Jeremy glowers at me over his shoulder but then he says, ‘Fine. Whatever.’
Jesse pushes past him and Jeremy’s jaw tightens in response. Jesse puts his hand on the door, ushering Jeremy out.
‘You’ve got to be kidding?’ Tyler shouts.
‘You’ve got two minutes,’ Jeremy says through gritted teeth, his hand still on the door. ‘Or I’m going to kick down the door.’
‘Whatever,’ Jesse says before turning his back.
‘You sure, Ren?’ Jeremy asks, giving me an incredulous look. I nod. ‘Well, tell your little friend that if he doesn’t walk out of here of his own accord in two minutes he won’t be walking out of here at all.’
Dickhead. The word pops into my head and almost trips off my lips. I cannot believe the behaviour of these boys. I roll my eyes as Jeremy leaves and closes the door behind him.
‘What are you doing?’ Jesse demands as soon as the door is shut. His whole body is roiling with tension, his hands are fisted at his sides, the ribbons of tendons in his neck raised.
I shrug.
His shoulders drop. A look of hurt passes across his face, making my stomach muscles clench.
‘Were you about to sleep with him?’ he asks. His expression is so accusatory that I feel momentarily indignant before embarrassment washes over me. ‘It shouldn’t be with him,’ Jesse says before I can answer him. And he says it in such a sad voice that something catches inside me.
‘Why?’ I ask, struggling to hold on to my indignation. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’
‘It shouldn’t be with someone like him,’ he answers.
‘You don’t even know him,’ I snap.
‘And you do?’ he fires back.
‘Yeah,’ I nod. ‘Better than you do.’
‘Does he love you?’ Jesse asks, his whole body seemingly poised on my reply, his brown eyes boring into mine, ready to read the answer there first.
I shake my head, I can’t look him in the eye.
‘Do you love him?’ he asks, softer now, his voice hoarse.
He’s making me feel so slutty. But he’s right. I don’t love Jeremy.
‘Ren,’ Jesse says, his voice so magnetic I want to fall against him. ‘Don’t do it. He doesn’t deserve you.’
He reaches for me, puts his hand on my shoulder and I feel my body sigh, all the energy inside me racing in torrents through my limbs. And that’s just from his hand touching my shoulder. I swallow, trying to push away the thought of what his hand could achieve touching of the rest of my body.
The door bursts open at that point.
‘Time’s up,’ Jeremy announces, frowning at the sight of Jesse’s hand on my shoulder.
I glance downwards. I’ve let go of my dress and I realise that with the buttons undone almost to the waist, my bra is on full display. I quickly start buttoning up my dress, fingers fumbling. This couldn’t get more embarrassing. Behind Jeremy I am aware of an audience gathering, at the front of which is Eliza and Tyler. Naturally. The Gods of Humiliation aren’t done with their little plaything just yet.
‘It’s time to leave – right now, before we call the police,’ Jeremy says, marching into the room.
‘Just go, Jesse. Leave,’ I say.
Jesse’s head whips back towards me. ‘Not without you,’ he says.
‘Jesse, please. You can’t be here,’ I whisper.
‘You’ve got a restraining order, Miller. You can’t be near Tyler.’
‘Let’s beat the shit out of him!’ It’s Parker, yelling in the background. He’s standing next to Tyler. I swear that boy has fewer brain cells than an amoeba.
I grab for Jesse’s arm. ‘Jesse, just go. I’ll be fine.’
He looks at me, his dark eyes burning like fire. He’s on the verge of saying something.
‘Please,’ I whisper again.
He keeps looking at me, seemingly oblivious to the aggression in the room, all of it aimed at him and building dangerously. ‘I won’t force you, Ren,’ he finally says. I see his hand reach out for me before he brings it back to his side.
I don’t move. I don’t know why. Half of me is desperate to take his hand and let him drag me out of there. But I can’t. Not this way. It will look like I’ve got something going on with Jesse and I want to explain to Jeremy. He deserves that. He doesn’t deserve me walking out on him in front of all his friends.
