by Vivian Wood
He rolls his eyes. “Okay.”
I continue to pull on his arm, dragging him into my bedroom. Like the rest of the house, my bedroom is tiny. It just fits the bed and a chest of drawers, with an itty bitty closet to match. Jameson has seen my bedroom before obviously, but when we enter the room, he eyes it uncertainly.
“Sit,” I command him, pointing at the bed. “I have the album somewhere.”
He sits on the side of the bed, looking rigid and uncomfortable. I giggle as I reach for my ipod on the desk, which is hooked up to a bluetooth speaker.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Mmm? Oh. I’m just laughing at how you’re sitting on my bed like you haven’t been naked as the day you were born before in here.” I queue up my favorite m83 album, which is appropriate music for the moment, I think.
“Hmm,” is his only comment. When I turn around, he is looking at me suspiciously. “I love this album.”
“Really? I do too!” I grin, walking around to the other side of the bed. “It’s so like… dreamy and atmospheric and intense, all at the same time.”
I sit down, peeling my kitten heels off. I sit back on my bed, stretching out and sighing. “This is sooooo nice.”
And it’s true. I feel great, like thousands of little lightning bugs are just beneath my skin, but in a good way. Stretching feels good. Laying still feels good. Everything just feels good.
I bite my lower lip. I want to ask Jameson to give me a mini massage, but I don’t want him to freak out. Actually, I want to jump his bones, but then he would for sure call Asher to come take care of me.
I would way rather have Jameson as a babysitter than my big brother.
Jameson turns his head to look at me. “Doing okay over there?”
I smile wanly, feeling insanely relaxed. “Sure, I’m okay. I was just wondering how to ask you to rub my shoulders without being weird, that’s all.”
That makes him chuckle. “Let me grab you a glass of water first. Then we’ll talk about shoulder rubs some more.”
“Oooookay,” I reply in a singsong voice. I hear him get up and leave the room.
I close my eyes, flinging my arms out wide. I feel the bed beneath me, the cotton comforter and sheets super soft, the pillow just firm enough. It’s pleasant. The whole world seems so nice right now, capable of sending nothing but good things my way. One of my hands drifts to the short hem on my leg, feeling the difference between the linen of my dress and the smooth skin underneath.
“Here,” Jameson says, surprising me by being right beside me. He sits down on the bed, making it creak under his weight, and hands me a huge glass of water. “Drink as much as you can. Your body is running a little warm because of the drugs, and you don’t want to get dehydrated.”
I take the glass, drinking it down in several lengthy swallows. “Mmm. It’s good.”
“Want more?”
“Nah, not right now,” I say. I set the glass down on the floor, then I sit up. “I want you to rub my shoulders, though.”
He looks at me, gauging how serious I am. Or maybe he’s trying to tell how high I am, I can’t tell.
“I’ll be good, I promise,” I beg. “I just want to feel touch right now.”
Relenting, he sighs. “Okay. Turn around.”
He spins his finger. I hurry to do as he says. I really do want to be touched right now, so bad that I have goosebumps breaking out all over my arms, neck, and even my neckline.
His warm hands finally land on my shoulders, rubbing them so intensely that I actually moan out loud. He pauses, lifting his hands off of my skin, but I scoot backward towards him. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Jameson starts to rub my shoulders again, the pressure delightfully hard. I stay quiet, but it’s a struggle not to get loud as hell. He works out all the little knots in my shoulders, and then moves to my neck.
Oh. My. God. Has anything ever felt so wonderful? I can’t believe that it has.
I close my eyes, listening to the music, which seems to swell and grow. As he massages me, I slowly drift to one side and back, so that I’m pretty much lying down on his lap. But I do it stealthily, so that I’m there before he even notices how close we are.
He tires, and pets my hair instead of massaging me. That’s a-okay by me, though. When I think about it, I am living my dream right now. All those teenaged fantasies… all the times that I thought about him while I was using my vibrator… all the moments where I called out his name in this very bed, alone and growing lonelier by the moment?
Yeah, they pale in comparison to having him here with me, in any capacity. Having Jameson in this room is fucking fantastic, and that’s a fact.
Eventually I open my eyes, glancing up at him. I look at his short, dark hair, at his gorgeous black-brown eyes, at his strong jawline with two days worth of stubble. I realize with a shock that he’s been gazing at me, something dark in his eyes. Lust, longing… or both maybe?
Maybe that’s just what I am wishing to be there. But I will him to do that thing he does, for his gaze to drop to my mouth once more.
Then… he looks at my mouth, subconsciously biting his lush lower lip. I can’t stop myself from moving my head upward, seeking his lips with my own. He bends slightly, bowing his head. I feel the warmth of his breath fanning across my lips.
He’s actually going to do it, I realize.
He closes the distance, touching his lips to mine.
And it’s like heaven. His mouth is so much warmer than it ever was in my fantasies, even though this kiss is very light. Exploring, tentative.
I open my mouth a little, letting my tongue find his, stroking it ever so gently. Then he surprises me. He growls, a sound of frustration.
