracting from the matter at hand. More so because of how worked up I got not that long ago at Ace’s. All kinds of inappropriately timed thoughts start running through my mind.
“Where did you get this?” Smith asks, bringing me back to why I’m actually here. He turns it over in his hands and checks out the inscription again.
“It belongs to Ace’s dad.” Smith jerks his head up to stare at me. “I didn’t tell him anything. I don’t even think he knew there was an inscription in there. I asked him if I could borrow it but I didn’t explain why.” I pause before telling him, “I am gonna have to tell him at some point, though, Smith.”
“I agree,” he says. “Don’t look so surprised. We’re all on the same side, Jules.”
I guess he’s right. I shouldn’t be so surprised that he’s willing to turn this into a group thing. He’s already proven he’s far better at handling our relationship dynamic than the other guys. There’s never any jealousy or sense of discomfort about it. Smith likes sharing me. Which is baffling and hot as hell all the same time somehow. I don’t understand it—but I’m sure not about to question it, either.
“Ace and his sister mentioned that their dad was maybe being blackmailed by Hollis? And that he thinks Hollis’ treasure has something to do with that. Do you think he could be right? If Hollis gave Francis Van Doren this book, it’s possible...”
“He could have been taunting him,” Smith finishes for me with a grimace. “Yeah, that doesn’t exactly bode well for anyone, does it? But we don’t even know if that’s true. There are a lot of theories, but obviously no one can prove anything without actually finding whatever Hollis hid.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. Every time it seems like maybe we’re onto something, we just turn up more questions. It’s really just a never-ending puzzle and I can’t help wondering if Hollis is laughing at us right now from beyond the grave. I let my eyes wander the room as I try to tamper down some of the disappointment I feel that this huge clue still doesn’t actually lead to anything.
My eyes stop on a bong sitting on Smith’s dresser. It’s fancy and metallic, much nicer than anything anyone smoked out of in Nikon Park. Still, seeing the bong out in the open like this leaves me with a lot of questions. Like, what if pot wasn’t the only thing he was doing? It was obvious when Sadie had a problem, but I know it doesn’t always work like that. Some addicts function better than others.
“I stopped,” Smith says, startling me out of my thoughts.
I look down at my feet for a second, a little embarrassed to be caught staring like that. “You don’t have to say that just for my sake. Just because I don’t do it doesn’t mean I’m judging you. It just made me wonder if the pot’s the only thing. I’ve never seen you… but that doesn’t mean…” I’m really struggling through finding the right words.
Smith grabs my hands and pulls me to him. “I’m not just saying it. I smoked a lot before you came because every day was so fucking boring. It was just a way to get through it with minimal participation. But nothing’s been boring since you showed up, Juliet.” He puts a finger under my chin, tilting my head up and kisses me. Soft, closed-mouth kisses that are more about reassurance than lust. He continues, “And yeah, the pot was the only thing. And some drinking occasionally, which you know, but only because I don’t have to fight that same compulsion that Sadie and my mom have.”
“I’m glad you don’t.” I could spend the rest of my life in Patience, but I know that I’ll never forget the things I saw in Nikon Park. Addiction is hard and messy and it hurts everyone. I’ve been on the receiving end of that far more than my fair share of times.
I kiss Smith back the way he kissed me. Soft. Unassuming. But that’s not nearly enough. I put a hand on his shoulder as I angle my head and kiss him again, running my tongue along his top lip as I silently ask him to kiss me back for real. He indulges me, opening his mouth to me for a real kiss.
I pull away just long enough to tug him towards his bed with me. For a split second he hesitates, but then he tumbles down onto the rumpled sheets with me, shoving his heavy comforter out of the way as he lays down facing me, his body half covering mine as we kiss languidly—like we’ve got all the time in the world together.
He leans on one arm while he keeps his other one free, his hand exploring the length of me over my clothes. He cups me through my bra, kneading that handful of flesh as my shoulders dig into the mattress, chest straining out to meet his touch. We don’t last long like that before Smith’s climbing the rest of the way over me, kissing me harder as the neediness between us grows more desperate.
He abandons my mouth as he kisses his way down my neck, drawing little mewling sounds out of me as he runs his mouth over patches of overly sensitive skin. Wanting to push things further, I slide an arm in between our bodies.
My hand skates across the front of his jeans, tracing the length of him with my fingertips. His hips jerk slightly as he lets out a shuddering breath. I move my hand up, fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He tenses, but when I don’t move right away, his body relaxes back against mine.
I slowly start to slide my hand the rest of the way into his pants, lucky that his jeans are just loose enough to let me in. The tips of my fingers barely get a chance to make contact with his soft skin before he jerks away from me. He blinks down at me with confusion like he’s not sure how things even got this far.
