Anna Martin's First Love Box Set: Signs - Bright Young Things - Five Times My Best Friend Kissed Me

by Anna Martin

  Jared didn’t acknowledge the girls who stopped their conversation when he approached. Nor did he bother to knock on the door, instead letting himself into a party that already filled the enormous house with a mess of color, noise, and raging teenage hormones.

  The music was coming from his left, so he headed right through an elegantly decorated living room to a kitchen at the back. The house was packed with people, all his age or slightly younger. Maybe one or two older college kids from UDub who had decided to join them.

  Jared smacked the bottle of Jack ceremoniously on the center island and looked around.

  “Mixers?” he asked to no one in particular.

  A tall girl scrutinized him, tipping her head to one side. Then she walked over, physically pushing a smaller girl out of the way, and grabbed hold of his chin. Razor-sharp fingernails dug into his skin.

  “You’re Jared Rawell,” she said in a husky voice. Thick, luscious chestnut hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her dark eyes were heavily made up.

  “Yeah. Who the fuck are you?”

  The fingers on his chin tightened, and Jared refused to react. Then the girl smiled, her eyes suddenly bright.

  “Clare Metago. I’ll let that go since you’re new.”

  She released his chin and gestured to the enormous fridge. “Mixers are in there, surprisingly enough.”

  Jared looked at her, then nodded. “Want one?”

  “Sure. With Pepsi.”

  Having nothing better to do, and intrigued by the Amazonian girl, Jared pulled a can of Pepsi from the fridge, filled two plastic cups with ice, and poured generous servings of whiskey before topping it with soda.

  “When did you get here?” Clare asked, accepting the drink with a nod.

  “Two days ago. I got out of school today because I’m jet-lagged.”

  “You came from Michigan, not the freaking moon.”

  “How do you even know that?”

  She gave him a tiny shrug and sipped her drink. “I make a point of knowing everything around here.”

  “Where’s Biggie?” Jared asked.

  “I can tell you don’t know jack about how this place works yet,” Clare said. “He’s holding court. Let me introduce you.”

  Abandoning the whiskey, which he didn’t expect to see again, Jared followed the girl as she weaved through the house. Her dark hair was so long, it reached her waist in a glossy curtain over her back. She was wearing tight indigo jeans and a thin cotton tank top—casual, but still classy.

  They ended up in the room to the left, the one with the ear-splitting music and a large, African-American guy sitting on a sofa with a girl on either side of him. Jared forced his expression into neutral. He was clearly the same age as Jared, yet he looked like a ’90s gangsta rapper.

  Several glinting gold chains snaked around his neck over a white T-shirt. His jeans looked several sizes too big, and heavy, and sand-colored Timberland boots were kicked up onto a low coffee table.

  “Chris,” Clare yelled. “Chris. This is the new guy.”

  With a flick of his wrist, Chris had someone turn the music down to merely several decibels loud and waved his girlfriends away.

  “Take a seat, new guy,” Chris said.

  Jared sat. “Jared,” he said, extending a hand.

  “Biggie.”

  “Really?”

  Clare brought a hand up to cover her mouth, either in shock or to hide a smile.

  “You’re new, so I’ll let that slide,” he said. His nostrils flared slightly, and his eyes were unnaturally wide. Pills, Jared decided. “Clare. Explain.”

  “I’m gonna give him the tour,” she shouted over the music. “I’ll bring him up to speed for you.”

  “Do that.”

  Jared stood and nodded. “Catch ya later, Big Poppa.”

  For a moment, Chris looked as if he was trying to figure out if Jared was making fun of him or not. Then he grinned. “Sit with us tomorrow, new boy.”

  Jared nodded and followed Clare out of the room, then up the stairs where things were blessedly quieter.

  “What the fuck just happened?” he asked as they slipped into an enormous bathroom where one guy was sharing a tub with three naked girls. It felt like he’d stepped into an alternate universe. Or maybe back in time. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “This,” Clare said, hopping up onto a counter and pulling a tiny ziplock bag from her bra, “is the residence of Christopher Antony Wallace. Also known as Biggie.”