I know that feeling all too well, where Jameson is concerned. So I sit up, push him back into the pillows, and begin anew. This time, we’re face to face, our eyes fluttering closed as our mouths open to each other. I put my hands onto the lapels of his leather jacket, clutching them.
I feel his hands on my waist, his touch unbearably light. I feel like he isn’t committing to kissing me, and that’s just not acceptable. So I nip his lower lip, inviting him to play harder.
After all, that is what I want. I want the whole package, the guts and the glory.
When you look at Jameson, you see this bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. You can just tell that he likes it rough, that he leaves bruises and bite marks in his wake. You can guess that after a good long night, with the right person under his command, he would leave the bedroom with scratch marks and hickies and god knows what else.
War wounds.
So I bite him, just to see what kind of reaction I get. He growls into my mouth, his hand coming up to sink into the hair behind my head. He controls me like a puppet, moving my head just so, giving himself complete access to my mouth. He leans forward, his kiss turning harsher, almost punishing me.
With his free hand, he cups my face, the gesture at once tender and yet still dominant. My breath grows into shallow pants of excitement.
I’m his. I’m finally, finally his.
I have never felt anything quite like the way he touches me. I need this.
I gasp when he leaves my mouth, gripping my head and turning it to expose the supple column of my neck. I can feel the power he holds back, palpable and obvious. I get goosebumps again as I realize that finally, I am under his thrall.
His hand leaves my face, cupping my breast instead. I moan a little at his touch, arching my back.
More, I need more.
Then his kiss slows just before he reaches my collarbone, grinding to a halt. He leans his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his breath coming in silent gasps.
I open my eyes, and he opens his. I see that combination of lust and longing there again, but this time he pushes me away.
“No,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “No, this isn’t right.”
He shoves me off of him, standing up. I look up at him, confuse
d and speechless. He shakes his head.
“We can’t. Asher would never understand. If he found out, and I lost my best friend…” He looks tortured. “I can’t let that happen. Especially not now, when you’re high as a fucking kite. Jesus.” He takes a couple steps back. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
I find my words. “Nothing is wrong with you. You’re attracted to me. I’m attracted to you. It’s like… meant to be.”
Jameson won’t hear it, though.
“No,” he says, shaking his head again. “This can’t happen. This didn’t happen, as far as either of us knows.”
“But, Jameson—” I start to protest. But it’s too late. He’s turned to steel.
“I’m going to sit in the kitchen.” He starts moving toward my door.
“Wait, let’s just talk—”
He looks at me. “This? This… weird thing that’s between us, whatever it is? It cannot happen. It can never happen, understand?”
I scowl at him. “But why? Why do you resist something that you so clearly want?”
“Ask your brother. He’s the one that makes all the rules in our kingdom.”
And then he walks out the bedroom door. Leaving me bewildered, high as hell, and on the verge of tears.
I was so close to getting what I wanted. I could touch him, taste him, smell him.
What will it take to break him? I wonder.
I lie back on the bed, plotting and planning on how I can find out.
11
Jameson
2004
“Yeah, but… rent is $800. Food is $1200. Car insurance and gas are like… $200, probably...” Forest says, scratching notes on the back of an old flyer. “$200 goes to the bus passes for me and Gunnar. And those are just the mast basic things.”
“Man, food is so expensive,” I gripe, sitting back.
Forest just nods, lost in thought. I let him do his thing. I suck at math.
We’re sitting on the couch that doubles as my bed, trying to figure out how we’re going to budget this month. He’s only seventeen, grown tall and dark just like me, but he’s very serious. Unlike me, Forest is about to graduate high school at the top of his class. He’s got a head for numbers, which is why I’ve asked him for help with this.
“What about Gunnar’s class trip?” I ask, leaning over to look at what Forest has written down. “That’s another hundred.”
He writes that down, scrunching his face. “And what are you going to earn?”
“Depends on the tips. I’ll definitely get $400 every week, but tips have been shitty the last month. Maybe… another $50 every shift, six shifts a week.” I think about it for a second. “I can go back to working doubles some days, I guess.”
“No way. That’s how you ended up walking around with pneumonia for two months.” Forest shakes his head. “The doctor said you need to sleep like a normal human being. You should let me get a job.”
“No,” I say, biting off the word. “Your job is to graduate high school. You only have a few more months, and then you’re off to California State for a full ride. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “So you say.”
“I mean it. You’re the smart one, dude. One day this is gonna pay off so big. You’ll thank me for it then.”
Forest gives me a look. “Right, but in the meantime… we’re going to be way short.”
“So I go back to doubles, then.” I don’t want to say it out loud, but I was really hoping that wouldn’t happen. Working a double shift in a restaurant is actual hell. It’s twelve hours of people expecting me to anticipate their every need. “Maybe just two a week. I can do that.”
“I mean… that might work…” Forest says. “That’s what… two hundred more a week?”
“Yeah, give or take.” I sigh. “You’re going to have to pick Gunnar up from school again, though. If the school district finds out that we’re using an old address, they’ll kick you both out.”
“He’s thirteen. He can take the city bus, just like I do.”
