Fall

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “That’s my girl, always looking at the positive.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Are you rolling your eyes right now?”

  “It’s like you have cameras on me.”

  His warm chuckle made me feel immediately better, like my date with Smith was peanuts compared to everything else going on in my life. I was fine. I would be fine with or without a guy or a stupid kiss because I had my parents. They were my rock. Everything.

  Dad cleared his throat “…the damage to the house is pretty severe. It’s safe to live in. We can afford to do the damage cleaning, but as far as fixing the basement or the electrical, well, it’s going to be a process, sweetie. I know you hate asking, but do you think you can stay at Alyssa’s house for a while? The clean up crew should be going through everything to make sure there isn’t any smoke residue — legally you can’t stay there while they do that. We’re sending your sister to Stella’s once she gets back, and your mom and I will make due at the house until we can get everything fixed.”

  “But you’ll have no electricity!” I argued.

  “Oh, sweetie!” He sighed. “It’s fine. The church has showers and a kitchen, we’ll just be sleeping at the house.”

  “But can’t you stay—”

  “Pris, honey, don’t worry about us, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. We just want you girls to be safe and warm, alright?”

  “Alright,” I croaked.

  “We’ll be home in a little over two weeks. Maybe a miracle will happen between now and then, right?”

  “Right.” I tried to keep my voice high. “Miracles happen.”

  “That’s my girl.” He sighed again. “Love you, sweetie.”

  “You too, Dad.”

  The phone went dead. Dizzy with stress, I walked out onto the balcony and leaned against the railing, allowing the sea breeze to calm my nerves.

  I had a guy that liked me. And I didn’t like him.

  I had a guy who wanted to be my friend — whom I liked — whom I couldn’t have.

  And my parents were hiding something from me. They didn’t have the money. They were basically going to live in poverty. I was ashamed to ask Demetri and Alyssa if my parents could stay at their condo too. I mean, they hadn’t even lived in their new place yet. The last thing they wanted was for a family to move in.

  Plus, as much as I donated, I hated charity. I hated receiving it. I’d received it all my life. Growing up as a pastor’s kid you’re thankful for everything, the hand-me-down clothes, food on the table. I didn’t take anything for granted, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have pride.

  Besides, I knew if I offered to have my parents stay with me, they’d just say no. My dad hated putting people out. It made him uncomfortable.

  I leaned my head against the railing and told myself not to cry.

  Dread pooled in my stomach when I realized that if they had no insurance, if they couldn’t fix the house…

  I wasn’t going to be able to go to school this year or next year.

  I’d managed to save ten grand over the last four years of working, but half of it had gone to get a car that actually worked.

  And now I’d give it to my parents. Because they needed it more than I did, and I could go to school any time, right?

  “Hey,” a voice called. “You okay?”

  My head snapped up to discover Jaymeson leaning against the railing, wearing a baseball hat that looked a lot like the one Jamie Hudson wore in his picture. It seemed all of LA had the same taste.

  “Yes,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I’m fine.”

  “So is this our first lie?” he asked softly. “As friends?”

  Tension hung in the air. It was the first I’d voiced. But the entire friendship had been a lie because I would always want more.

  “Maybe.” My lower lip trembled.

  “Come over.”

  “No, I can’t I—”

  “I’m not asking.” His voice was stern. “Get your ass over here. Now.”

  “Sensitive, aren’t you?” I snapped.

  “I will freaking jump this three-foot gap if you don’t get over here within the next five minutes.”

  He looked serious.

  I backed away from the railing and shut the door, then ran out of the house and up the stairs to his beach house.

  Lifting my hand to knock, I almost fell over when the door gave way and Jaymeson lifted me into his arms, pulling me in for a tight hug.

  “What’s wrong, love?” he drawled in my ear. “Bad date? Do I need to kill him? Have you eaten? Is it about the house?”

  “N-no,” I lied again.

  He squeezed me harder, his lips grazing my ear. “Stop lying to me.”

  “It’s—” I felt the sob in my chest, the need to actually rely on someone and spill my guts, but the someone I wanted to tell most was the someone that could also hurt me the most.

  “The house,” I finally admitted. “My parents don’t have insurance, so I’m just… upset, and I think I’ll have to stay home from school longer than I thought… you know, to help.”

  “To help.” He placed me back on my feet. “Because you’re suddenly an electrician?”

  “You know what I mean.” I managed a small smile.

  “No.” He crossed his arms. “I really don’t.”

  “I’m going to help.”

  “How is your staying home from school helping?”

  “It just is… okay? Drop it.”

  His face flinched, like I’d just slapped him. He took a step back and turned around. “And the date?” Jaymeson started opening cupboards in his huge kitchen.

  “It was fine.”

  His hands froze on the cabinet door, without turning around he asked. “Did he kiss you?”

  I stared at the floor.

  “Pris…”

  “Yeah.” I walked slowly into the kitchen. “He kissed me.”

  He was silent a moment then said. “Good.”

  Good? I wanted to throw a dish at his perfect head!

  “How was it?” He refused to make eye contact and started pulling chips from the pantry and opened the fridge, tossing salsa onto the countertop.

