We Don't Talk Anymore (The Don't Duet Book 1)

by Julie Johnson

  Let’s get you home, he’d say, holding out his hand. Before you start scrubbing toilets.

  I brush a tear from my cheek, telling myself it’s only from the wind.

  It’s so bizarre that tomorrow is graduation. At noon, I’ll be standing on a stage, delivering the speech I scribed onto small index cards yesterday. It’s a mess of clichés; a sappy monologue of trite memories to make my classmates laugh and pandering metaphors to make the parents nostalgic, with a core message about the value of hard work and the responsibility of an exceptional education.

  My parents are going to love it.

  In the distance, I watch the persistent flash of Graves Lighthouse, warning ships away from the rocks. I wonder how many unlucky vessels sank to the bottom of the ocean before its construction — an underwater cemetery of wooden skeletons, their names lost to time.

  The sound of an engine interrupts my melancholy musings. I glance up, my eyes locking on a light bobbing across the surface of the ocean. An approaching vessel. It’s barreling toward us at top speed, a plume of water shooting up behind it in a massive wake.

  At first, I think it’s just someone out for a joyride, playing chicken with the prom cruise. But when it pulls up alongside us, slowing to a crawl, I straighten from the railing to get a better look.

  Are we being boarded by pirates?

  It’s hard to make out the shape in the dark, but there’s something familiar about the silhouette of the small vessel. When a crew member turns a spotlight on it, bathing the navy picnic boat in a brilliant beam, I realize why.

  It’s my father’s Hinckley.

  And, standing at the wheel dressed in a suit... hair blowing in the wind… face twisted into a devil-may-care smirk… is none other than Archer Reyes.

  I just about fall overboard.

  “THIS IS A PRIVATE VESSEL,” a crew member shouts into a loudspeaker. “YOU ARE NOT PERMITTED TO BOARD!”

  On the upper deck, the music cuts off with a screech. I hear a rising murmur of voices as my classmates rush to the railing, peering over the side to see what’s going on.

  “Isn’t that Reyes?” someone shouts. It sounds like Chris Tomlinson.

  The captain cuts our engine, slowing us to an abrupt stop. Archer pulls back on his throttle too, bobbing motionless beside us. Stepping more firmly into view, he squints against the blinding beam of the spotlight.

  “JO!” he screams at the top of his lungs, cupping his hands around his mouth. “JOSEPHINE VALENTINE!”

  A collective gasp moves through the crowd of students on the deck above me. I don’t look up. My eyes are locked on the crazy boy in the Hinckley.

  “I’M NOT LEAVING, JO!” His voice goes ragged on my name. “NOT WITHOUT YOU!”

  The crush of voices above reaches a fever pitch.

  Where is she?

  Has anyone seen Valentine?

  Someone peering over the side spots me on the aft deck. Of course, it’s the twins.

  “There she is!” Odette yells giddily.

  “Down by the stern!” Ophelia adds.

  The cruise lights, lowered for ambiance, abruptly flip on to full brightness, basking the entire vessel in a warm glow that illuminates the water all around us. I hear people calling my name in the distance; I pay them no heed. I hear the sound of running feet as crew members race toward me; I don’t even spare them a glance.

  Because, across the dozen or so feet of ocean separating us, Archer has finally spotted me on the aft deck. When our eyes meet, his mouth tugs up at the corners.

  “Hey, Jo,” he calls, turning the wheel so the Hinckley begins to drift closer. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something!”

  “What’s that?” I call back.

  “Will you go to the prom with me?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “I think you missed the boat. Literally.”

  “Yeah. Seems like it.” He’s still staring at me. “So how about you ditch with me instead?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I was wrong.”

  My heart leaps. “About?”

  “Everything.” He pauses. “But mostly about not being the guy for you.”

  My throat clogs with unshed tears. My voice, when it chokes out, is barely coherent. “You’re such an idiot, Reyes!”

  “Is that a yes?” His eyes flicker to the rapidly-approaching crew members. “Offer is time sensitive.”

