Bad Wolf

by Jo Raven

  I don’t need more teasing and harassment. Seriously, I’m fine most of the time, but avoiding drama is half the work.

  Besides… I need to see Jesse.

  I reflect on that, my finger hovering over the doorbell. Although I’m pissed at him for vanishing, I don’t blame him. In fact, I’m worried about him. After dropping that bomb—and I’m still not sure what he was telling me exactly—I want to look into his eyes and make sure he’s okay.

  It’s been years since that evening he was attacked, I remind myself, hefting the bags in my hand. The plastic is cutting into my palm. He’s here, alive, perfectly healthy, working and flirting with girls. Going shopping with you. He doesn’t need your concern. He survived all by himself, but still…

  “Sometimes I’m not sure I did.” That’s what he said.

  I ring the bell and wait, his words haunting me. It doesn’t matter. I’m just going to drop off his bags and go.

  Nothing happens for a while, and I send the staircase a longing glance. Crap. I ring again, shifting the bags to my other hand.

  In my memory, I see the way he’d looked in the metallic blue shirt that made his eyes glow, his smile, his teasing.

  Before I can analyze why the thought of his teasing makes my face warm and my heart beat faster, the door unlocks and swings open.

  A tall guy dressed in shorts and holding a towel in one hand is standing at the opening, giving me a once-over—but it’s not Jesse. Definitely not. This one’s blond with soft brown eyes and his powerful chest appears devoid of tattoos. His fair hair is wet, as if he just emerged from the shower.

  You know your mind is stuck in a rut when you find the lack of tattoos on a man’s bare chest strange…

  Pulling myself together, trying not to stare at the guy’s powerful physique or the red lines on his pecs—are those scratches? Like from a woman’s nails?—I lift the bags in front of me.

  His eyes narrow a fraction, focusing on the bags. “Yeah? Can I help you?”

  “These are Jesse’s. Could you please give them to him?”

  “What’s in there?” He leans over them. “Are those clothes?”

  “Yeah. He knows what they are.” I lift the bags again, but he doesn’t take them. “New clothes. He bought them.”

  “And who are you?” His gaze is back on me, and I squirm under the scrutiny.

  “Just… please give these to him?” I drop the bags and turn to go.

  “Hey, wait a sec.” A heavy hand drops on my shoulder, and I yelp, stumbling and twisting around to shove at him.

  “Let go.”

  “Girl, what’s your problem?” He lifts his hands, his eyes comically wide, but he’s still crowding me, so that I press my back to the wall of the landing. “I only wanted to tell you he’s here, and you can give them to him yourself.”

  Cold sweat is running down my back. My breath is frozen in my lungs. He’s towering over me, and he smells all wrong—not at all like Jesse. He reaches for me and I gasp, my legs folding under me. I slide down the wall.

  He curses, grabs my arm—and then stumbles sideways, releasing me. “The hell?”

  “Damn you, Travis, move away from her,” a familiar male voice snaps, and Jesse is there, pushing the guy away. He bends over and puts a hand on my cheek. “You okay, Embers?”

  His touch should freak me out even more—Jesse’s just as tall as this other guy, Travis, and even more muscled—but I find myself leaning into his hand.

  “Let’s get you inside,” he says, and I let him pull me to my feet, let him slip his arm around me. It feels so good, being with him.

  “Go to hell, asshole,” Travis mutters behind us. “That’s what I was trying to do anyway, get her inside, bring her over to you. What crawled up your ass and died, huh?”

  “I don’t know, Jesse says as he tugs me through the hallway, “but I hope it’s not the same thing that died in yours. It stinks.”

  I stifle laughter as he leads me through an open door, and then turns and closes it behind us. “You didn’t just say that to him.”

  “Wanna bet?” That infectious grin is back, and I hadn’t realized until now how much I’d missed it. How afraid I was I wouldn’t see it again.

  “You often fight like that?”

  At the muffled sound of soft plastic hitting the door, he grins without turning and yells, “Fuck off!”

