Half My Blood

by Lauren Gilley

  Aidan braced his hands back behind him on Mr. Murdock’s desk and exhaled toward the ceiling, like he so didn’t have time for all this. “So what’d you do?” he asked, and Sam nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “I’m sorry?”

  His head tilted toward her…and his gaze was physically heavy against her. She felt her shoulders curl beneath it. “Why’s he keeping you after? What’d you do?” He grinned a sudden, startled sort of grin that made him look absolutely evil. And delicious. “You’re not fucking the guy, are you?”

  The crudity of the word, and the shock of the suspicion nearly sent her bolting from the room. “No!” She sat up straight, cheeks bursting into flame. “Of course I’m not!”

  His eyes raked over her, to her toes and back, like he could see through her clothes and the books she held tight to her chest. His smile dimmed. “Yeah, guess not.” Like he saw her for what she was, when he really looked at her. Like she was plain and ordinary and not-hot, and why the hell would a teacher risk getting fired for the sake of being with her? Like she was just another faceless nerd beneath his notice.

  Shame was like a sword going through her, rivaled only by the piercing embarrassment.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she said, because it hurt too badly to accept his scorn. “I’m in the wrong class. I’m supposed to be in AP, not in here.” With your stupid ass, she added silently.

  He snorted and turned away, expression bored again. “Sounds about right.”

  Why, oh why, she wondered, did she have to have the most terrible crush on this smarmy asshole?

  She didn’t understand his insistence on being a dick. And doing stupid things in class that got him in trouble. Didn’t real outlaws have better things to do than pull pranks?

  “Why’d you do it?” she asked, voice coming out sharper than she’d intended.

  “Do what?”

  “Throw the tape. Why’d you do that?”

  He shrugged and stared at the classroom door. “Melissa’s a bitch.”

  “I thought you dated her.”

  “Yeah. ‘Date.’ If that’s what you wanna call it.” He smirked and then sobered again. “She’s still a bitch.”

  The heat in her face was going to melt her brain, she decided. Date, if that’s what she wanted to call it. So he’d slept with her. How many of their classmates had he been with, she wondered. Everyone but her?

  “She wouldn’t be a bitch to you,” she said, before she could stop herself.

  “Yeah right.”

  Sam shook her head, chasing the memory away. That had been so long ago, and it shouldn’t hold any bearing on the here and now. Now they were both adults, and they were in his sister’s kitchen, and they’d both doubtless moved beyond their high school selves.

  Aidan was drinking his beer, leaning back against the kitchen sink, his pose eerily identical to that of their classroom conversation years ago. Still the chain, and the boots, and the dark hair, plus the edge in his dark eyes. All of it enhanced by time.

  He glanced over in a cursory way, just a flicker of a glance.

  Sam pushed her plate away and wrapped her hand around her Coke can to ensure it didn’t look wobbly and betray her. Stupid hand.

  Then Aidan glanced again, really looked at her, and if anything, he’d only gotten better at undressing people with his eyes. He studied her a moment; she felt him notice the thick dirty blonde braid pulled over her shoulder, her casual, loose white tank top, her glasses, her mouth, her breasts. Then he smiled.

  Holy shit. That smile.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi,” she returned, grateful she managed not to squirm in her seat.

  His smile widened, and took on an easy, flirtatious quality that was truly swoon-worthy. If she were the sort of girl who swooned, which she wasn’t. “Ava didn’t say she had a hot friend. I feel like she’s been holding out on me.”

  She took a small, insubstantial breath, but was proud of the way her voice was steady. “Well, there’s Leah and Holly.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Leah might as well be my sister. And Holly’s…fucked up and pregnant and married, so…yeah.” The grin came back. “But then there’s you.”

  What the hell did she say to that? “Thank you…?” She couldn’t quite come to grips with the fact that this guy, of all guys, was calling her hot and flirting with her. It just didn’t seem possible.

  “Wait, you were at her baby shower, weren’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes. And I’ve been helping with the unpacking.”

  He nodded, still smiling. “Right.” He pushed off the counter, stepped closer to the table. “I’m Aidan, by the way…”

  Oh, God.

  “…I know she probably talks a buncha shit about me…”

  He was introducing himself to her.

  “…but it’s only half true.”

  Because he didn’t remember her at all.

  Still grinning like a demon, he said, “So what’s your name?”

  All the nervous jitters left her in a flood. A flood of shame and anger and embarrassment, because for a little bit there, she’d lost her mind, and allowed herself to feel giddy as a teenager about the fact that he was coming on to her.

  In a flat voice, she said, “Sam. Sam Walton.”

  Still, he didn’t remember. “Alright, Sam, I gotta know how you ended up friends with my totally lame sister.”

  She resisted the urge to growl at him. “I met her at school. We have class together. Where else would us totally lame writing nerds hang out?”

  That pushed him off his game a little. “Ah…so you’re…into books and stuff too?”

  “Yes. Books. And stuff.”

  “Well…hey, that’s cool…” Like he was giving her permission to be a nerd. Like it was somewhat acceptable that she be uncool.