Jesse backs away towards the door, staring at me the whole time. I have to dig my heels in to stop myself from following him. He gives me one last look that makes me flinch from its ferocity, and then he turns in the doorway and pushes past Tyler, Parker, Eliza and Summer. Tyler mutters something and Jesse shakes his head and smirks at him. ‘Nice cardigan,’ he says, glancing down at Tyler’s outfit. Summer titters. And then Jesse’s gone out the door.
In his wake comes a silence so full that I can feel the blood rushing in my ears.
‘What did he want?’ It’s Jeremy speaking.
I turn to him, my movements feeling sluggish, almost time-delayed. ‘Um,’ I say, ‘he wanted to talk to me.’
‘About what?’ he demands. ‘How do you even know him?’
‘The bike,’ Eliza pipes up from behind him. ‘Remember she rented a bike from him?’
‘This was about a bike?’ someone else asks.
‘She’s friends with him,’ Summer says.
‘Looks like she’s more than just friends with him,’ Eliza sniggers.
Jeremy ignores her, thankfully. ‘You’re friends with that loser?’ he asks me, a look of disbelief on his face.
‘He’s not a loser,’ I say, anger bubbling under my skin.
‘He beat up Tyler,’ Parker shouts.
‘And you guys beat the shit out of him,’ I shout back, surprised that my anger has boiled over so quickly.
‘He’s a psychopath,’ Jeremy says, shaking his head at me in confusion.
I bite my tongue. He’s not a psychopath but I know there’s no point in arguing his case in front of these people.
‘Clearly he thinks the two of you are more than just friends,’ Jeremy says and I see the accusation in his narrowed eyes.
‘No he doesn’t,’ I say with a sigh. ‘He thinks I have a boyfriend.’
‘A what?’ Jeremy asks and I see his face pale ever so slightly.
I hesitate before saying quickly, ‘Nothing.’
‘You told him you had a boyfriend?’ Parker asks and I don’t mistake the tone of amusement in his voice. Behind him Tyler laughs under his breath.
‘Yeah,’ I say quickly, my cheeks burning. Do I have to do this with an audience? ‘But only to let him know I wasn’t interested in him.’
I swear I see a glimmer of relief cross Jeremy’s face and my blood runs cold.
‘So what did he want then?’ Tyler demands. ‘If not to pay a booty call?’
‘He was just looking out for me,’ I snap.
‘Looking out for you? What, like we’re the ones you need to be protected from?’ He throws back his head and laughs.
I look at Jeremy. ‘I want to go home,’ I say, feeling suddenly stone cold sober and overwhelmingly tired.
Jeremy studies me, pressing his lips together. His expression is hard, quite a way removed from his expression ten minutes ago.
‘Can you take me?’ I say, hating having to ask.
‘I’ve been drinking,’ he answers, a small smile at the side of his mouth.
I grind my teeth. He knew I needed a ride home but he still drank. I can’t believe it. What was he expecting? To sleep with me and send me home in a taxi afterwards? Jesus. I wish now that I’d left with Jesse.
I push past Jeremy, past all the others still gathered in the doorway like rubberneckers. I don’t look at them. I hold my head high. Expletives are on the tip of my tongue but I contain them. I will keep my dignity, as much as still remains to me.
‘No score for you tonight,’ I hear Tyler snicker to Jeremy as I walk by.
Jeremy mumbles something under his br
eath that sounds like a swear word.
The tears are welling as I stomp across the lawn and overflowing by the time I make it to the house because by then I realise that Jeremy hasn’t even bothered to come after me.
33
I walk inside having decided to find a phone and call a taxi. Goddamn it, I think, suppressing a sob, I don’t want to take a taxi. I don’t even have a number for one. Just then Mr Thorne comes out of his study. He sees me and for a moment looks surprised before worry takes the place of the surprise.
‘Ren, are you OK?’ he asks, walking towards me.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, trying to keep it together. ‘I just . . . I need to call a taxi.’
He looks like he’s about to say something then changes his mind. ‘Sure, let me get the phone.’ He disappears back into the study, returning a second later with the phone.
‘Would you rather I gave you a ride?’ he asks.
