Bright Young Things
Page 12
Jared grinned and unbuttoned his shirt slowly, not surprised to find only three buttons still done up. People had been sporadically undressing him all evening.
He left the shirt hanging off his broad shoulders and hoisted himself up onto the Wallace’s teak dining table, elegantly carved with inlaid pattern. There wasn’t anything on him that was going to leave a mark on the polished surface of the table, so he wasn’t concerned about that.
One of the girls—Ryder—took the salt shaker and made a line with it along his treasure trail, dipping into his belly button, then up a little farther.
“Lie back,” she ordered, then balanced a shot of clear liquor between his hard pectorals. A slice of lime, rind side down, was pressed between his lips, and he was all set.
The sharp tang of the lime stung his nostrils as Adam hauled himself up onto the table to crawl sensuously up Jared’s body, his eyes intense.
Around them, friends and classmates hooted and whistled, catcalling as Adam detoured to bite at the sharp ridges of Jared’s hipbones. He wet his bottom lip, then licked up the salt in a long, sensuous swipe. Jared trembled, felt his cock throb in his pants as Adam kept going, picking up the shot glass between his teeth and knocking the liquor back, then tossing the empty glass aside. Finally, he bit down on the wedge of lime between Jared’s lips, their erections mashed together now, neither of them trying to hide their arousal.
A tiny trickle escaped the lime and slid between Jared’s lips, the tart juice stinging his already raw taste buds. Adam sucked the lime, shuddered, then spat it out on the table. They regarded each other for a moment, faces only inches away from each other, then Adam pressed his lips to Jared’s hard, possessively, tongue immediately stealing inside.
The gathered crowd hooted and yelled, and Adam rocked his hips back and forth, back and forth, grinding hard cocks together.
“Holy shit,” Ryder murmured. She sat cross-legged on the table next to them, and it was her startled words that made Adam break away.
He licked his lips and grinned, then rolled off the table, extending a hand to Jared to pull him up too.
They ignored the crowd (a girl was already crawling onto the table, ready to be loaded up with Ryder’s bounty, stripped to her see-through lace bra) and walked out of the house to the front porch.
The cold was like a slap in the face, but Jared had made sure to fill a hip flask with liquor before it was all stolen by someone else, and handed it to Adam to swig from. Liquid warmth.
While Adam drank, swallowed, shuddered, Jared buttoned his shirt. The wet stripe on his stomach burned where Adam had licked him, and his pants still felt too tight. Doing this in public felt far more dangerous than what they got up to in the peaceful solitude of Adam’s bedroom, and Jared was suddenly wary.
Adam tucked the flask into Jared’s back pocket and pulled a thin joint from behind his ear. He held it up to Jared—an offer—and at Jared’s nod, he lit it and inhaled deeply. Passed it over. Then wrapped his arms around Jared’s waist from behind.
“Does weed make you affectionate?” Jared asked, amused. He inhaled again then passed the joint back.
“Nah. Not really.”
From this position all Jared could see was the thick, white smoke as it curled over his shoulder with each of Adam’s exhalations.
None of their friends or classmates had dared to venture out into the cold. They’d be smoking inside or out back where there were large standing heaters to keep them warm. Jared had followed Adam blindly, as had become his habit now.
They finished the joint in companionable silence, neither man feeling the need to fill the frigid air with mindless conversation. For reasons Jared couldn’t quite put his finger on, he got the impression Adam wanted them to be alone together.
When the joint had been reduced to a smoldering stub, Jared pressed a kiss to the edge of Adam’s mouth and ducked back inside to use the bathroom. The small space on the first floor was elegantly decorated in white tile and chrome fixtures, the white towels monogrammed with a swirling gold W.
Through the glass at the front door, Jared saw Adam was still outside, leaning against the rail of the porch talking to someone just out of sight. He looked annoyed.
Trying not to be seen, and ignoring the thumping party behind him, Jared snuck forward until he saw Clare leaning against the wall of the house, wearing a fur wrap and smoking a thin cigarette. The red of her lipstick stained the filter, making it look like her mouth was bleeding.