  “Different.”

  “Hmm, so it’s him.” He finally looked up at me. “Because we both know you kick ass at kissing.”

  And there he was. Good humor returned, and we talked for another few hours. He told me about movies. I told him about growing up in the church.

  We watched re-runs of The New Girl.

  And somehow I fell asleep on his chest.

  His arms were wrapped around me so tightly, it was almost hard to breathe. His chin rested on my head.

  It made me want to cry.

  “Jaymeson…” I whispered. “We fell asleep.”

  “Hmm?” He groaned and opened his eyes. “Shit… I’m sorry, Pris.”

  His eyes looked lazy and unfocused. I don’t know what possessed me to touch his face, but I did.

  The minute my fingers grazed his cheek, he closed his eyes as if my touch pained him. And then he placed his hand over mine, pulling it away from his face, and intertwining our fingers together.

  With a sigh he kissed my hand. And then kissed it again.

  I shuddered.

  “Let’s go to bed, it’s too late for you to walk back to the condo.”

  “It’s a few feet,” I argued.

  “That’s all it takes to get kidnapped. Statistics prove that most people get abducted close to home.” He gripped my hand tighter. “Up you go.”

  With a grunt, he picked me up off the couch and walked me across the hall into a giant master bedroom. There was a fireplace in the corner, and from the looks of it, the bathroom was bigger than my house.

  Gently, he placed me on the bed, and pulled off my shoes, then snapped his fingers at me.

  I sat up, and his hands moved to my long sleeve shirt lifting it over my head, so I was only in my tank top.

  He placed my shir
t and shoes on the floor then pulled his own shirt off.

  I would never tire of catching glimpses of his perfect body. Jaymeson stretched, then went over and turned off the light. But he didn’t get in the bed; instead he walked to my side and pulled me to my feet, slowly his hands moved to my jeans. I slapped them away.

  His warm chuckle made me even more nervous.

  “Not seducing you, love. Just want you to be comfortable.”

  “I’m not taking off my pants.”

  “I’m giving you something to wear.”

  His hands left, his shadow moved through the darkness then returned with what looked like boxers.

  “Off.” His hands grazed the buttons of my jeans again as he slowly undid them, and pulled them down, his hands pushed gently against my body as I fell onto the bed, and he tugged them all the way off, only to replace them with the boxers he’d grabbed.

  “There,” he said, voice hoarse. “Now you can sleep.” Night, love.”

  He walked toward the door.

  “Aren’t you sleeping here?” I blurted.

  His body tensed as he gripped the door frame with his hands. Light from the kitchen spilled onto his head and shoulders. I counted at least ten muscles I’d never seen in real life on any man, before he answered. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.” He turned and gave me a sad smile. “I may be your friend, but I’m no saint, Pris.”

  With that, he left and closed the door behind him.

  Part of me was invigorated that I tempted him while the other half of me was mad that even though I tempted him, I still wasn’t tempting enough for him to take that leap.

  Sure, he’d date skanks.

  But when it came to something real — he so easily resisted.

  Maybe I was too plain? Or not exciting enough. Either way, it was just another reminder that Jaymeson wasn’t forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jaymeson

  I laid down in one of the six guest bedrooms and stared up at the ceiling. No chance in hell was I actually going to sleep.

  Had I known a few months ago that I’d actually choose to undress a girl and then leave her alone in my bed without doing anything — even kissing her? I would have laughed my ass off.

  My old self was gone.

  I don’t even know how it happened.

  Every time I tried to put the wall up or conjure up the desire to sleep around or drown myself in another girl…

  I saw her face.

  I felt raw, exposed, weak. Dammit! I flipped the pillow over and stared at the window as moonlight trickled in. My body was on freaking fire and I knew that even if I took a cold shower — all it would do would be alleviate me temporarily.

  Licking my lips, I tried to concentrate on the wall. Right. That’s how far I’d fallen. I was staring at a wall and actually contemplating if counting sheep was a good way to fall asleep?

  “One, two, three…” My whisper sounded so lame. I decided to count donkeys, because in my mind that seemed more badass — pun intended — than counting something fluffy.

  “Four, five, sex…” Bloody hell.

  With a grunt, I threw off the covers and walked out of the room and down the hall into the kitchen.

  Tea.

  Tea was the answer. I was British after all. Right? Right. You know you’re losing it when you’re actually asking yourself questions and hoping that your self will answer in the affirmative.

  I tried to be quiet as I set the kettle on the stove and searched for a mug. I didn’t want to turn the light on because I figured it would trickle into the master bedroom, and I didn’t want to wake up the angel.

  My hand hovered over the mug.

  Since when did I start referring to her as an angel?

  I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the cabinet.

  “Are you alright?” A voice jolted me out of my hell.

  “Shit!” The cup tipped off the table; I barely caught it with my left hand. Heart racing, I glared at Pris. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Mugs don’t kill. Guns do.” She grinned.

  “Cute, you should put that on a t-shirt,” I mumbled.

  “Maybe I will.” Her voice was light, teasing. Why the hell wasn’t she in bed?