  “JJ…”

  He sets me down on a bed—his bed, my mind belatedly realizes—and crouches in front of me. “Ignore the idiot. Sorry about that.”

  “Not his fault. I’m jumpy.”

  “Don’t you dare worry about him. He keeps me up every night. I swear, I’ve never known a guy to be so damn noisy during sex.”

  My mouth opens and closes. “You and him…?”

  It’s his turn to gape at me.

  Then he laughs. I love the sound, deep and resonant, and the way he throws back his head. “God, no, he brings chicks here and bangs them in his room next door. Plus, I’m into women.” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and quietens, gazing at me. “I’m definitely into women.”

  Caught in the blue-green of his eyes, so intense now, I couldn’t move if the world ended. “Good to know,” I hear myself whisper, as if from a distance.

  My reply seems to amuse him. A corner of his mouth curls up.

  Then he takes my face in his hands. “Embers, I have a question of my own to ask you. I need you to tell me why Travis frightened you so much.”

  “I was bullied at school by this guy and his friends.” Still caught in his eyes, in his spell. “He was tall and strong, and he liked overpowering me.”

  His mouth twists. “What was his name?”

  “Nick.”

  “Nick.” His hold on my face is so hard it’s bruising. “Nick what?”

  “Nick Harris.”

  “Is he still around? Is he bothering you?”

  “No, I…” I pull back and his hands fall away. “Haven’t seen him in years.”

  I think. If the guy I saw across the street the other day wasn’t him, and thinking it might be him sends icy shivers down my spine.

  “Good. He’s lucky. I’d feed him his fucking balls.” Jesse rises on his knees until his face is right in front of mine. “He’s gone, but he’s left scars. Invisible, unlike mine, but real. Are you scared of me?”

  “No,” I whisper and lift a hand to stroke his face. “No, I’m not.” I trail it over his soft lips, and he draws it into his mouth. I gasp, fire spilling down my arm to my chest and straight to my belly.

  What is he doing? I feel like I’m on fire, even after I withdraw my finger from the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the velvet of his lips.

  “You’re so pretty,” he says quietly, his eyes smoldering. “You should be afraid of me.”

  Then he cups my face again and kisses me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jesse

  Sweet, soft, hot with a taste of strawberries, her lips part under mine. Like candy dipped in hot fudge, sprinkled with almonds… I moan as I deepen the kiss and lick her mouth, desperate for more. It’s as if I’ve been waiting for this kiss all my life. In fact, I can’t remember kissing any other girl. Never wanted to. And now…

  Now I can’t get enough of her. I climb over her, pushing her on her back on the bed and crawl over her, lie between her legs. I’m diamond hard, my dick throbbing painfully against the zipper of my jeans, trying to burst out, enter her.

  The idea of pushing into her has my hips jerking before I even realize I’m doing it. I grab one of her pretty legs, pull it up to wrap it around my hip and stroke up her thigh, my fingers sliding over silky skin.

  Damn, this girl…

  Her hands land on my shoulders. She digs her short nails into my flesh, and the pain feels good as I keep kissing her, exploring her mouth with my tongue. She moans, and fuck, my cock twitches, ready to go. Christ, I wanna do things with her I’ve never done before—like lick her all over, kiss her until we both p
ass out from lack of oxygen, hold her… never let her go.

  I break the kiss and scramble back, struggling to get my breathing under control.

  “Dammit. I didn’t mean to do that.” Liar. Fucking liar. I’ve been dying to do this since I first laid eyes on her.

  Her fingertips trail over her reddened lips, her eyes wide. Sprawled on my ratty blankets, one strap of her blouse hanging off her shoulder, she looks like a dream come true.

  But a dream, still, and I shouldn’t. Not with her. Because she matters to me, I realize with a jolt. She matters like no other girl before.

  I’m so fucked. This wasn’t supposed to happen. If she doesn’t hate me now, she will, and then…

  “JJ.” And how can I push her away when she calls me this, when she looks at me like I’m something I’m not?

  “Just checking you were okay,” I say gruffly, getting off the bed and running a hand over my shorn hair.