  “All right, he shares a name with The Notorious B.I.G.”

  “Chris was born on the day Biggie died. He’s convinced he’s the reincarnated soul of the legendary rap musician.”

  “What’s he on?” Jared asked.

  “’Roids, mostly,” Clare said without missing a beat. “E for funsies. Weed on the weekends. He deals, so if you want anything, hit him up.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Jared said drily. “So, what, does Chris run this joint?”

  Clare tipped the contents of the bag onto the counter and used her black Amex to shift it into a series of white, powdery lines.

  “Chris wishes,” she said with a snort.

  Jared was going to ask for more details, but two of the girls started to get out of the bath, and he was forced to look away until they were wrapped in towels big enough to hide things Jared didn’t want to see. When they approached, he took in details. One was incredibly thin with bouncy blonde hair that swirled damply over her shoulders. The other wore her whisky-colored hair in a pixie cut and had boobs that were very not real.

  “My associates,” Clare said drily, gesturing to the girls. “Mia Haggerty and Ryder Gorden.”

  “Jared, right?” Ryder asked.

  Jared kept his eyes firmly on hers. “Yeah.”

  “We gotta get out. Torres wants to fuck,” Mia said.

  “I am more than fine with that,” Jared mumbled.

  Clare slid down off the counter and gestured to the cocaine. “Bump?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Girls?”

  Jared elected to wait outside, finishing his drink then throwing the cup over the banister to land on the head of one of the dancing kids below. They didn’t even notice.

  “Jared,” Ryder cooed as she came out of the bathroom, sniffing. “Come with us.”

  With nothing better to do, he followed the girls he’d started to think of as the three witches.

  In an upstairs bedroom, Ryder and Mia dropped their towels and started to dress, forcing Jared to once again avert his eyes. Clare watched from the end of the bed, her eyes flashing in silent amusement.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said sensually.

  “Oh, honey. So gay,” Jared said, deciding to get it out of the way before anyone asked. He was way, way out of the closet and had no intention of going back in again. Not even for this group of psychopathic rich kids. “So very, very gay.”

  Clare laughed. “I know. If I hadn’t already heard, your reaction to Ryder’s fake tits was enough to confirm the rumors.”

  “Hey,” Ryder said, clearly offended. “My tits are awesome.”

  “I’m sure they are, darling,” Jared said, hoping to calm her. “I’m thinking,” he added, answering Clare, “that you’re all batshit fucking crazy.”

  “You’d be right,” she said simply. “Wanna play with the big boys?”

  “Always.”

  Mia grinned, her eyes lighting up from more than a simple coke high.

  “You asked who runs this place,” Clare said. “And it’s quite easy, really. Chris might hold court, but Adam will want your ass.”

  “I have no idea who Adam is, let alone any intention of letting him anywhere near my ass.”

  “You will,” Ryder said. “They all say that to start with, then they all give in.”

  “Who is he?”

  Mia sighed. “Adam is… well, his mother is the queen of New Harbor, and his grandfather was the ruling king until he died
a few years back and left his millions to his sole surviving grandson. Hemlock senior owned most of the businesses in this town. If you live here, you can pretty much guarantee Adam owns you. If not your ass, then your land. Or your parents. Or the fucking school.”

  “What does he have to do with me?” Jared said crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against a dresser.

  “Nothing,” she said dismissively. “Except for the fact that you’re fresh meat. We don’t get a lot of out, gay, fresh meat around here.”

  “He’s gay?”

  “So very, very gay,” Ryder said mockingly.

  “Wait up. Top dog in this freaking island town is a gay dude? Bullshit.”

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century, asshole,” Mia said scathingly.

  “The problem with losing your V card at fourteen,” Clare said, interrupting, “is that by the time you get to your senior year, you’ve fucked everyone worth fucking. Sometimes twice. Adam is gonna take one look at the new, hot, gay guy who just moved here and will want his piece of you.”