  “Look,” she snapped, “I’m going to put you out of your misery here, Teague. We’ve met before. We went to high school together. You have spoken to me before. But clearly, you don’t remember that, because clearly, I was never up to the level of your social strata, and completely beneath your notice. You’re about twelve years too late to put the moves on me, you jackass.”

  The look of total shock on his handsome face was gratifying.

  “Whoa,” Ava said as she stepped back into the room, a rifle in a zippered case propped on one shoulder. “Should I give this to you?” she asked Sam. “You look like you want to put a round through him, and I could get on board with that.”

  Aidan stood frozen, speechless.

  “No, it’s okay,” Sam said, staring him down, “I think he feels stupid enough without the bullet.”

  “Okaaaay.” Ava stepped forward, handed her brother the gun and he took it with wooden, clumsy hands. “There you go. Anything else?”

  He shook his head slowly, blinking a lot as he turned his head and refocused on his sister. He looked like he’d been in a car accident. “Nah. This is it.”

  “Okay. Have a safe ride back. Give Mercy a kiss for me.”

  “ ‘Kay,” he said, not even acknowledging her request with so much as a frown. He glanced back over his shoulder at Sam once before heading to the back door.

  Ava followed him, locking the door, and then returned, eyebrows raised. “What was that about?”

  The bike started up in the driveway, an angry snarl.

  “I think…I think he was hitting on me. Because he didn’t remember who I was.”

  Ava snorted. “What an asshole.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ava sat down again. “Oh, so, like I was saying…” She reached for her sandwich.

  Sam nodded. She forced food into her mouth, and she hoped her answers were appropriate, because she wasn’t thinking about the Mercy/Colin problem at all. Her mind had gone out the back door with Ava’s brother, and she couldn’t believe how badly it still hurt to be invisible.

  Eight

  Sex Ed

  Lunch. All he wanted was a sandwich. There ought to be some deli ham
and Swiss in the clubhouse fridge. Tango had food on the brain as he walked into the blessedly cool common room.

  And he pulled up short when he saw what was happening at one of the round dining tables.

  Jasmine was having an afternoon gin and tonic – normal – and she was all done up for a party – also usual. Denim miniskirt, tight western shirt that flashed lots of cleavage, hair in big barrel curls, makeup ready for a nightclub.

  But she wasn’t alone. A brunette girl Tango had never met before sat beside the Lean Bitch, hands wrapped around a beer bottle, her smile small and nervous as she listened to what Jasmine was saying.

  Jasmine noticed him and got to her feet. “Baby boy!” she greeted excitedly, beaming. “Come here. I want you to meet someone.”

  Overcome by a sudden cold dread, he stepped forward, lifting his arm as Jazz slid beneath it and hugged him around the wait, kissed the side of his neck. She smelled – ha – like jasmine, her usual perfume.

  “What’s going on?”

  Jasmine wiggled against him, stood up on her toes, beamed, and made a grand gesture toward the brunette. “Tango, this is Bridget.”

  The girl managed to duck her head while making eye contact, and gave him a little wave. “Hi.”

  “Yeah…um, hi,” he said, and turned to look at the woman pressed against him. “What’s going on?”

  She kept smiling. “You know how I keep saying you need to find you a nice girl? Well, I found you one. I set up an online dating profile for you.”

  “You did what?”

  “Ratchet let me use his computer. I can show you all of it later. But anyway,” she said firmly when he started to protest, “that’s how I met Bridget, and she wanted to meet you, so…” She gestured toward the girl again, brows waggling. “What you doin’ for lunch, baby?”

  “Is…is this okay? Is it good for you?”

  Midafternoon sunlight beamed in through the high, frosted window above the bed, like a spotlight on the girl in the middle of the hazy dorm room. The shy brunette – shit, he couldn’t remember her name – had her shirt off, sporting a lacy pale pink bra and a truly impressive set of breasts hefted up in its cups. Her denim skirt was bundled up to her waist and she was naked beneath, her thighs spread wide across his hips, his condom-covered cock rooted deep in her sex. She was holding very still, an uncertain blush coloring her cheeks, her hands pressed to the bare flat of his belly. She was so aroused she was trembling – and there was no doubting the wetness between her legs – but she was hesitant and almost cringing. Up for the sex, but not sure where to go from here.

  God, kill him now.

  Technically, he wanted this. His cock had come to full attention under her hand. And technically, he’d been willing enough as he’d undressed and pulled her up to straddle him. But this wasn’t the sort of thing that was going to push memories back, override his brain and bring him any sort of release.

  “It’s fine,” he said through his teeth.

  But it wasn’t. He never should have let Jasmine talk him into this.

  As if she were reading his mind from the chair against the wall, Jasmine stabbed out her cigarette in the nightstand ashtray and got to her feet, moving to stand beside the bed.

  “You’ve got to relax, baby,” she said, and she was talking to the girl, a hand settling on the brunette’s shoulder, squeezing lightly.

  The girl turned her head a fraction, eyes wide with alarm as she stared at the groupie.

  “Here.” Jasmine stepped closer. “You’ve gotta let yourself go.” She tucked the girl’s hair back behind her ear, trailed her forefinger along the delicate jaw afterward.

  The girl pulled in a shivery breath.