“Hey.” He grabs my wrist and pulls my hand from his pants to stop me from venturing any further. “Let’s not do that right now.”
After all the time I’ve spent exploring blatant consent with Ace, I feel bad that the first word out of my mouth is, “No.” Hastily, I add, “I’m ready now.” I kiss him again.
“I’m not,” he says with a hoarse voice and the shake of his head.
I drop my arms, letting them fall limp to either side of me on the bed. “Are you serious?” It’s not like this is coming out of nowhere. Smith and I are good at stealing intimate moments. Kissing. Some over-the-clothes petting when we can get away with it. It’s not like we’ve rushed into this. I’ve been with Smith the longest out of my guys. And we have good chemistry,
so I know it’s not that, either. “What’s the problem?” My voice wobbles.
“Uh, this just isn’t how I pictured it.” He looks away from me as he rolls off of me, pushing himself off the bed and crossing the room so he’s as far away from me as physically possible without actually leaving the room.
I look around, trying to figure out what the hell he means. It’s not like we’re hanging in a sketchy back alley or something. This is his bedroom. We have privacy. We have time. We have feelings. To me, that’s exactly how I’ve pictured it. I don’t know why he would picture it any other way. “I don’t understand what the problem is,” I push, frustration seeping into my voice.
“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” he says. “Let’s do something else. We could do that ice cream place you like.” Any other time, I’d jump right on that suggestion, but it’s obviously a ploy to avoid actually talking. To me, that’s a big no-no. Whatever’s going on, I’d rather have it out in the open. Better to address it now than to let it simmer until it’s a bigger problem than it needed to be in the first place.
I scoot closer to the edge of the bed and cross my arms below my chest. Smith’s eyes flicker down to where my arms are pushing my breasts up like an offering. He mumbles what sounds like a curse as he tears his eyes away. I don’t get it. He’s obviously turned on by me.
“You’re being stupid,” I tell him with a frown. “This isn’t normal, so tell me what’s going on.” His face blanches when I say the word normal but I can’t take back my word choice now. I hate that I sound like such an asshole right now, but I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s a bad combination of being tired of lack of communication and being hopped up on my own hormones and adrenaline.
For a second, he hesitates like he’s thinking about saying whatever it is but then shrugs his shoulders and holds his hands out helplessly. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Just tell me,” I snap.
“Stop being like that.” Now he’s starting to get snappy, too. “I’ve put up with your shit, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you return the favor.”
I scoff. “At least you knew what my shit was. You’re just leaving me to assume the worst—and I am by the way—assuming the worst right now.” When he still doesn’t say anything right away, I snap again, “What? Should I just leave? Some other girl that you actually want to sleep with is coming, and you can’t risk me being here when she shows up?” I don’t even know where that accusation comes from, but I put it out there anyway. I need to chill the fuck out.
Smith rolls his eyes at me but takes a step closer and runs his hand through my hair, resting his hand on the back of my head. “I love you. Stop being an asshole.”
Conflicting feelings overwhelm me. My heart wants to go soaring, leaping, frolicking through meadows—but my head, my stubborn head, is mad that he’s trying to do this right now. It doesn’t feel good. Another boy telling me he loves me in the middle of a fight. As if it will somehow put a bandaid on everything. As if it magically fixes the problems.
I haven’t forgotten the way I let the words slip out at the end of last school year, casually telling him I loved him as we were parting ways. That’s how I thought it would be when he said it. Natural. Sweet and unexpected, slipping out because he couldn’t help himself. Not wielding the words like a shield in battle. There’s nothing romantic about this, it just feels icky.
Smith lets out a long sigh and releases me. He puts his back to me again as he groans like he can’t believe we’re still talking about this. Finally, he says, “I have particular tastes, Jules. This—you and me here—just us, it uh, doesn’t exactly check all my boxes.”
I stare at his back for a long moment. I still don’t get it. It doesn’t exactly check all his boxes? What the hell else does he need? An audience? Oh. All those conversations last year had been relegated to the back of my mind but they jump back to the forefront now. He does need an audience. And not just an audience. He needs audience participation. He never tried to hide it from me. It was right there in plain sight. All those comments about Jax and Smith sharing girls.
“You and Jax—”
“Yeah,” he cuts me off quickly.
“Oh my god. Do you only have sex with him involved?” My voice comes out nastier than I intended, especially because even though I sound disgusted by the idea, my lady bits are telling an entirely different story. I shift uncomfortably on the bed, trying to seek a little relief from the sudden pressure I feel between my legs.