  “So what? If I like him, I’ll fuck him.”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Ryder said disapprovingly, shaking her head. “Adam doesn’t get fucked, baby. He fucks.”

  “Right now he’s in Seattle,” Mia added. “He can’t get any decent tail in this town, so he drove an hour to get into a club with his fake ID.”

  “Here’s the thing,” Clare said, her expression hardening as she leaned forward on her elbows. “You might have figured out by now that I know you. I know where you lived, I know who your friends were, I know what your GPA was at your last school. I know you got into the Academy on a scholarship because the fees for one semester cost more than what your mother makes in a year.”

  “My mother does charity work,” Jared said acidly.

  She shrugged. “Whatever. I know your sisters are at Sarah Lawrence. I know you moved in with an aunt who spends more of her time in Cali and Vegas than Washington. I know you’re not likely to get into an Ivy League school unless you pull your grades up, and I know your dad decided the military school he sent you to in Texas to toughen you up and pray out the gay wasn’t worth it anymore. I know why you’re here, Jared Rawell.”

  “So what?” he said, forcing nonchalance into his voice even though having his life history played out by a girl he’d met even an hour ago was unnerving him all the way down to his stomach. “You might also know I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of me.”

  Clare grinned predatorily. “This next year could be easy for you, sweetheart. Easy as all-American pie. Or it could be hell.”

  “And I’m guessing with a bit of double, double, toil and trouble, you three could pick that path for me.”

  Clare gave him a sly smile. Mia looked offended. Ryder looked confused.

  “All you’ve got to do is hang onto your V card,” Clare said. “Or more specifically, don’t give it to Adam Hemlock.”

  “Virginity is a social construct designed to hand power over a woman’s body to the first man who fucks her,” Jared drawled. “I’m calling bullshit.”

  “Then do it to prove you can.” Clare’s expression flashed with a challenge.

  “You girls are fucking twisted,” Jared said, running his hands over his face. “Are you serious?” They nodded, and Jared sighed heavily. “Yeah. Whatever. I have no intention of sleeping with him anyway.”

  The three girls exchanged knowing glances, then turned back to Jared with identical, predatory grins.

  Chapter 2

  It wasn’t like adapting to a uniform was anything new for Jared. He’d been forced to wear one at military boarding school, an ugly combination of knitted sweater and polyester pants they had to wear year-round, even in the summer.

  Of course, at the New Harbor Academy things were slightly different. Pressed gray pants, the crease sharp down the front. A white shirt, navy blue blazer with the Academy’s crest on the breast pocket, and a blue and red tie, the stripes angled, not horizontal.

  He threw on a white T-shirt, left the shirt unbuttoned, the tie loose around his neck, and carried the blazer with his leather satchel out to the car while trying not to get lockjaw due to the bagel shoved in his mouth.

  He hoisted himself into the cab of his shiny red truck and drove at inadvisable speeds through the small town of New Harbor. Being only an hour from Seattle meant it could have turned into yet another commuter town, but it remained a pocket community with several big businesses running out of small offices.

  The [six-dollar toll to get over the bridge kept the riff-raff out, too.

  Private, fee-charging high schools weren’t exactly an unknown entity in Washington; there were at least four others within a few hours’ drive. This one was different, though. Founded with old money for the children of older money, and with a pious, Christian message, New Harbor Academy boasted the best grades, highest standards, and most pretentious kids in the state. It was also the only school that demanded the students wear a uniform, much to Jared’s disgust.

  The Academy had a sterling academic reputation, and students benefitted from liberal attitudes in the state and the school’s emphasis on classical, conservative learning. To Jared’s surprise, most of the kids were still outside when he arrived and pulled into one of the “visitor” parking spaces. He’d move once he had a pass for the truck.

  Clare was leaning against a sleek black Audi convertible, and since he knew almost no one else was around, he walked over to her.

  “Morning,” Jared said easily. “Where’s the office?”

