Young Love

by Alyson Santos

  “Jace,” I say quietly.

  “Sienna.”

  My name. Mine. So why does it sound so natural on his tongue. My heart hammers. Heat radiates from limb to limb. What if I was the type of person who could just take what she wanted?

  “I want you, Sienna, but I’m not going to move first.” Is he teasing me?

  No. He’s waiting. Confidence. That’s what he wants from me. Confidence in my desire, my need, for him. How can I be confident in what I shouldn’t have? What can’t possibly be real?

  How long would he wait?

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  “Sienna?” His eyes. God, I can’t look.

  I pull my wrist away. “Would you like some water? I have wine too but I don’t think I have any beer.”

  His expression falls as he leans back. Must be the lack of beer because—

  Who’d be upset about losing you? Joe whispers.

  You’re an easy lay, honey, Mom joins in. You’re desperate, and he knows it. Don’t be naïve.

  Five.

  Six.

  “I could also make tea if you want.” My voice cracks.

  “I should probably just go,” he says. My silent plea goes ignored by beautiful eyes that are no longer mine. No, they now belong to an empty guitar case and the task of filling it. A cramp of loss lodges in my stomach. Panic.

  Why can’t you take what you want? Take it, Sienna!

  “Jace, wait. It’s not you. Of course it’s not you.”

  “No? Then what is it?” His eyes are dark again when they find me. “Know what I think? I think you are interested, but you’re scared to admit it to yourself. You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been looking at me since the second we pulled into your driveway?”

  “You’re gorgeous. You know that. It’s just, this isn’t me. I’m not like you.”

  “No? What am I like?”

  “I’m not the type of person who fools around.”

  Hurt: infinitely worse than anger when it tarnishes a face like his.

  “Know what? Fuck you, Sienna.” He straightens, takes two steps forward. Ignites a thud in my chest when his fingers move to the buttons on his shirt. One. Two. Three.

  Oh god.

  Four. Five. Six.

  Please stop. Stop!

  Seven. Eight. He tears his shirt off, revealing a tight undershirt that does nothing to hide rigid muscle strained with resolve.

  “Look but don’t touch, right?” The undershirt flies over his head, lands in a heap behind him. Watches us like a voyeur who’s not sure which of us is in the wrong. It can’t be him, though. Not when he stands there like that, breathing hard, hair disheveled, eyes violent with injury. He’s magnificent.

  “The only thing I am, right? Just a body that likes to fuck and be fucked.”

  “Jace…” I can barely speak from the beauty, the pain, before me. “You know that’s not true.”

  “Do I?” He takes another step toward me. Too close. His labored exhales saturate the space between us. With one outstretched hand I could… touch. My fingers twitch at my side. “You think you’re the only one who lives a life of denial? Who gets used? Abandoned?”

  “No! I—”

  “He’s not my father.”

  “What?”

  “Louis. My last name is Beckett, not Williams.” A strand of dark hair shields his eyes from me, and I clench my fist to keep from brushing it aside. It’s not right that he gets to hide while I stand bare. “He married my mother two years ago, but he will never be my father. My father died when I was seventeen. Louis is the twisted fuck who thinks he owns my mother and little brother. And she lets him. You know why? Because we settle. Because we believe lies about the way things should be. We believe who we are and what we deserve are puzzles to be assembled by others. But I’ll be damned if that bastard gets to hurt a hair on their heads. And I’ll be damned if I stand here and let you tell me I’m nothing but a horny piece of ass looking to score.”

  Tears prick my eyes as they drift up to his. They find someone else there. Older, broken, trying to survive, just like I am. Vulnerable. And suddenly I’m the one taking a step forward. I’m the one reaching up with shaking fingers to brush his cheek instead of sinking into the hard muscle I’ve lusted over. He’s the one closing his eyes as I close the gap and press my head against his shoulder. My unclenched fist slides into his hair, gently pulling through it until he relaxes into our embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  His arms tighten around me, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to let him go. To say goodbye. To see him tomorrow and not be able to hold him like this.

  “You’re beautiful, you know that?” I say against his tanned skin.

  “So are you.”

  Air shudders through my body. “I want to see you again.” Relief. I said it. Want. I want.

  “I want to see you too.” He pulls back and his face has softened into the sun god I met in the driveway that first day. “Tomorrow night? After Aiden’s in bed?”

  “Your little brother,” I guess, heart constricting again.

  He nods. “He was only a baby when we lost Dad. He’s eight now.”

  How can he be even more beautiful? I trace his cheek again. His lips. So much I want.

  But not now. I want more than a kiss and the body that goes with it.

  I want tomorrow.

  I have to rise to my toes to reach his lips but I manage a quick peck that surprises him. His mouth spreads into a smile. The light is back. The teasing. The other piece of the complex puzzle before me that I don’t want to assemble myself. I want. His version. All the pieces.

  He skims his thumb over my lips, considering. Those addictive eyes trace their path then lift to mine.

  “Tomorrow night,” he says and lets go.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  He reaches for his shirt, and my pulse starts pounding again. Watching. Aware of everything about him. Am I the voyeur?

