by Anna Martin
When Sophie brought the check over, Adam snatched it away before Jared had time to look at it.
“We can split it,” Jared said, suddenly feeling awkward. Just because he wasn’t prepared to drop a grand on designer clothes for one party didn’t mean he couldn’t afford to pay for dinner.
Adam shook his head. “I’ve got it,” he said. “My choice, I’ll pay.”
“That makes this a date, you know,” Jared said. He was angling for a reaction and got one. Adam flustered, then visibly steeled himself.
“If you like,” he said with a shrug of enforced nonchalance.
Jared ducked his head and grinned.
In Adam’s car Jared took control of the stereo and tuned it to The End, one of his favorites, and cranked his seat back so he could kick his shoes off and put his feet up on the dash. Adam didn’t bitch at all, and Jared watched him as much as he could get away with as the city melted into suburbs, then through dark streets, and over the Deception Pass Bridge to take them home.
“Stay at my place tonight,” Adam said, the touch of arrogance in his voice oddly charming. He looked over as they hit the island, then shifted his gaze back to the road.
“I need clean clothes,” Jared replied.
“So we’ll swing by your place, pick up clothes, then come back to mine.”
“You could always stay at my place.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jared. We have a routine. Don’t be a dick.”
Jared was always planning on saying yes. He just didn’t want to miss the opportunity to yank at Adam, see how far he could push things. Hadley’s car was parked haphazardly when they pulled up out front along with a few others, bumper to bumper, and Jared sighed, slumping back in his seat before opening the door.
“You don’t have to come in with me,” he said, surprised when Adam followed him out of the car.
Adam shrugged. “I don’t mind. Plus, I want to see your room.”
With his hands full of bags, Jared led the way up to the house. He didn’t bother to knock, already hearing the noise from a crowd of thirty-somethings partying it up like they were twenty-one.
“We’ll make this quick,” he muttered, swinging all his bags into one hand and grabbing Adam’s with the other.
There wasn’t any chance for them to slip by unnoticed, though. As they crossed the hallway, Hadley slipped out of the kitchen with a bottle of wine in each hand.
“Jared!” she exclaimed, swaying on her bare feet, apparently a little drunk. “Sorry I missed your call earlier. Got your message though. Eating out with Adam.”
Jared felt the blush rise in his cheeks, even though she didn’t mean anything sexual. Adam raised a hand in greeting.
“Hey, Ms Saunders,” he said.
“Fuck me, Adam. Call me Hadley. Sheesh.”
Adam laughed and dropped his hand. When he wanted to, the polite, charming, well-raised young man shone through his epic asshole exterior. “I invited Jared to stay over at my place tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, not at all. You guys seem to spend a lot of time together these days….”
This time there definitely was implication in her words. Jared blushed harder, feeling his ears heat.
“We’re friends, Hadley. You know that. And I need to get a decent night’s sleep every now and then.”
It was a dig intended to hurt her. Jared knew she didn’t have a whole bunch of friends here, and the only people who knew her were imported from somewhere else. They didn’t have anywhere else to go; Hadley’s hospitality was what kept them in Washington.
“Yeah. Okay,” Hadley said. “No worries.” She was clearly hurt, at least a little bit by Jared’s words, and held up her bottles of wine. “I’ll get back to the guys. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
Jared nodded and continued on, up the stairs and down the hall to the room Hadley let him call his own. Adam followed silently.
The room was a mess, but not hideously so. Just a few things on the floor and a pile of papers on his desk. Dirty clothes were thankfully contained in his laundry hamper and the bed was made… sort of.
“It’s nice in here,” Adam said, leaning against the door frame.
“Thanks. I didn’t decorate or anything. It was like this when I got here. Hadley said I could pick a room, and I liked this one the best.”
It wasn’t the biggest room in the house, nor the second or third biggest. It was tucked out of the way at the end of the hall so he didn’t have to deal with people stomping past when they stayed over. There was a bathroom opposite he’d claimed as his own, and enough space for a king bed and his desk, which was all he really needed.