  “You were checking.” Her voice drops to a mere whisper, and if I was hoping for sarcasm, I never get it. She only sounds… disappointed.

  Then again, that’s what I do. I disappoint people I care for, and what I feel for her is too big for words.

  “You seem okay now,” I say and go to stand by the window, looking out at a sliver of cloudy sky and the gray building across the street. “I should get going soon. Don’t wanna be late for work.”

  She makes a small sound, and I turn toward her. She’s sitting up, smoothing down her blouse, lifting the strap back into place, and I can’t stop staring at her. She’s so sexy, and she doesn’t seem to even know it. “You don’t start at the café until four.”

  Forcing my gaze away, I turn back to the window. I should be irritated that she calls me out on my bluff. But I’m not.

  “Still have to go.” I need to do something else first… something that has been bugging me ever since I told her what happened on that street and how I got my scars.

  “Where?” She walks without a sound to stand beside me.

  “Is that your second question?”

  She shakes her head, glares, and I can breathe again. “You’re a bastard.”

  “I couldn’t tell you for sure.” I shrug and brace one arm on the wall by the window. “Don’t know who my parents are. It’s possible, I guess.”

  “Not funny, JJ.” Back to being pissy. The pressure in my chest releases, and I grin at her. I don’t have to run away. Somehow I’m not ready to give her up—yet—even if I barely have her at all.

  “Never said it was.”

  Neither of us seems willing to talk about the elephant in the room. Kissing her was heaven. Now I’m shooting down the rabbit hole faster than a bullet.

  She walks a few steps away and comes to a halt in front of my drawings. I’ve got some taped to the wall. Easier for me to tell if they are good crap or bad crap this way, rather than having them inside my drawing pad.

  “Did you make these?” she asks.

  “No, I rent them with the room,” I say before I can get control of my mouth. “It came furnished.”

  “Really?”

  “No. I drew them.” I want to walk to where she is and put my arms around her, bury my nose in the crook of her pale neck. But of course I don’t.

  “Love the portraits.” She drifts further away, scrutinizing my art, then returns to the window.

  “I also draw monsters and flowers. Monsters are my specialty.” It’s the truth. From demons to dragons to strange hybrids.

  “Monsters, huh?”

  She’s so close. Again. Her faint coconut scent wafts up to me, makes me think of sun-kissed beaches and palm trees. She’s wearing small silver hoops in her ears, tiny beads threaded in them, green, and red, and white, and blue.

  “What about you? Did you make the earrings you’re wearing, or are you renting them with your clothes?” I want to touch them, tug on them, bite the shell of her small ear, make her moan again like before…

  She laughs, reaches up to touch one hoop, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop a groan. Fuck, I’ve never wanted a chick so much in my life. What is it about her that’s so intoxicating?

  “Yeah, I made them. I’m thinking of selling them. I want to open an online store.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.” I lick my lips and regret it instantly. Her sweet taste lingers, and the hard-on I’ve been trying to lose returns with a vengeance. Fuck.

  How on Earth am I going to manage this? How can I stop myself from kissing her again, touching her, thrusting into her when she’s here, right here with me? Hell.

  My gaze is drawn back to the curve of her tits under the thin fabric of her blouse. She’s not wearing a bra, I think, and damn if my dick’s not back to drilling a hole through my pants.

  “That might mean I’ll stay,” she says, and the words take a minute to sink into my brain.

  “Stay?”

  “I came here for the summer, to see if I like it. If this place doesn’t make me run away in a panic. You know. Bad memories.”

  I know all about bad memories, but the thought of her leaving has my stomach in a knot. “And if your online store works out, you think you’d like it here?”

  “Maybe. I like Kayla, and Ev is here, too. I haven’t had anything trigger my panic so far.”

  “Except Travis. My roommate?”

  She snorts softly. “It wasn’t so bad.”

  Yeah, right. Few times have I wanted to punch someone so badly. Damn roomies. “I thought you were here to go to college.”

  “I might. I’m thinking of transferring here, to the art department.”

  “Do you draw?”