‘I can do that.’ It’s Mr Reed. He’s come out of the study and is smiling at me with a smile I’m sure he uses to bedazzle and bamboozle juries. ‘I’m heading that way,’ he adds.
I stare between them. It’s the choice between a taxi driver and two men who are friends with Carrie and Mike. ‘OK,’ I say to Mr Reed, ‘But I need to call Carrie and let her know what I’m doing.’
‘Sure,’ Mr Thorne says with a smile. He hands me the phone and I quickly dial Carrie.
I tell her that Mr Reed is dropping me home and then I say bye to Mr Thorne, who is still looking at me with a concerned expression on his face. I contemplate telling him what an utter shithead his son is (actually what utter shitheads all three of his children are) but decide better of it.
I climb into the car in silence. It has a very plush interior that smells of chemicals and leather and I can’t relax. I find myself sitting rigid, staring straight ahead. Mr Reed glances over at me as he pulls out of the drive.
‘Have fun tonight?’ he asks.
‘Not really,’ I answer, not taking my eyes off the road.
I can feel his eyes still on me and I slide a hand over my knee, trying to tug my dress down.
I keep staring out of the window, flashbacks of the last half an hour racing through my mind. I cannot believe how spectacularly contrary to expectations that night turned out. Right now I could be losing my virginity and thanks to Jesse Miller I am not. And I feel nothing but relief. Total and utter relief.
That’s when I realise that we’re not on the normal route that Jeremy takes to get me home. It takes me a while to realise it and I twist my head left to right trying to figure out where we are, panic beginning to flutter in my chest. But then I recognise a bush. I fell off my bike here. And then I see we are passing by Miller’s Bike Store and notice the light is still on inside.
‘Stop!’ I shout. ‘Can you stop the car?’
Mr Reed brakes and pulls over. The road is empty. ‘I thought you wanted to go home?’ he asks.
‘No. I want to get out here,’ I say.
He glances out the window and notices Miller’s.
‘Here?’
‘Yes. I need to talk to someone.’
‘Someone who?’ His tone is unmistakably dark.
‘Jesse Miller,’ I answer, twisting in my seat to face him. I couldn’t care less what he thinks of me. I am getting out of this car right now. I reach for the handle.
‘Mike and Carrie are waiting,’ Mr Reed says, in a voice I assume he reserves for his opening statements in court.
‘That’s OK,’ I say, ‘I’ll call Carrie and let her know.’ As I say that, I realise that I have no phone, but I’m not about to let on. I just want out the car.
‘Ren.’ His hand comes across me, catching my wrist. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
My chest feels petrified, encased in stone. I back myself against the door, my other hand scrambling to free itself and reach for the lock. ‘I want to get out,’ I say.
He lets go slowly, studying me. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Fine. If you want to get out, get out.’
My fingers find the lock, my breathing coming in shallow gasps now. I need my inhaler. I reach for my bag, which is by my feet, and grab it. I tumble from the car, then watch as Mr Reed drives away, my heart pounding furiously. My imagination is running wild, that’s all. Mr Reed is not the Nantucket Nanny Serial Killer. And neither is his son. I almost laugh at my panic. He must think I’m totally mental.
I wait until his tail lights disappear around the bend and then I walk slowly towards Miller’s. The wind has picked up and I wrap my arms around me as I walk, looking over my shoulder every so often. The roads around here are deserted and my imagination is still in overdrive.
The door to Miller’s is locked. I push on it but it doesn’t give. I bang on the glass and start praying that Jesse, or anyone, even Mr Miller, is there, because I am starting to panic that I will be left standing on the road by myself with no mobile phone and no way of getting home other than walking down dark streets frequented by a serial killer. I start to wonder what I was thinking of getting out of the car.
But then I see a shadow fall across the wall and Jesse appears from out of the back room and I almost fall against the door I’m so happy to see him. He walks around the counter slowly, his movements cautious. His eyes are narrowed at the door. Probably, I guess, because he can’t see me out here in the dark. I wave like a drowning person. He realises that it’s me and jogs straight to the door and pulls it open.
‘Ren,’ he says, half smiling, half frowning. ‘What are you doing here?’