The walls were papered dark blue with a very fine checked pattern. The woodwork was clean white, and the furniture was made of solid pine, which was nice, so he’d kept it. There was a TV mounted on the wall, fully loaded with all the cable channels, not that Jared watched much.
His bed wasn’t quite as big as Adam’s, but it was fine for Jared on his own, the king more than enough space for him to stretch out on.
Jared crossed to his closet and pulled out a clean shirt and pants, then found a tank top from his dresser to wear under the shirt. He balled up boxers and socks and stuffed them into an Eastpak, shouldering the bag, then nodding to Adam.
“Okay. I’m good.”
Adam grinned. “Yes, you are,” he said, his voice an appreciative burr.
On impulse, Jared grabbed the front of Adam’s shirt and pulled him into a hard kiss, lips and teeth catching painfully at first before Adam grunted, caught his footing, and wrapped a hand around the back of Jared’s neck to steady him.
Then Adam licked into Jared’s mouth, immediately taking the kiss hard and deep. They were both still dressed in their school uniforms, and Jared had a fleeting idea about dragging Adam down onto his bed and making out there, maybe pushing their boundaries a little further, figuring out what else they could do. In his bed.
Adam’s hair was silky smooth under Jared’s fingertips, the light brown strands still soft despite the product Adam must have used to make it look so good. By this time of day—it was nearly eight—there was light stubble on Adam’s jaw that definitely hadn’t been there that morning, and Jared fought the impulse to lick it.
He hummed into the kiss, then broke it with a quick peck to the tip of Adam’s elegant nose.
“Mm. That was nice. Come on. I want to get out of here before we run into one of Hadley’s drunk friends.”
Adam seemed confused, and it was his turn to have to take extra steps to catch up with Jared as he strode down the hallway.
Chapter 11
The white party wasn’t invitation-only. Chris opened his doors, and the neighborhood flooded in, as with most of the parties he hosted. From the first one, just after school started, to now, Jared had learned the boundaries and idiosyncrasies of this odd little clan of people and felt far more confident in navigating the social rules.
Adam offered him a ride to the party, but Jared declined, preferring to get ready at his place, then make his way to Chris’s house. For some reason, it was important that he took his car there, that he arrived alone, on his terms and in his own time.
Not wanting to arrive too early, Jared forced himself out of the house for a run in the early evening, just as the sun was starting to lower in the sky. It took a good couple of hours to circle New Harbor, taking in the sights of the picturesque town at sunset while Fall Out Boy blared in his ears.
By the time he arrived home, his muscles were singing and he was out of breath, sweating, feeling generally disgusting. He pushed his fingers through his hair and let himself back into the house, jogging lightly up the stairs and heading straight for the bathroom.
While he showered, humming to himself, he contemplated how much things had changed from the first party he’d attended at Chris’s to this one. Things could have been so very different if he hadn’t immediately settled with the “in” crowd here, and he still wasn’t su
re what stroke of luck or turn of fate had brought him to this conclusion. Whatever it was, he was grateful. Starting at a new school for the senior year of high school sucked.
Jared had planned to wear a tank under the shirt—it was thin, and probably see-through, but standing naked in front of the mirror in his room changed his mind.
He definitely didn’t have a bad body. Playing soccer, along with his regular running and gym habit, had sculpted his muscles and added definition where flab would otherwise have set in. Unlike some of the kids his age, he had hair on his chest, light, golden fuzz across his tanned skin. Jared was always a little tanned; genetics had given him a dusky skin color.
Tonight, he was in the mood to play. He wasn’t sure what the rules were, yet was determined to break them. He grabbed a crisp, clean jockstrap from a drawer and pulled it on, letting the straps settle comfortably under the curve of his ass, lifting it and giving him some definition there.
God bless you, Andrew Christian.