  “I’ll help you,” Jasmine declared, and she climbed onto the bed, straddling his legs and scooting up until her front pressed against the girl’s back. Until they were fitted together like clothes on skin.

  The brunette jumped a little as Jasmine’s hands settled on her hips.

  “Shh,” the groupie murmured. “Let’s find a rhythm. Here. Up, and back, up, and back.” She leaned forward and back herself, urging subtle movements of the girl’s hips with her hands, until both of them were slow-dancing at the same sultry pace, hips to hips, breasts to back.

  The brunette’s breathing picked up. Her chest lifted, pink bra straining.

  “Good girl,” Jasmine praised. Her hands slid forward, pressing down low on the girl’s belly, urging her to bear to down, to grind side-to-side. “Just like that.” She shifted a little herself, and Tango knew she was aroused, the way her pelvis tilted forward.

  The movement was helping, tightening him up, making him squirm just a little.

  Jasmine’s hands drew slowly up the girl’s sides, skimmed forward, closed over the lacy bra cups. “Nice,” she whispered. “Real?”

  The girl’s head half-turned, eyelids drooping. “Yeah,” she whispered back.

  Jasmine’s talented thumbs found the little knobs of the girl’s nipples and traced them through the lace. Flicking back and forth. Pressing. She leaned in even tighter.

  Then her hands slid around to the girl’s back. There was a soft clip sound, and then the pink bra was loosening, the straps sliding down her arms.

  “There,” Jasmine purred. “Let’s get comfy.” She urged the girl’s arms to leave first one strap and then the other, then tossed the bra aside. The full, pink-tipped breasts were spectacular. Drawn up tight, the nipples peaked in a way that looked painful.

  Jasmine reached around the girl’s front and took the heavy breasts in her hands, her black fingernails stark against the pale skin. She kneaded them with sure movements, changing their shapes as she lifted them.

  The girl gasped.

  “Yeah,” Jasmine said. “You like that?”

  ”Oh…” the girl said, and her chest surged, breasts thrusting into the hands that petted them.

  Jasmine clutched on tight, and urged the girl to lean back against her, squeezing.

  The brunette complied, letting her weight rest against the head Lean Bitch, her hips bucking and swiveling in helpless reaction. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her lips parted on a wordless sound. She panted. Her hands lifted, and she pressed them to the backs of Jasmine’s hands, encouraging, holding on for dear life as she ground against him.

  Over the girl’s shoulder, Jasmine smiled at him, her grin absolutely wicked as she pinched the girl’s nipples. Then she turned her head to the side and ran her tongue up the girl’s throat.

  The girl let out a strangled moan and her sex clamped tight around his cock. Grabbing him and releasing, grabbing him and releasing as she came. Her face flushed a pretty crimson and her hips kicked.

  By all rights, Tango should have been arched beneath the two of them like a bowstring, his own release tackling him.

  But girl-on-girl had never really been his thing.

  Timid strangers were yet less his thing.

  The girl was coming back down, breathing in dreamy sighs, her eyes fluttering open as her hips stopped gyrating.

  “Lie down, baby,” Jasmine said, urging her off of Tango and onto the bed beside him. She collapsed, boneless. Her lashes flickered as exhaustion swamped her.

  Jasmine was still straddling him, and she scooted forward, peeling the glistening condom off his still very hard cock. “Baby boy,” she scolded, wrapping her expert hand around his length. “You can do soooo much better than that.” Mock censure in her frown, delight sparking in her eyes.

  His legs flexed, heels digging into the mattress as he fought the urge to lift into her sure, strong touch. “Sorry. Guess I’m not much into three-ways.”

  Her frown threatened to turn into a grin. “Try again. I know, straight from the horse’s mouth, that Misty broke you and Aidan in together when y’all were kids.”

  Only partially true. Yes, the then-famed Misty had taken it upon herself to deflower the two of them when they were sixteen. And yeah, he and Aidan had both been in that dorm room with her. But only Aidan ha
d been a first-timer. Tango had lost his virgin status fully at age twelve. And before that – well, it all depended on one’s definition of sex.

  “What I want to know…” Jasmine gripped him tight and leaned forward at the waist, bringing their faces closer, her hair swinging, giving him a look down her shirt to show off her lack of bra. “Is if you boys ever still do that sort of thing.” The gleam in her eyes was enough to leave him twitching in her hand.

  He knew Jasmine, and he knew this wasn’t an idle question.

  “Someone you know interested?” he teased.

  She dampened her lips. “Yeah.”

  “I could ask Aidan…”

  “God,” she breathed. And then she was a flurry of movement. Shoving up her own denim miniskirt. Tearing open the strained buttons of her shirt. Fishing a condom from the nightstand, ripping open the foil and rolling it onto him with lightning precision. Mounting him. Guiding him to her entrance and taking him inside as she sank low, her thighs clenched tight.

  She reached for his hands and urged them inside her open shirt, pressing them to the manufactured fullness of her tan breasts.

  He cupped her in his palms and squeezed. Lifted his hips and drove hard inside her as she started to move.

  “Ask him,” she said, voice breathless with arousal. “Oh, please, baby, ask him.”