Then they were yelling at each other, and Jared flattened back against the interior wall, hoping some of their conversation would drift inside. Clare looked completely nonplussed compared to Adam’s red-faced anger.
With a little push, the front door swung open enough to create a gap for their words to drift inside.
“Fuck the bet, Clare,” Adam snapped. “Fuck your bet, and fuck you.”
“I take it you haven’t fucked him yet, then.”
“No, I haven’t fucked him, you bitch.”
“I’m starting to get bored with this, now, Adam. Either you don’t want to fuck him or you can’t.”
“Fuck you,” Adam said again emphatically.
“Or maybe the circumstances have changed? I’ve never known you to back down from a bet before.”
There was a strange, twisting, sickening feeling in Jared’s gut as he listened to them argue. He’d seen this taunting, twisted Clare before, and he liked her even less than every other version of Clare. It was almost her natural state of being, tormenting other people for her own amusement. And he’d seen Adam mad before, but not like this. Not the hot cheeks or flashing eyes and tense hands, like he was holding himself back from hitting a girl.
He couldn’t stand it any longer and ducked out of the house.
“What bet?” Jared asked, purposefully keeping his voice light, innocent.
Adam whipped around, and the color drained from his cheeks. Clare smiled slowly, and Jared realized Clare had known he was there, knew he was listening.
“Oops,” Clare said, the word whisper-light in the cold air.
She dropped her cigarette butt and ground it out with the sharp heel of her shoe, then turned and sauntered back into the house.
“What bet?” Jared repeated, feeling a lot, lot colder than the outside temperature.
“Forget it,” Adam said. “It’s nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, you can tell me about it.”
Adam paced to the edge of the porch, then turned. He wrapped his arms around his chest.
“There was a bet,” he said, as if this was new information to Jared, and from inside the house, at least one of the DJs cut the music dead. The silence rang loud in Jared’s ears, and he knew Clare was behind it. They were the entertainment for the evening now and sure enough, people started to gather in the vast entrance hall.
“What were the stakes?” Jared asked, his voice surprisingly stable.
Adam ground his teeth together, the movement of his rocking jaw thrusting it out defiantly.
“To… fuck the new kid,” he said, eyes hard now. Jared didn’t look away. “To fuck the new, gay kid who was apparently a virgin.”
Jared wanted to scream, to rage. Blood pounded in his ears, heating his face as he realized he’d been played. Not just on a superficial level, though. He’d been played by all these people, by Clare, by Chris, probably Mia and Ryder and the rest of them. And worst of all, by the person with whom he’d shared a bed, made out with, laughed with and confessed to and learned from.
Any sign of weakness would not be tolerated. He couldn’t bitch out over this, couldn’t throw a hissy fit and slap Adam or make him bleed. They had been making fun of the new boy faggot for months now, months, and he wasn’t about to give them more ammunition.
Bile rose in Jared’s throat, and he forced his eyelids open, hoping the frigid air would cool and freeze the tears that pricked and threatened.
In the silence that grew between them, Jared knew it was all bu
llshit. All the laughter, all the sweet kisses, had been to prove a point. To win a bet. He’d trusted Adam, and that was his first and last mistake at New Harbor Academy.
“What were you going to win?”
Adam stared him down, eyes silently begging Jared to shut up. No fucking way.
“What,” Jared demanded, louder now, “were you going to win, Adam?”
Maybe the use of Adam’s name spurred him into action. He sighed heavily, rubbed his eyes, and muttered, “The Caddy.”
“What?” Jared whispered, his voice dangerously low.
Inside the house, everyone was watching. They didn’t even pretend not to. And in the middle of the crowd, Clare stood, a slight, empty circle around her, as if her aura of evil had repelled the others.
“The fucking Cadillac, all right?” Adam snapped. “I fucked you and got the Caddy.”