The pants were stiff with newness as Jared tugged them on, struggling with the complicated clasp for a few minutes until they were properly fastened. He rolled the sleeves of the shirt up, then shrugged it on and purposefully only did up a handful of buttons at the bottom. The neck was left open, displaying his fuzzy chest hair and strong throat.
Not bad at all.
Not wanting to go too over the top, Jared slicked on light cologne and worked his hair through with a salt spray, mussing it up until it was perfectly nonchalant.
A quick glance at the clock on his nightstand told him it was eight forty-five already, so Jared quickly pulled on his white Nike high-tops that he’d spent an hour earlier polishing up to their original, shining glory, and laced them tight.
If you’d told him a year ago he’d be going to a white party, Jared would have broken his ribs laughing.
Just like the first time he visited, the white mansion was ablaze with light and noise when Jared pulled his truck up front, blocking Adam in this time, because he could. He grabbed the bottle of Gray Goose—it seemed appropriate for a white party, somehow—and hopped out of the cab.
Biggie was blasting some old school Snoop from his throne in the living area—he was definitely all Biggie, not Chris tonight—and Jared wove his way through crowds of his classmates, all dressed appropriately in shades of white, bopping their heads to the music.
The man of the evening was wearing a full three-piece white tux, complete with white bow tie. The ice around his neck had probably cost more than the house, and he was swilling the requisite gin and juice from a short glass in his hand.
Clare was perched on the arm of the chair wearing a daring white gown cut to her navel, showing off perfectly tight abdominals and impossibly high, tight breasts. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in elegant curls, and her red lipstick and black, shiny, manicured nails were clearly her own violation of the rules.
Biggie didn’t seem to mind. One of his hands was resting on her ass.
“’Sup,” Chris said in greeting, and Jared saluted him with the bottle of vodka.
“Rockin’ party.”
Chris grinned. “You’re not wrong. Homie’s in the kitchen.”
“Huh?”
“He means Adam,” Clare said, sipping her drink through a white straw. “Last I heard he was trying to set up body shots.”
Jared huffed a laugh and nodded to Clare before wandering back through the house to the kitchen. He didn’t expect to see Ryder sitting on a counter, sipping lemonade from a glass bottle.
“Ryder!”
She looked up and grinned widely at Jared. “Hi!”
She was wearing a short, white lace prom dress with layers of petticoats underneath. Her little feet swung back and forth against the cupboard underneath her.
“You look great,” Jared said, setting the vodka down and pulling his friend into a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” she said, kissed Jared on the cheek, then pulled back. “Good, actually. I miss you guys.”
“How did you escape?”
He’d been exchanging texts with Ryder back and forth while she’d remained imprisoned in her father’s house, not allowed to go out or see any of her friends. Apparently Mr. Gorden was furious that the people who had given Ryder the drugs hadn’t been caught, and even more irate that Chris had a solid alibi for the time when she was in the hospital. The nasty, racial prejudice had come to a head a few days previously with a screaming public argument between Chris’s mom and Ryder’s dad outside Starbucks, where accusations were thrown and the police eventually called.
There was now a neat restraining order against Mr. Gorden, preventing him from going anywhere near Chris or his family, although that didn’t stop his daughter going to a party at the Wallace house.
“Adam came over and kidnapped me,” Ryder said with a grin.
“Your dad knows you’re here?”
“Yeah. He wasn’t happy, but Adam threatened to marry me to get me out of that house. Dad almost went purple. It was hysterical, but Adam made his point. He bought me the dress and everything.” Ryder smoothed it over her knees. “He can be nice sometimes.”
“I know,” Jared murmured, surprised that the shower of attention Adam had told Jared would be heading Ryder’s way had been kicked off by Adam himself. It was a sweet thing for him to do. “You’re not drinking?”
“Nope,” Ryder said emphatically. “I’m off that for now. It could mess with my meds, and….”
“I get it. Did Clare come over?”
“It wasn’t her fault, Jared,” Ryder said with a sigh. “It wasn’t very nice to gang up on her like that.”
Jared gave her an incredulous look.