  “Hey, Jace.”

  “Yeah?” He twists toward me, accenting every line of his body.

  “I want you. Like, really want you.”

  A grin breaks out. “Good.” He slides his undershirt in place and slings the button down over his shoulder. “Tomorrow night?”

  I nod. I. Want.

  Chapter 0 – 4 = -4

  Wednesday is brutal. Jace’s gaze only flickers over me enough to keep my blood surging and mind racing. He was wrong about want. Acknowledging want only makes things harder when you can’t have. I feel his presence in a new way, a distracting heat that follows me no matter where he is in the house. Hope. That’s the strange word that follows as well. Hope that at any moment he could appear. His stepfather could run an errand and give us precious seconds to explore what we started.

  No matter how many times I replay what happened last night, I can’t make sense of it. Nothing about him or our connection fits in the frames I have filed in my brain. My numbers are useless, established, proven equations—a joke. All I know for sure is that I need it to be nine PM right now.

  I’m at my desk trying to concentrate on Profit & Loss reports when voices drift down from upstairs. I push up from the chair and approach the steps. Except for the necessary pounding of hammers and whir of drills, I’m rarely disturbed by the pros working on my house. The tones become more ominous the closer I get. More violent. Then, a crash. A shout. Another crash, and I rush up the steps.

  “Is everything okay?” I call out, pushing through the door. The scene fossilizes before my eyes. Jace on the floor, left eye red and swelling. Louis standing over him, fist clenched. Both stare at me with dread and indignation. I’m an intruder in my own house.

  “We’re fine. Just a small accident,” Louis says.

  Jace glares over but remains silent as he picks himself off the floor.

  “You okay?” I ask him directly.

  His eyes lock on mine, and my stomach drops. He looks a
way.

  “Fine,” he mutters, straightening his shirt.

  “Sorry for bothering you, ma’am.” It’s the first time I’ve noticed how painful Louis’ smile appears. It looks like his face is giving birth.

  “No bother. Just wanted to make sure no one was hurt. It sounded like something fell.”

  “Just this idiot,” he laughs.

  I blink, startled by the insult. Swallowing my anger, I force a calm front as I approach Jace. “It looks like you hit your head. Come downstairs. I’ll get you some ice.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “I’d prefer not to have the liability of an injured worker on my property.”

  He clears his throat. “Understood. I can finish up here.”

  I nod and take Jace’s arm. I don’t miss the heated look he fires back at Louis and suspect he needs space to cool off more than anything. He’s silent as he follows me downstairs, through the foyer, and into the kitchen. I pull a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer and wrap it in a towel.

  “You fell?” I ask, pressing the towel to his face. He winces and reaches up to take it, but I don’t let go.

  His hand covers mine as we stare into each other’s eyes.

  “Do you fall a lot?”

  “No.” He tries to move away, and I follow, still holding on.

  “Do your mother and brother fall?”

  “No!” The heat in his eyes turns defensive. “I would never let that happen.”

  “Hey.” I reach my other hand up and force his focus to me. “I believe you.”

  His hand tightens over mine, and it’s everything I can do not to kiss him.

  “It’s complicated,” he says.

  “Clearly.”

  His lips turn up, and I can’t resist tracing the slight smile. He closes his eyes, muscles tensing with mine. I have to. I just…

  Want. Want! And I drop the peas so I can take. His own hands wrap around my waist and draw me in for a deeper connection. Demanding fingers press up my back, elicit an intense ache low in my belly. I grip his hair, dragging my hips over his until his erection promises the same ache for him. My fantasy comes flooding back in steamy shower scenes that make the real version so much stronger.

  “Wait.” He pulls back and rests his gaze on mine. “Not now.”

  I close my eyes and force air into my lungs. “You’ll come back tonight?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Want to grab dinner?”

  Karen’s voice sounds muffled in a sea of static.

  “Where are you?” I ask, pulling a glass from the cabinet.

  “Sorry, you’re on speaker. I’m driving home from work.”

  “Sounds like you’re snorkeling. Sure, I can do dinner but I can’t stay out late.”

  “Why not? Hot date?” She cackles at her own joke.

  “Where do you want to meet?”

  “Thai Palace?”

  “Yeah sounds good. What time?”

  “Mmm.” Karen and math share a mutual hatred of each other. “I should be there in ten minutes?” Which is a half hour for everyone else.

  “You got it. See you then.”

  True to form, Karen walks in five minutes later than my generous twenty-minute buffer. I think I’d be more concerned if she showed up when scheduled. Besides, I still have plenty of time to eat and get home to meet Jace. I push away thoughts of sitting at a table like this with him one day. Dinner. Movies. Dating. Dating? A twenty-three-year-old?

  “Whew! Sorry I’m late. What are you drinking?” She slings her purse into the empty chair beside her and takes a seat. “A glass of pinot noir and a water, please,” she says to the server who comes over. The man nods and promises to return shortly.

  “So,” Karen says, focusing on me. “What’s so important that you have to be home?”

  “Why are you so nosy?”

  “Excuse me for being interested in my best friend’s life.”