  “YES!” I yell, reaching down to slip off my heels.

  His smile blooms into a full-fledged grin that makes my knees weak as he eases the Hinckley toward the Odyssey, bringing his side along the railing. “You’re gonna have to jump for it.”

  I eye the narrowing distance between myself and the open cockpit of the Hinckley. It’s about a five foot drop.

  In shorts and Sperry topsiders, no problem.

  In formalwear, a bit trickier.

  “DO NOT ABANDON THE VESSEL!” the voice on the loudspeaker instructs me sternly. “I REPEAT, DO NOT ABANDON THE VESSEL!”

  But it’s too late. I’m already scampering over the railing like Rose in Titanic. When the Hinckley is directly beneath me, I toss my heels into the cockpit and take a deep breath.

  “Now or never!” Archer yells.

  I don’t think.

  I just jump.

  There are three seconds of heart-stopping free fall… and then I slam against solid wood, landing in a graceless half-crouch.

  At least I’m not in the ocean.

  The upper deck breaks into cheers, screaming for us at the top of their lungs. Even from here, Odette and Ophelia’s voices are the loudest.

  A hand appears in my visual field. I slide mine into it, allowing him to help me to my feet. My heart is lodged so firmly in my throat, I’m not sure I’ll be able to speak.

  “Hey,” he murmurs. He’s still holding my hand. His eyes never shift from mine.

  “Um,” I squeak. “Hi?”

  “Sorry I’m late.” His grin widens. “There was traffic.”

  “Have you gone totally insane?”

  “Probably.” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear with so much tenderness, the breath catches in my lungs. “But… I’ll be even more insane if I go another second without doing this.”

  He kisses me, then.

  In plain view of the entire graduating class of Exeter Academy of Excellence, along with about a half dozen crew members of Odyssey Cruises. With so much passion, I’m surprised we don’t set the boat aflame.

  The catcalls from the upper deck are ear-splitting. So is the loudspeaker.

  “PLEASE RETURN TO THE VESSEL!”

  But we’re already floating far out of reach, caught up in a current they cannot control.

  Archer never lets go of my hand as he turns back to the wheel, pushes up on the throttle, and steers us off, across the glittering expanse of the Atlantic.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ARCHER

  I steer us back toward home.

  Jo stands in front of me, her back pressed to my chest, hair flying out of her updo into my face. She’s stunning in the moonlight. Even more so in that dress. It hugs her body so perfectly, it should be a criminal offense. I can barely see straight when I think about all that soft, creamy skin of hers, millimeters beneath a scrap of silk.

  She shifts against me, a small sigh sliding between her lips, and desire surges through me in a hot rush. It takes exceptional effort to keep the boat on a straight course. I shrug off my jacket and hand it to her, in part to keep her warm but mostly so I don’t drive us into the goddamned rocks.

  We race across the waves at top speed, sending up a huge wake behind us. I’m grateful for the lack of chop as we slice effortlessly across the ocean’s surface. If it was rough, the trip would take twice as long.

  I slow down as we approach the cove outside Cormorant House. It’s difficult to see the bouys in the dark, but I’ve sailed these waters with Jo a thousand times. I guide us along the dock, beneath the stone archway,
into the boathouse slip with ease.

  It’s dim inside. In silence, I shut the engine.

  “Wait here,” I whisper into Jo’s ear.

  She shivers. “Okay.”

  I scramble toward the bow to tie off our lines. All the while, my heart pounds inside my chest like a cavalry charge. By the time I return to the cockpit, where Jo is perched on one of the cushioned seats, I think I might be having arrhythmias.

  I take a cautious step toward her. During my crazy stunt, when I stole her away from the prom, when I pulled her close and kissed her… I was running on pure adrenaline. Now, in the quiet aftermath, nerves skitter down my spine as she lifts her large blue eyes to mine.

  What is she going to say?

  Will she tell me to fuck off?

  “I think I must be dreaming,” she murmurs. “There’s no way this can be real.”

  “It is real, Jo,” I murmur back. “I promise.”