  “You follow the sign that says ‘office’,” she said. Today her hair was folded into a long braid down her back, and combined with the girls’ uniform of gray skirt and long socks, she looked far too innocent for the activities Jared had seen her engaged in the night before.

  “All right,” Jared drawled, and left Ms. Thing with her Celine purse to her nail examining as he sauntered off. More than one person watched him. In fact, a lot of people were watching.

  At the office, Jared leaned on the counter and flashed a grin to the older woman sitting at the desk. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Jared Rawell. First day. Please don’t give me a shit locker.”

  Two gray eyebrows shot up into a gray hairline. Never mind then.

  “Please mind your language, Mr. Rawell. We won’t tolerate that here at New Harbor Academy.”

  “I sincerely apologize.”

  She sniffed and turned to the computer, tapping something a few times, then whizzed on her chair to the printer.

  “Mr. Rawell,” she said again. “Your homeroom class is in 11A. That’s upstairs. There’s a map on the back of your schedule, and this is your temporary parking pass. One will be mailed to your address within the next week or so.”

  “Thanks,” Jared said and turned away.

  “Oh, and Mr. Rawell?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I strongly encourage you to dress yourself before you go to class.”

  Jared snorted with laughter and folded his map, tucking it into his back pocket and buttoning his shirt as he walked back outside. The bell had rung a few minutes ago, so the parking lot was almost completely empty of students. He tucked the parking pass into the truck, grabbed his battered leather messenger bag, and strolled back to the building.

  The school was old, a huge red brick building that had a lot of stone steps and an elaborate external façade. The windows were huge, too, letting plenty of light into the bright, open hallways.

  It was fairly easy for Jared to find his way around; there seemed to be a logical way of numbering the classrooms, and he walked into his homeroom only a few minutes late.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m Jared Rawell.”

  The female teacher looked young and blatantly checked him out. “Take a seat, Mr. Rawell. I’m Ms. Bowen.”

  There were only a few left, and the first one he came to was in the front row. With a “fuck it” attitude, he sat down and shifted low in his seat, aware that his h
eight often caused complaints from people sitting behind him that they couldn’t see the board.

  After a few minutes of listening to Ms. Bowen call names, the door to the classroom slammed open and a disheveled-looking guy strode in.

  “Mr. Hemlock,” Bowen said. “You’re late.”

  “Sorry,” the kid said, not sounding it at all, and came to a stop in front of where Jared slumped. “Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my seat?”

  The class tittered appreciatively behind him.

  Jared gave the asshole a predatory grin. “Maybe if you showed up on time, you would get to sit where you liked.”

  “Settle down, gentlemen,” Bowen said, but the damage was already done. Jared stared down the tall, gorgeous bastard until he crumpled and sat two seats over, under the window where sunlight streamed in on his face.

  Broad shoulders. Light brown hair. Overnight stubble. A Windsor-knotted tie, which Jared couldn’t do, and a bad attitude to boot. Nice. Exactly the sort of kid who would get Jared into all sorts of trouble.

  The bell rang, and Jared pushed to his feet, surprised when Clare caught up with him in the hall.

  “What class do you have now?” he asked.

  “English.” She sounded bored, then her face brightened. “So, you met Adam.”

  “The beautiful bastard has a name, then.”

  “That’s Adam, Jared,” she said emphatically.

  “Yeah, I got that. He’s a grade-A twat. What of it? Can you show me the way to my class?”

  “Do you even have English next?”

  Jared shrugged. “Don’t care.”

  “Ooh. You rebel.” Her tone was pure sarcasm. Jared approved.

  He didn’t have English next, nor did he have biology after that, but he turned up to those classes, and the teachers barely seemed to notice. Since he’d spent the morning following Clare around, when the bell for lunch rang, Jared broke away with the intention of seeking out Chris.

  The canteen was packed full of younger kids, and Jared was forced to stand in an embarrassingly long line to buy a can of Mountain Dew, a bag of chips, and an apple. Possibly unsurprisingly, Chris was in the middle of the canteen, where several tables had been pushed together and he was once again holding court. Mia sat to his left, Ryder to his right.