Smith’s whole face is bright red. He turns away from me, his shoulders tensed in a tight line that makes his dark navy t-shirt strain across his back. I didn’t mean to be an asshole. And I didn’t mean to embarrass him.
I knew he shared with Jax. That wasn’t new information. I just didn’t realize that’s apparently all he does. He neglected to mention that one-on-one wasn’t actually on the table. A horrible thought strikes me.
“So are we just never gonna be able to have sex?” My chest rises and falls in time with my short, irregular breaths. “Because it’s never going to happen, Smith. You, me, and Jax.” I’m trying to emphasize the point that Jax is the problem, but damn if I don’t somehow miss the mark. He turns around, eyes blazing.
“Yeah, I get it. Two guys. Disgusting. Just get the fuck out then, Juliet.”
“No, I—”
He interrupts me with an angry mutter. “Fine, I’ll leave then.” And I watch wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he storms out of his own bedroom, leaving me here in his bed alone. That didn’t go how I thought it was going to go.
My first thought is to call him and explain that wasn’t what I meant. My second thought is that I shouldn’t fucking have to. He didn’t give me a chance to explain. If he had only given me that, he would have realized that the heart of my concern was that I could never fully have him if I didn’t accept Jax as part of the package deal. Even though I haven’t been talking to the guys about it, I’m still hurting pretty bad over what happened with Jax. I’ve managed to play it cool—well, more like ice cold—with him when I’ve had to face him, but I’ve managed to keep my interactions with him to a minimum anyway.
Maybe if if Smith was open to it just being someone other than Jax… I wasn’t saying no. He should have stuck around to hear that, dammit. I’m tired of trying so hard all the time. This is the real reason so many people stick to monogamy. I’m barely struggling to stay afloat in one of these relationships, much less all of them.
This might all be a big mistake. Everything feels so fucked up right now.
I can’t stay here in Smith’s bed all day. I get up and go, sending a silent thank you prayer to the universe when I manage to make it out of the house without running into anyone else. It’s like making a walk of shame without any of the perks but all of the shame.
Chapter Nineteen
The lunch table is silent as I take my seat. Ace shoots me a small smile, but apparently even he isn’t willing to break the moody silence. I look over at Salma but she only shrugs. Sadie shakes her head and shrugs, too. This is such bullshit.
Things with Jax were already weird, but it wasn’t nearly so uncomfortable when it was only one person. Now, with issues still hanging in the air between Patrick and me and Smith and me—the awkwardness is downright unbearable. I’m not going to start spending all my lunches like this. No fucking way. And at this rate, my relationships with these guys are gonna fall apart before they’ve even really had a chance to start.
“If I wanted to sit in silence I’d spend lunch in the library,” I quip.
I’m surprised when it’s Smith who snaps at me. “What the hell did you expect?”
“Why the fuck are you even mad, dude?” Patrick jumps in.
“None of your goddamn business.” Smith glares at him.
Patrick scoffs. “You made it everybody’s business by opening your fucking mouth.”
“Whatever. Let me guess, you’re whining again because for once you’re not the golden boy
at the center of everything.”
“No, I’m mad because I’m not interested in playing third wheel while my girlfriend is fucking Woods.”
“Wait, what?” Ace looks at me, confusion written all over his face. I’ll admit, I assumed that Patrick had already spread that around our little group. Smith doesn’t look surprised by the news, so I guess he already knew.
Ace glances down the table at Jax who snaps, “Don’t even fucking look at me right now.”
Ace chokes out a laugh. “I don’t know why you’re being an asshole to me. I spent all summer telling her to go easy on you.”
“Oh, she went easy on him alright,” Patrick mutters plenty loud enough for all of us to still hear him.
Jax is out of his seat before anyone can stop him. The whole cafeteria falls silent as Jax yanks Patrick up by the collar of his uniform shirt. “Throw the first punch, I dare you,” Jax growls in his face.
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Patrick glances over Jax’s shoulder at me. “We all see how that turned out for you the last time.”
I stand up, fully prepared to jump right into the middle as Jax shoves Patrick hard, sending him flying back several feet as he lands on his ass on the floor. Sadie grabs me by the elbow to stop me.
“Don’t you dare step into the middle of that. Let the boys handle it,” she tells me, nodding to where Ace and Smith are already coming around to break it up.
Patrick climbs back to his feet with pure, unfiltered anger in his eyes directed at Jax. “What the fuck, Woods?” He takes a couple steps forward but stops when he sees the rage on Jax’s face. I try again to move towards them, but Sadie sticks her arm out. It wouldn’t actually stop me if I wanted to go to them, but it’s enough to stop me, anyway. As much as I hate it, I know she’s right. I can only make things worse by getting involved right now. Especially when I’m at the heart of this fight in the first place.