  “Maybe you should pinch me. Just to make sure.”

  Swallowing hard, I reach out and brush my knuckles lightly against her neck. I can’t bring myself to pinch her. I never want to hurt her again, as long as I live.

  She shivers beneath my touch.

  “How’s this feel?” I whisper as I stroke my fingertips slowly down toward her clavicle. “Still like a dream?”

  She nods slightly, her throat muscles contracting. “Yes. But if it is… I don’t want to wake up, Archer. Not ever.”

  That’s all the encouragement I need.

  My hands slide around her waist as I pull her up against me. My mouth is desperate as it seeks hers. She’s just as desperate as she returns my kiss, her lips pressing hard against mine. Her hands wind around my shoulders, sliding under my shirt collar to stroke the hair at the nape of my neck. She moans as my hands slide down her body, cupping her ass through the fabric of her dress.

  God, she feels amazing.

  Mouths fused together, we stumble backward into the small v-shaped berth in the cabin. My hands find the lapels of the oversized suit jacket she’s wearing. I push it off her shoulders; it drops to the floor with a soft whoosh.

  For a moment, I can only stare. Even in shadow, she’s so stunning, it almost hurts to look at her.

  “This dress…” I murmur, toying with one of the thin straps. “Is driving me crazy.”

  “Then… maybe you should take it off.”

  Fuck.

  My cock twitches against the zipper of my dress pants. I’m hard as a rock. Her teasing me isn’t helping matters.

  “Jo… if you’re not serious about this… we should stop.”

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  Reaching up, she guides my hand to the straps of her dress. Together, we tug them off her shoulders. I groan as the silk slides down her skin like water, revealing her naked body.

  She’s not wearing a scrap of underwear.

  “Jesus Christ, Jo. You’re going to kill me.”

  She stands there, fully nude, staring at me without a hint of self-consciousness. Her breasts are small and perfectly round. Her rosy pink nipples are hard with desire. I can’t resist reaching out to touch them. They fit perfectly in the palms of my hands.

  I lean down to kiss her, but she puts a finger against my lips, stopping me with a whisper.

  “Now you.”

  My hands shake as I loosen my tie and slide it up, over my head. She undoes the buttons of my dress shirt. Her fingers are just as shaky as she reaches for my belt buckle. I’m barely breathing as her hands skim over my zipper. She doesn’t touch me — not yet — but her eyes track my every move as I push my pants to the floor, followed by my underwear.

  My cock springs free, hard and ready.

  I hear Jo’s sharp intake of air.

  A second later, I feel the faint brush of her fingertips against my abs. Sliding down the indentations. Stopping just shy of my hips.

  My pulse is roaring between my ears. I can barely formulate a coherent thought. All I can think about its getting my hands on her skin, touching every conceivable part of her until I’ve memorized them by heart.

  Stepping closer to her, I bring our bodies flush. In my eagerness, I smack my head against the low ceiling of the cabin.

  “Fuck!”

  Jo giggles at me.

  “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

  “Yeah,” she laughs. “I really do.”

  Growling playfully in retribution, I toss her onto the bed and follow her down. Our laughter is quickly forgotten as our bare bodies collide. I brace myself on top of her, staring down into her face.

  “Jo,” I breathe. “My Jo.”

  This time, she doesn’t pull away.

  This time, she brushes her lips against mine, wraps her arms around my back, and pulls me closer.

  “My Archer,” she echoes, kissing me again.

  In the dark bunk, we explore each other like adventurers discovering new lands, using all our senses to drink each other in. I kiss her everywhere, reveling in the sound of her moans as I bring her to the brink of pleasure with my mouth between her legs. Feeling a thrill while I watch her hands fist in the crisp white sheets as her first ever orgasm rocks through her like an earthquake.

  The more we touch, the more the need to be inside her grows. I’m panting hard when she retrieves the condom from the pocket of my discarded pants. As she rolls it onto my shaft, she keeps her eyes locked on mine.