  Bed. Bed. Bed. Sex. Shit. Bloody. Freaking. Hell.

  My eyes scanned her half-naked body. She was wearing my boxers. Mine. Something that had once been against my skin was now touching hers. I’d probably never wash those boxers, I’d still be eighty and sleeping with them under my pillow telling myself that I made the right choice in leaving her behind, in keeping my heart closed in a cage where it belonged.

  “Are you okay?” Pris took a tentative step toward me, her hand reaching out, making a beeline for my arm.

  Her fingers grazed my skin.

  I jerked back. “Uh, yeah.” Laughing, I grabbed an extra cup. “I just couldn’t fall asleep so I thought I’d make some tea.”

  “Tea?” Her eyebrows rose. “How very proper.”

  “That’s me,” I said dryly. “All…” My eyes raked over her muscular legs. “…proper.”

  Clearing her throat, she stepped around me and grabbed the tea that I’d been holding onto like a lifeline. The way I figured, was if I was keeping my hands occupied then I wouldn’t be touching her. I wouldn’t be forcing myself on her, right? If I was touching tea I wouldn’t be touching tits.

  Aw, shit.

  I think I just made it worse.

  Because my eyes naturally went to her chest, then snapped away like I was a fifth grader with his very first crush.

  “So…” Pris ignored my jerky movements. She probably thought I was about ready to piss my pants or something. Ants in the pants, ants in the pants! Yes. I was officially reverting back to my childhood.

  Trauma does that to a person.

  So does delirium.

  Insanity.

  That’s what I was experiencing, because, dear God, she had vanilla-scented skin. I leaned toward her, my head turning into her shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Checking.” I cleared my throat and stepped away.

  “For?”

  “Bed bugs.”

  Yes. I’d just said bed bugs. I just officially ruined the mood and gave men everywhere a bad name.

  “Eww!” She jumped into the air. “You have bed bugs?”

  “No!” I yelled. “Of course not! But one should always be careful when one is staying…” I waved my hand into the air. “…abroad.”

  “Stop saying one,” she snapped.

  “Sorry.”

  Shaking her head, she put a tea bag in each mug. The kettle whistled, prompting her to fill the mugs with the steaming water. I let her do it. My mind had left me and I knew my body was next to go — next in the very long line of betrayal. I figured if I touched the kettle I’d somehow find a way to burn my nether parts off. Because really, that’s just the type of night I was having.

  “Here.” Pris thrust the mug into my hand, setting hers on the counter to cool, then jumped up and sat so she was at eye level with me. “I’m sorry you can’t sleep. Is there anything I can do?”

  Yeah. She could stop — just stop — breathing so effing close to me.

  Wait, did that mean I wanted her to die?

  Shit. I was turning into a serial killer.

  “No,” I croaked. “It happens sometimes.” I blew across the mug. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  “You didn’t.” She picked up her mug and lifted it to her lips pausing before taking a sip. “I fell asleep right away, and then, I don’t know, I guess my body wasn’t ready to go to bed yet. I woke up and heard you rummaging around in the kitchen.”

  I winced. “Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”

  “Jamie Jaymeson being quiet. You let me know when you discover you have that particular talent.”

  With a laugh I clinked my mug to hers. “Cheers.�
�

  Pris took a sip then jerked the cup back. “Ouch.”

  “What?” I set my mug down and reached for hers, setting it next to mine.

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “It’s not a big deal I think I just burnt my lip.”

  “Let me see.” I stood in between her legs and braced either side of her face with my hands.

  In hindsight… that was where I went wrong.

  I knew I was struggling — I should have never touched her. I should have left her alone. I should have taken a step away instead of forward.

  “Your lips look…” Incredible. Delicious. Plump. “Unharmed.” I inwardly groaned.

  “Good.” Her answer was low, hypnotic, her tongue reached out and licked her lower lip.

  And my body took the bait.

  With a moan I crushed my mouth against hers and lifted her body against mine.

  Her arms went around my neck as I devoured her lips — they tasted so sweet. Her body was hot, it slid against mine. My reaction was so violent I almost dropped her onto the floor.

  Pris’s tongue pushed into my mouth. Damn, the girl was aggressive. I loved it. Smiling against her mouth I bit down on her lip and let her taste me, let her explore as my hands moved to her hips, setting her feet on the floor as I still held her body against mine.

  Slowly, I slid my hands underneath her shirt, and lifted, the friction of my hands against her skin made me dizzy. Pris wasn’t just my obsession — she was my damn downfall. She made me feel weak, like I was drowning but I didn’t want to be saved. For the first time, I wanted to pull someone else down with me. And stay there.

  Her breath hitched as my hands reached her bra.

  She pulled back, slightly.

  But it was enough for my brain to function on a logical level. I wanted to give her all of myself — but I had absolutely nothing to give her.

  The math didn’t make sense.

  I’d give her all I had — which was nothing.

  And she’d give me everything.

  “Pris,” I murmured against her mouth. “I’m sorry.” I stepped back, still gripping her wrists. “That shouldn’t have happened. It’s late and—”

  “—what?” She jerked away from me, rubbing one wrist with her other hand.