  “What makes you think there’s something important? Maybe I just don’t want to be out late.”

  Karen squints a quick appraisal and shakes her head. “Nope. There’s something. I can tell.”

  I roll my eyes and take a sip from my glass.

  “Spill it. Did Kyle call for another chance?”

  I grimace. “No, nothing like that. I’m just hanging out with a friend.”

  “A friend, huh?” She leans across the table. “Does this friend have a name?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because you’re blushing.”

  “Am not.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re as transparent as plastic wrap.”

  “Fine. His name is Jace.”

  Her brows lift, fingers gripping the table in anticipation. “Jace. Sounds hot.”

  “How can a name be hot?”

  She shrugs. “What’s his last name?”

  “And why does that matter?”

  “I’m making conversation!”

  “Ugh, fine. Beckett. Jace Beckett, and we’re just friends. He’s showing me how to play the guitar.”

  Why does she have her phone out?

  “Oh my gosh, are you stalking him?”

  A sly smile forms on her face, and I’m not fast enough to snatch the phone away. She slides her chair back, eyes still on the screen. “Wait. No fucking way.” Her jaw drops. “This guy?”

  She turns the screen, and my pulse starts its familiar race at the penetrating gaze. “How’d you find that?”

  “Uh, it’s the internet, hon. You should try it. Please tell me this is him.”

  I sigh. “It is.”

  “Oh my god. Sienna! I’m so proud of you!”

  “Proud?”

  “This boy is sex on a stick! Those young hot hormones. I bet he’s a god in bed.”

  My muscles tense. “I wouldn’t know.” There’s a darkness in my tone that surprises me.

  “Damn, girl, relax. No need to get defensive. I’m not going to make a move or anything.”

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  “What could be more interesting than a steamy fling with Mr. Boy Toy?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How’d you meet him anyway?”

  My fist tightens under the table. “He’s working on the house.”

  “Ahh. This just keeps getting better. How’s he look without a shirt? Wait. Bet there are beach pics on his profile.” She pulls her phone out again.

  “Seriously, Karen. Just drop it, okay?”

  “Drop what? Why are you being so broody?”

  “I don’t like you talking about him like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like he’s an object. He’s not a toy.”

  “Oh sweetie. You don’t think that’s what you are to him?”

  The air stills as the server delivers Karen’s drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

  I stare at my friend, gaze burning. She doesn’t even look sorry.

  “Actually. I’m not hungry. Thanks, though,” I say, slapping a bill on the table for my drink.

  “Sienna, come on. Sienna!”

  But I don’t turn around on the march to my car.

  As the night wears on, I can’t decide if I need Jace to show up or hope he doesn’t. Karen’s words haunt me. Haunt me because they’re my own. They’re Joe’s, my mother’s, all the forces in my life who’ve taught me I’m not good enough. Not interesting enough. Not pretty, talented, or smart enough. I couldn’t possibly be more than a toy to a twenty-three-year-old sex god, right? Right?

  And yet.

  He’s not.

  I’m not.

  What are we to those who dare to look deeper? Isn’t that what led Jace and me to this moment?

  When the doorbell finally chimes, I force a calm approach. He’s just… I don’t even know. A stranger. A young, forbidden stranger I have no right to anticipate with such urgency.

  I manage a cool smile that slips away as soon as I pull open the door. Dressed in faded jeans and a vin
tage tee, my “date” is the picture of desire with his freshly showered hair and piercing gaze.

  “I’m a little early. Hope I’m not intruding.”

  I shake my head and step back so he can enter.

  “How’s your face?” I ask.

  No one would believe a shrug that’s so earnestly hiding something. I close the door and center his head with my palms. My stomach clenches at the ugly bruise framing his left eye.

  “My god,” I whisper, gently guiding my fingers over the welt.

  “I’m fine.”

  Anger. That’s what this is. A fire I’ve never felt for myself, so why now? Why him? “You need to press charges. This is not okay.”

  “We told you. I fell.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He pulls away, escapes toward the living room. “Are we going to play or what?”

  “Jace, come on. This is serious.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” he shoots back. “I’m handling it.”

  “Yeah? How? By making yourself the target? That’s not a solution.”

  “You don’t know anything about this.”

  “So tell me.”

  His dark hair moves in waves over his forehead. “I came here to escape. To play music and be free of my fucked-up life for a few minutes. I thought you understood that.”

  I flinch, and he draws in a breath, broad chest rising and falling. One. Two. Three. Four.

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.” He sets down his guitar case and moves close to me. “I know you care, Sienna. That’s one of the things that drew me in. You have this… I don’t know. The girls my age just want to play and have fun. I don’t have time for that. I just want…”

  He cups my face, trapping my gaze on his. Melting me. Drowning me. I just want. There it is again. That terrifying four-letter word. “What do you want?” I whisper.

  “Real.”

  He leans in, soft lips brushing mine. Light at first, testing. A shudder runs through me. Magnetized, I don’t have a choice except to lace my fingers in his hair and draw him in for more. My lips are his. My tongue. My skin. Everything belongs to this stranger who’s sucked me into his soul. I can only hope he’s getting as lost as I am.