  “Are you sure about this?” I grit out between clenched teeth. “If you’re not, if this is moving too fast—”

  “It’s not too fast,” she breathes, pulling me on top of her. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for eighteen years.”

  “Me too.”

  My mouth brushes hers lightly. “This might hurt, Jo. If it does, just tell me to stop.”

  “I trust you, Archer.”

  Our eyes never shift as I push slowly inside her. We both gasp as our bodies join. She’s so tight, it makes my eyes water. Pleasure shoots through my veins. I wonder if this is what it’s like to do heroin — this sudden rush of extreme elation, this incomparable joy.

  She cries out in sudden pain. Instantly, I go still. It takes all my strength not to move; to fight against the urge to drive inside her, burying myself to the hilt.

  “Jo?”

  Her voice is tight. “I’m okay.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m good. Just…” She’s looking up at me with so much trust, it slays me. “Just go slow.”

  I nod. “Okay. Okay. I can do that.”

  For Jo, I can do that.

  It’s not my first time, but it might as well be. This, now, is nothing like I experienced with Sienna. It’s not even in the same realm of existence.

  As the pain subsides and we begin to move together in earnest, Jo comes alive beneath me. Our hands grip hard enough to bruise as we both edge closer to the precipice of desire. And when I thrust fully into her, letting her have my length in its entirety, we tumble over that precipice together, free-falling into the depths, crying out for each other in the dark.

  I love you, I think in the aftermath of our union, holding her tight. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

  I’m not sure why I don’t say it aloud. Why I don’t tell her exactly how I’m feeling.

  I should’ve.

  I guess… I thought we’d have more time. I thought the happily-ever-after part would last more than just one night.

  I was wrong.

  Waking up beside a stark-naked Josephine Valentine is as close to heaven as I’ve ever experienced. For a long while, I just stare at her — taking her in like a piece of artwork hanging on the wall of a museum.

  Every freckle.

  Every eyelash.

  Every plane of her face.

  Every curve of her body.

  Until last night, I had no idea it was possible to lose yourself so completely in someone else. Physically, emotionally. Even spiritually. All I can think about is getting back inside her. Seeing that look in her eyes when she’s about to explo
de into fragments under my hands.

  A faint chirp makes me sit up. Moving quietly, so I don’t disturb her, I fish my pants from the floor and pull my phone from the pocket. My eyes widen when I see the screen.

  17 missed calls.

  4 text messages.

  I click open the first one. It’s from my father.

  COME HOME NOW. URGENT.

  My heart begins to pound. When I click open the second message, it stops entirely. It’s from Rico, with a timestamp about 25 minutes after the one from Pa.

  I WARNED YOU AND YOUR BROTHER NOT TO FUCK WITH ME, KID.

  The third message is a picture. In it, I see my parents duct taped to metal chairs. I have no idea where they are. All I know is, they look terrified as they stare into the camera.

  The final message chills me to the bone.

  1318 CABOT STREET

  11AM

  COME ALONE

  NO POLICE OR THEY DIE

  Fear spikes through me as I check the time.

  It’s already 10:35.

  I have 25 minutes to get there. And I don’t even know where ‘there’ is, yet. I shoot one last look at Jo as I grab my clothes and start running.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  JOSEPHINE

  When I wake up, Archer is gone.

  I’m alone in the Hinckley cabin. The boat rocks lightly beneath me as the tide comes in. I sit up, throwing an arm across my chest to cover myself.

  “Archer?”

  Silence greets me.

  I don’t panic yet. Not until I slide off the bed, step into my dress, and walk toward the cockpit.

  “Archer?” I call again, louder this time.

  There’s no reply.

  Surely, he wouldn’t just leave.

  Not after last night.

  But there’s no sign of him anywhere. Not a note, not an article of clothing. No trace of him at all, except for the slight ache between my legs and the small bloodstain on the v-berth’s white sheets.

  My first reaction is worry that something terrible happened to him. I reach for my iPhone to call… before I remember I don’t have one. In the chaos of finals week, prom, and graduation, I haven’t gotten around to buying a replacement, yet.