“You made a bet, on my body, to win a car?” Jared hoped he didn’t sound like too much of a pussy. Adam’s face was ice, not twitching, not moving, no emotion. “You are one twisted fucking son of a bitch,” Jared spat.
He was buzzed on the weed and vodka, and sick enough to know there was no choice but to run. With his classmates and the people he’d thought were friends at his back, Jared forced himself to walk slowly back to his truck. He opened the door, fired up the engine, and as he pulled away, the music in the house started to blast again.
With one look in the rearview mirror as he pulled onto the drive that led back to the main road, Jared saw Adam framed in the doorway of the white mansion, backlit like a rock star. Even from this distance, Jared could tell he wasn’t crying, wasn’t thinking, wasn’t feeling anything.
Why he’d expected anything different, he had no idea.
Chapter 12
The worst thing, the very worst thing, was that all Jared wanted to do was go to the one place he felt safe with the one person he actually liked being around and block out the rest of the world for a few hours.
Time alone with Adam in Adam’s bed.
Jared pulled over to the side of the road and threw up compulsively in a gutter until his throat burned and his stomach was empty of vodka, bile, and any residual love. Once purged, he felt marginally better and got back into his truck.
The only place for him to go was home, the home that Hadley had tried to make his too. She was out of town again, this time at a “conference” that was being held, strangely enough, in LA. Jared sent up a silent prayer of thanks that tonight, at least, he didn’t have to speak to anyone or answer awkward questions. He could go back to the big, empty, echoing house and lock himself away.
Inside, the air smelled slightly stale, evidence people didn’t really live here. The house was a political pawn for Hadley and a stopover place for Jared. Neither of them loved it or cared for it, or had made any effort to personalize the space. It just was.
His footsteps echoed on the stairs as he climbed them, already unbuttoning his pants and shirt, ready to get out of these fucking white clothes as soon as he was able.
Jared went to his bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go, kicking his clothes off, then climbing into the steaming water. He didn’t even want to cry. The sickness wasn’t quite gone yet, and his whole body felt strangely fragile and delicate in a way he wasn’t used to.
Adam didn’t want to be with Jared. He wanted to fuck him to get the car that money couldn’t buy. Jared would probably have let him.
Oh, not right away. Maybe not until the New Year or spring. But with the way things had been progressing, the sexual tension building layer on layer and Adam’s seemingly endless patience, eventually Jared would have given in.
He’d never prized his virginity. Not really. It wasn’t something he’d held onto for religious or cultural reasons, or because something traumatic had happened in his past. He’d figured if he was ever going to share that with someone, to be that intimate with another person, they’d have to be pretty fucking special. And, Jared figured, he wasn’t likely to find that person at eighteen years old. Or nineteen. Maybe not for a long time.
When he was finally warmed through again, he turned off the water and quickly dried himself, leaving the abandoned clothes on the bathroom floor as he walked naked back to his room. There, he pulled on pajama pants, a long sleeved T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, huddling under it all for comfort.
He thanked God they had never done anything here. This bed was pure, untouched somehow, and safe to be in. Snuggling under the comforter, Jared pressed his eyes closed and tried hard to sleep.
He couldn’t, of course.
Humiliation was a hot twist in his chest. Everything he’d known about this place was a lie, or a truth told on top of a lie, making the truth dubious and uncertain. None of these people were real, all the things he’d learned about them a careful facade.
Leaving wasn’t an option, not really. He didn’t have a home to go to. Jared’s mother wouldn’t welcome him, not after all these years he’d lived apart from her. There was no way he’d go back to his dad. His sisters were at college; they didn’t want him under their feet. It was this or nothing.
Tap.
Jared assumed the noise was the start of rain. It rained almost constantly here, after all.
Tap tap.
He sat up in bed.
Tap. Tap tap.
Someone was throwing fucking rocks at his window. He was pretty sure no one had done that since 1993. Without checking who was behind it, Jared ducked down out of sight of the window and into the bathroom, fumbling in his pocket for his phone.