“You don’t understand. It’s just the way things are around here.”
If Ryder had brushed it off that easily, Jared figured it wasn’t his place to hold a grudge on her behalf. He didn’t go for the hard drugs, hating the comedown after, but didn’t judge those who did. It was their lives. Their bodies. He gave Ryder a quick kiss on the back of her hand, then moved through the tight knots of people until he got to Adam.
“Hey,” Adam said distractedly. He still petted Jared’s butt, though, as he continued his conversation. “You’re up for body shots, right?”
“Who, me?” Jared said. “No. Absolutely not.”
Adam grinned wickedly. “Excellent. I’ll put your name down.”
“No?” Jared tried again. “Am I saying it wrong? No.”
“Body shots, baby,” Adam crowed. “I get to lick stuff off you. What’s wrong with that?”
A few of the girls standing nearby tittered appreciatively. Jared kissed Adam’s cheek and ducked away to make himself a drink. People were starting to think of them as a couple, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Chris had taken the theme seriously, and all the alcohol on offer was clear. Vodka, gin, white rum, all held in steel buckets filled with ice on the long island in the Wallace kitchen. Neat wedges of lemon and lime broke up the monochrome, and stacks and stacks of short, fat tumblers bookended the display. Mixers were Sprite or tonic water. No Coke tonight. Not the liquid variety, anyway.
Jared fixed himself a drink, head bopping along to the familiar beat of blaring hip-hop music. It was warm inside the house, despite the almost freezing temperature outside. Not that any of his female peers seemed to have dressed for the weather. Short skirts were everywhere, summer dresses or more fancy gowns. Some girls were wearing bleached denim short shorts, or white jeans, or very short skirts. Most of them were in heels, despite being inside.
Jared didn’t get girls. Never had. Never had any inclination to try to figure them out.
He went back to the boy who he’d started to feel comfortable around, drink in hand.
“Have you seen Mia?” Jared asked, murmuring his question close to Adam’s neck. She was the only one of his friends Jared hadn’t caught up with tonight.
“She’s doing something, apparently. She’s
on her way.”
Jared nodded and put his left hand on Adam’s left hip, standing behind him but close. Close enough to smell the spicy, rich cologne on Adam’s skin, the perfect complement to the natural musk underneath that was all Adam. He wore designer clothes like he’d been born to slip into them, which Jared supposed he had. The knitted sweater was soft under Jared’s exploring fingers, and the pants were almost certainly more comfortable than the cheap pair Jared had picked up from H&M.
Adam leaned back, tilted his head up, and caught Jared’s bottom lip between both of his—their first public kiss. Even though it was a slack-mouthed, lazy sort of kiss rather than anything gloriously intimate, Jared didn’t miss the significance of it. Neither did anyone else in the room, even if they were all looking in other directions when Jared looked up again.
Biggie certainly knew how to throw a party, and by midnight the house was swinging. Jared had walked in on three different couples fucking; by the third time, he made sure he was seen and gave the guy a filthy look before slamming the pantry door. He wasn’t sure what he’d even gone in there for.
Right. More limes.
Body shots.
Apparently it was happening. Jared was just drunk enough to agree to it, sober enough to enjoy it. Through the evening, the living room where Chris held court had turned into a sweaty, writhing party space, the tunes blaring out of his imported speakers, the girls dancing and the guys plying them with drinks to make them wilder, higher, sexier. Not to Jared. Or Adam.
Their domain was the kitchen and the dining room where things were more chilled and a lot more sensual. Here, couples came to steal a seat and grind on each other, eat face, or both. The music was more R. Kelly and Bobby Brown than 2Pac and Puff Daddy. Still rocking the ’90’s vibe, of course.
In the dining room, the suggestion of body shots had gone down well, and a few girls had already stripped their tops off, balanced shot glasses of tequila between their breasts, and trailed a line of salt along their tanned, toned abdomens.
“Get on the fuckin’ table,” Adam said as Jared wandered into the room empty-handed.