I squint. “I don’t trust him like I trusted you at that age. He’s always showing off, tring to impress girls. I don’t think he realizes how serious the school board takes the zoning stuff.”
There’s a knock at the front door, which always makes me paranoid as fuck. In my experience, it’s usually not good news. The door opens though, and it’s just Asher.
He’s growing out his hair into a long blonde mop, and he’s dressed super grungy. It’s actually the way I worry that people see me, except he has no reason to be afraid. He’s Asher Alderisi after all — super rich, going to Stanford, driving a Mercedes.
His grungy look is just for show. A little part of me is so mad about that… but I shrug it off.
“Hey guys,” he says, coming in and closing the door behind him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I say. But Forest responds at the same time, “Making a budget. We’re not sure how we’re going to make it this month. You know, the usual.”
Forest sprawls back on the couch. I feel the tips of my ears redden. Asher knows that we are strapped for money, but I don’t like to talk about it.
“Then it’s a good thing I came by,” Asher says, scrounging in his pocket. He produces a gift card. “I asked for cash for my birthday, and my great aunt thought that I meant cash for the grocery store, or whatever? I don’t know. Anyway, she gave me this gift card, which is like a thousand dollars… but it can only be used at the grocery stores listed on the card.”
“Whoa, really?” Forest says, bouncing up to grab the card. “Asher, this is awesome.”
I’m not as comfortable with it, though. “Are you sure about that? That’s a ton of money.”
“Yeah, but I don’t like… go to the grocery store. I eat on campus, mostly.” Asher comes in and flops down on the folding chair we keep in the living room. “It’s not a big deal, honestly. I mean, you’ll use it, right?”
“Definitely,” Forest says. “Jameson was just complaining that food is so expensive.”
I scratch my stubble on my cheek. “Yeah, thanks.”
This is how it is with Asher. He gets these amazing things, like this gift certificate, or the second hand beater car that is now parked in my driveway. And then, often as not, he just gives them away to me.
I might need it, but it’s still a little uncomfortable. The worst part is that he’s not even really aware of the value of what he gives away. I know that if I corner him and wave the stuff he’s given me under his nose, he will just shrug.
How do I even begin to start repaying what I owe him? I don’t even know how to calculate the cost, honestly.
“Hey, you’re off today, right?” Asher asks.
“I am,” I say slowly.
“Perfect. I want to go see Hellboy.”
“You want what?”
He sighs dramatically. “You work too much, and don’t pay enough attention to what’s playing at the box office. Trust me, you’re gonna love it. You too, Forest, if you’re not busy.”
“Hell yeah!” Forest says. “Let me get my jacket.”
I cast an eye over Asher. He notices me looking.
“What?” he says. “I know you’re not going to turn down a free movie and popcorn.”
And he’s right, I’m not. But I am adding it to the total tally of what I owe Asher, which is growing heavier and heavier the longer we’re friends.
12
Jameson
Current Day
I keep going over and over the list of what I owe Asher in my head as I go for a run. There are so many things, so many times that he kept me and my brothers from starving or sleeping on the streets. It’s an endless litany, really.
But as I get home, exhausted and sweaty, I keep thinking about Emma. How she looked the other night when I pulled back from kissing her, her hair a mess and her cheeks warm. She gripped my jacket and pulled me close, her big green eyes holding secrets that I can’t even begin to guess at.
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br /> For a second, she was every man’s fantasy. And for a second, I almost let her pull me back in.
But I didn’t.
Now I’m stripping to shower, and standing under the water, and wondering why. I mean, I know why. Asher has put one restriction on our friendship, and that’s Emma.
But a little voice in the back of my head says, so what?
So you owe Asher forever. So he put the only girl that you’re interested in out of bounds. So doing anything with her will make you the worst, most ungrateful friend ever.
I stand under the steaming shower, and decide to let myself forget the rules for just a minute. Instead, I focus on what Emma tastes like, the soft little moans she makes, the way her curves feel under my hands. I’m hard in no time, my soapy hand running down to my cock. I give myself one solitary stroke, from root to tip, and groan aloud.
There is no doubt that I’m hard up for Emma. I have been for a few years, ever since I noticed her tits one night when we were all hanging out together. One minute I was drinking a beer, another minute I was fixating on her. Wondering what they looked like, how they would fit in the palms of my hands… wondering how they would taste.
I shiver, my body running hot and cold, just thinking about it. But I’m not allowed to touch, not allowed to find out just what the texture would be beneath my tongue. I’m frustrated, that much is obvious. But a solution to my problem is not forthcoming.
I run through the rest of my showering routine in a couple of minutes. Turning off the spigot and wrapping a towel around my waist, I open the door to the steam filled bathroom. I head down the hall to my bedroom, passing Asher’s open door. He’s not home, which is just as well.
What would I even say to him at this point?
When I get to my room, I notice the door is slightly ajar. That’s a little weird, because I am always careful to close it all the way. Edging it open fully, I am greeted by the sight of Emma, stripped down to her matching red lace bra and panties… in my bed.