I push past him into the shop and wait for him to bolt the door shut behind me.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks, turning to face me.
I can’t answer. I’m fumbling in my bag. I need my inhaler. I can hardly breathe. The adrenaline is catching up with me. My hand closes around the plastic tube and I pull it out and am about to take a puff on it when I realise I’m holding the can of mace that Carrie gave me. I drop it back in the bag, my head starting to feel all foggy and my hands shaking.
‘What do you need?’ Jesse asks and I catch the note of worry in his voice as he prises the bag from my hands.
‘My inhaler,’ I manage to gasp.
He rummages through my bag and pulls it out, handing it to me. ‘Here,’ he says.
I put it in my mouth and take two puffs, inhaling the sweet chemicals that will open my airway and let me breathe. It works almost instantly and my head starts to clear.
‘Thanks,’ I say, taking back my bag, breathing deeply. Every time after I have an asthma attack I suck in air as though it’s going out of fashion, almost unable to believe it’s that easy to breathe again, it feels like such a luxury.
Jesse’s hand is on my shoulder. ‘You OK?’ he asks again.
‘Yeah,’ I say, glancing out at the street. I look back at him – he’s still staring at me intensely, his eyes wide, as though he’s worried I’m going to keel over and die in front of him. ‘I’m fine now,’ I say and I even try to smile.
He shakes his head, crossing his hands over his chest. ‘Why are you here?’ he asks, irritation replacing the concern.
‘I – I wanted to see you. I wanted to explain . . .’
Jesse holds up a hand. ‘Ren . . . you don’t need to explain. I’m sorry for bursting in on you like that. I reacted. I over-reacted. I don’t own you. You can sleep with whoever you like.’
I flinch at his words. ‘I didn’t sleep with him,’ I say, anger biting at me. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone. As in – ever. I don’t sleep around.’ Unlike some people, I want to add.
His eyes go wide. ‘Ever?’ he asks stunned. ‘Oh.’
That shut him up, I think.
He looks at me, sheepish all of a sudden. ‘Can I admit to being glad about that?’ he asks with a half-smile.
‘What? Glad that I’m a virgin?’ I ask, almost laughing at the turn the conversation has taken.
‘No,’ he says, his cheeks flushed. ‘That you didn’t sleep with him. Yo
u deserve someone better. Your first time, especially, it should be with someone who loves you, someone that you love.’ He takes a breath and a minuscule step towards me. ‘And with someone who’ll take care of you, who’ll put you first.’
He is right. And even though I know he isn’t implying that he is the one who would treat me this way, my body, disobedient as ever, reacts regardless. His words speak to a part of me that I was trying to ignore when I was with Jeremy. I do want my first time to be special – for it to be with someone I love and who loves me right back. And Megan will take the piss out of me about it but as I look at Jesse I’m suddenly more grateful than ever that he burst in on me and Jeremy because otherwise I’d be sitting on the side of that double bed right about now regretting what had just happened. I know it. Relief makes me light-headed until I remember that Jesse still saw me with Jeremy, half undressed, and that makes me want to dissolve into the ground.
I can barely look at him as I mumble, ‘Thanks. I mean—’ I break off. ‘Um, I can’t believe that you came and that you did that – but I’m glad that you did. They’re arseholes. All of them. You were right.’
He has the decency to not look smug.
‘I’m sorry,’ is all he says.
He’s standing there, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, and he’s looking at me with such protectiveness and with so much tension running beneath his skin that it makes my legs feel somewhat jelly-like. I don’t get him. At all. One minute we’re just friends then we’re fighting. And then he’s acting as though he likes me as more than just a friend. And I have to remind myself yet again that he’s made it emphatically clear to me on more than one occasion that he does not.
‘Why did you tell me you had a boyfriend in England?’ he asks now. ‘Is it true?’
Oh God, he had to bring that up? I squint at the floor and rock back and forth on my heels. Oh crap. I decide to just be honest. ‘No, it’s not true.’
‘So, why’d you lie?’
‘You laughed.’
‘I’m sorry?’ He looks completely lost.
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