Fourteen missed calls from Adam. Two from Ryder. One from Mia. Three from unknown numbers.
Jared had a good idea who was outside.
Back in his bedroom, he walked over to the sash window and threw it up, leaning on the sill.
“What the fuck?” he said to the dark figure hidden at the edge of the tree line.
“Jared?”
“Yes, it’s fucking Jared. What are you doing, you psychopath?”
“You didn’t answer your phone,” Adam said, stepping forward into the moonlight.
“Maybe that was because I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“Come home with me.” There was a pleading note to Adam’s voice. “I need to talk to you.”
“Did you call off the bet?”
Silence.
“Fuck this,” Jared said and reached up to pull the window closed.
“Jared, seriously. Please.”
It was the first time Adam had ever said “please” in Jared’s presence. The word made Jared stop short. He still closed the window, but pulled on thick socks and his Timberland boots, and grabbed his phone and keys, stashing them in the pocket of his hoodie before heading downstairs.
Adam sat in his car, engine running, looking at Jared as though the world was about to end. Wondering what on earth he was doing, Jared got in, shut the door, and yanked his seatbelt on as Adam pulled away.
Adam’s bed.
They were both still dressed, Adam in the white designer clothes and Jared in his pajamas, lying side by side, not touching. Adam had barely said two words as he’d navigated the dark streets between Jared’s place and his own, watching the road carefully. He was likely still drunk, and even though he’d pay off any cop who dared to give him a DUI, it was easier to avoid those situations altogether rather than risking it.
Jared had kicked off the Tims before lying down, and it was warm in the room, warm enough for him to want to strip out of the sweater, too. With a start, Jared sat up, pulled the sweater off over his head, tugged his T-shirt down, and lay back. The movement seemed to spark something in Adam, who turned to look at him.
“I never meant for this to happen.”
“That’s a fucking stupid thing to say,” Jared said. “Of course you did. You set it up.”
“No,” Adam said softly. “I don’t mean the bet.”
“What, then?”
“I never meant to feel something for you.”
Adam made a sharp sound in the back of his throat. “I’ve never said that to anyone before,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Never in my whole life.”
“So what now?” Jared asked. “We pick up where we left off? Become the New Harbor power couple?”
“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. “I don’t know. I need tonight, Jared. Let me have that first.”
It took a few moments for Jared to process that. These sheets were soft under his fingertips, the expensive Egyptian cotton silky smooth. It was strangely comforting to be back here. The humiliation, anger, and rejection burned low in his stomach, not the sharp pain of earlier in the evening, but still there. Still throbbing away.
On impulse, Jared rolled onto his side to face Adam, cupped his face in his hand, and lowered himself into a slow, sure kiss. It took Adam less than a second to wrap himself in Jared’s embrace, returning the kiss hungrily and nuzzling into Jared’s lips. They pushed each other gently back and forth, exchanging hungry kisses.
Jared stole under the hem of Adam’s expensive sweater, seeking out the warm, slightly sweaty flesh beneath. Adam’s stomach was toned and tight, a light dusting of hair leading down to the waistband of his pants. Jared pushed the sweater up, up, up until they had to break apart for Adam to pull it off completely.
From there, Jared took things to a level they hadn’t gotten to before. Sure, they’d made out with fewer clothes on than this, but not with the same intent of going somewhere. This was leading to a thing that had remained elusive so far.
Adam’s skin tasted of sweat, the bitter tang of cologne, and a heady spice that was all male sweetness. Licking over hard collarbones, the thick, tight muscle of his neck, to tight, puckered nipples, Jared applied himself to the task of learning this body. He wanted to know what made Adam gasp and moan, where it felt good, what temperature the skin was when he rubbed his cheek over it.
“Jared,” Adam said, and then they were struggling out of the rest of their clothes. T-shirts, pants, socks all went flying in one direction or another until Jared found himself pinned to the bed under Adam’s body, wearing nothing more than his boxers.