  She shakes her head, her ponytail bouncing. I want to grab it, wrap her silky hair around my hand to hold her still while I fuck her mouth with my tongue.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  “I want to draw you.” The words are out of my mouth before my brain connects. “If you’d like.”

  “Now?” Her eyes are round, and I want to kick myself. She’s kept her cool so far, but I bet she’s about to run out of here and never come back.

  The thought hurts too much. Much more than I ever thought.

  “Not now. I have to go. And you don’t have to do this,” I say, feeling like ten kinds of idiot for suggesting it.

  “I don’t mind.”

  She doesn’t? I’m staring at her open-mouthed, and I don’t know what to say. I can see uncertainty in her eyes, in the quiver of her jaw. She’s fighting something, and I’m not sure what it is, but that feeling that she reminds me of someone is back, stronger than ever.

  Speak, J. Say something.

  “Awesome, then,” I mumble. “How about tomorrow morning, here?”

  She nods quickly, too quickly. Nervously. She glances at my leather bracelet as though she wants to ask something, but she doesn’t.

  “Tomorrow,” she says and leaves me alone, hard and aching for her, and confused like never before in my life.

  A walk into my dark past serves to clear my mind from any doubts about the future. Down the same dirty streets where I slept, passing from the park gate where Zane found me trying to tattoo the demon on my chest after losing Helen to the place where I got my scars.

  I stare at the dumpster and the graffiti that are part of my nightmares, not sure what I’m doing, what I expect to find, and how to fix the hole in my chest that opens every time I remember it all.

  What I don’t expect is to find Jason, an old buddy from those days. Haven’t seen him in months. In combat boots, tight jeans and a black tank top, his blond hair gelled up in a fauxhawk, he’s leaning on a wall at the corner to the avenue, trying to look cool and nonchalant. Like he has no worries in the world, and just happened to stop by for a second to rest and observe the passersby.

  Oldest profession in the world.

  He turns when he hears my footsteps crunching on broken glass—so much broken glass, it makes my scars itch—and his eyes go comically wide.

  “Pinch me now,” he says and
grins rakishly. “Jesse Lee, as I live and breathe. I heard you moved up the social ladder, buddy. What the fuck are you doing back here in the gutter? Came to take photos of your past?”

  His words hit too close to home, and I turn my head to hide a wince. Schooling my face into a neutral mask, I bump fists with Jason and shake hands.

  “How’s it hanging, man?”

  “You know how it is.” He tsks and nods at the busy avenue. “Work, work, work. You should be the one to tell me tales now. You said you were going to work at a tattoo shop in the center of town. How did that work out for you?”

  “It’s great,” I say and mean it. So great in fact that I often feel guilty for everyone I used to know, like Jason, who didn’t get that opportunity. “You should come visit me one day.”

  “Yeah, of course.” But I know he won’t. He doesn’t feel he can wash the stench of the street off him. It’s like he has a brand on his forehead marking him as homeless and a hooker and is convinced everyone can see it.

  I feel that way sometimes, too, although it’s not as bad as it used to be.

  “Are you seeing the others? Mayleen, Adam, Josie? They still around?”

  “I see them. Where would they go, man? We’re stuck here.”

  Except me. Familiar guilt washes through me. I’ve tried giving them my money, but they won’t take it. They’re proud people, and I know how they feel about charity.

  “They okay? No trouble?”

  “You talking about something specific now, aren’t you, J?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Jason nods. He knows, and normally he’d tell me to chill, and that everything’s calm.

  This time, though, he remains silent, and I don’t like it. He glances down the street, then behind him. On edge.

  “Come on, Jason, spill.” I want to shake him, rattle any information out of him, so I ball my hands into fists and wait him out.

  “There’s this new guy,” he finally says, shuffling his feet, uncomfortable as hell. “Mikey. Sixteen or seventeen. Pretty face, though no comparison to you, J.”

  I huff. Jason has hit on me a couple of times. I’m used to men hitting on me, as much as chicks, but I hope Jason has taken the hint. I just don’t swing that way.