by L.J. Shen
My heart fluttered in my chest, which made my soul lurch in pain. Just until school ends, remember?
“You’re supposed to be at school.” I slipped past him, marching into my apartment. Yes, I was cold to him because of his mother’s behavior yesterday, and no, it was not fair, but I couldn’t help it. I was on my period. He needed to cut me some slack here. Besides—he really was skipping school. I still cared about his education. A lot, actually.
“I thought you were sick.” He hurried into my apartment before the door shut behind me, his hands tucked in his pockets. “You didn’t even mention you were moving today when we saw each other yesterday.”
“You saw the boxes.”
“Yeah. They have been sitting around since the first time I was here. You never put anything in them. I thought you were moving in, not out. What kind of bullshit is this?”
“My landlord wants the place for himself, so I got a new one.” I shrugged and refused to explain more because this thing with him was supposed to be fun. He didn’t need to know my schedule, even though most days, we both knew exactly where the other person was. There was pain in his voice. I not only heard it, I felt it. Like a punch to my stomach. This was wrong. He needed to know, we owed each other nothing.
With a sigh, Jaime dropped the subject. “Whatever. Let’s hang out.”
“You can’t skip classes, Jaime. You’ll fail. Even if you’ve already been accepted to college, it looks bad.” I started gathering my clothes by their hangers. I was going to carry some more boxes to my car but didn’t want him to see me melting into a sweaty pile of PMS rage.
“In other words, you don’t wanna hang out with me?” He followed me, knocking over a stack of boxes with his huge body in the process.
“No. I don’t have time to fuck around today.” I kept walking back and forth, stuffing my hanging clothes into a pair of laundry baskets, hoping he’d get the hint.
Damn him. It was his fault I wasn’t packed already in the first place.
Jaime grabbed my stiff shoulder, studying me. “You think that’s why I came here? To fuck you?”
His raw gaze alone stripped off a layer of my shitty attitude, but I still needed him to leave. This had to stop. We had to stop.
Then why did I run out of breath every time I thought about my life without him?
I shrugged again. “No? Okay, no then. Still, I’m moving, as you can see, and I’ve got my hands full.” I lifted up the heap of clothes in my hands for emphasis. “See you tomorrow.”
“I’ll help,” Jaime announced, grabbing the biggest, heaviest box and throwing it up on one of his shoulders.
I wanted to protest, but shit, that box was like a hundred pounds, easy. I was avoiding the thing like it was that drunk aunt at a wedding reception no one wanted to talk to. Scanning the prominent veins in his arms popping out, I knew I should decline his help. He should be in school. It could even raise suspicion, me and him not showing up on the same day. I remembered Vicious’s veiled threat.
But…I really needed the help.
Also, I was helpless when it came to him.
“Right,” I said after a pause. “I’ll show you where I’m parked.”
He tutted with a growl, reminding me who the boss around here is. “Makes more sense to use the Range Rover. More space. We can finish sooner. It’ll leave us more time for ourselves.”
I exhaled, climbing down the stairs. “Just to give you a heads-up—I’m on my period.”
“You don’t say. You hid it so well.” He threw the box into the back of his SUV like it was feather-light. “Like I said, I’m here to hang out.” He speared me with his scowl.
I guess we were hanging out.
We finished moving (and unpacking) everything by seven that night, and Jaime made a quick run to the nearest Wendy’s. He asked if he should pick up beer too, and after I said sure, I nearly bit off my tongue, realizing what I’d done. It was easy to forget he wasn’t my age. Funny thing was, he did bring beer. When I asked him if he had a fake ID, he chuckled and mussed my hair like I was an adorable kid, explaining that the HotHoles never got carded in Todos Santos. I shook my head and cracked open my beer.
Jaime hooked up my TV and dragged the coffee table to the middle of the room. We watched a shitty game show from the 80s. His feet were on the table, while I curled up on the sofa. We looked like a couple. What’s more—we acted like one.
It felt natural. And scary. For a moment, just a brief, crazy, I-obviously-need-help moment, I imagined that we were moving into this apartment together, me and him.
“How did we get to this point? Holy shit, I’m fucking my student,” I mumbled out of nowhere, my eyes still glued to the TV.
“Well…” Jaime stretched, downing what was left of his beer in one swig and slamming it against the table. “I blackmailed you into it. That’s how.”
His sarcasm held a lie I wanted to believe. We both knew he hadn’t forced me. I fucked him by choice. I put the beer to my lips, stalling.
“Okay.” He licked his lips and turned off the TV, rubbing his thighs. “Let’s play Truth or Dare.”
I was tempted to remind him I wasn’t twelve but didn’t want to be even more of a grouch. So, I batted my eyelashes innocently. “Are you going to milk my secrets out of me?”
“Might as well since you aren’t going to milk the jizz out of me tonight.” He got up from the couch, disappeared into my tiny new kitchen, and returned with a bottle of Jose Cuervo. Holding the bottle of tequila by its neck, he slouched back down beside me. Now we were both sitting cross-legged on the sofa, facing each other. A fan hummed above us, and if we were really silent—which we were—we could hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, their rhythm systematic, like a sweet lullaby.
“This conversation needs booze, so a shot for every time we choose a truth over a dare.” Jaime rested the bottle between us, his voice clipped. He was looking at me funny.
Jaime was normally impossible to read. A hot, carefree jock with darkness behind his light eyes, but the expression he wore…it was borderline pained.
“I don’t want you drinking under my roof. You’re under twenty-one.”
“I’m eighteen. Any other place in the world—virtually all over Europe—I’d be allowed to get shitfaced wherever I want.”
“We’re not in Europe,” I deadpanned.
“We will be, one day. Together,” his bizarre statement came out so confident. I almost doubled over. Okay, then. Back to the subject, I guess.
“I’m a daredevil.” I cocked a brow, laughing mainly to hide my embarrassment at how nervous I was.
“Real daredevils choose the truth. It’s always more challenging than a dare.” His right eye ticked. “So…truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I teased, hoping to lighten the tension. Wherever this conversation was leading, it was going to be a raw, dangerous place for the both of us.
Jaime dipped his chin down and ran his thumb over his lower lip, his playful-self peeking from the wall of graveness he had built around him tonight. “I dare you to look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for me.”
His words were simple, yet his request—impossible.
I blinked, realizing for the first time that the answer to his question was something I wasn’t ready to face. “Truth,” I said and swallowed painfully.
Jaime tipped his head back and laughed. It sounded gruff and unhappy.
I looked away, feeling my face whitening. “What? I’m allowed to change my mind.”
“You’re not.” He reached for me, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Tell me what you feel.” His tone had changed to cushion-soft.
“Why?” I whispered, resisting the urge to close my eyes. If I did, a tear would escape. I never cried. Not since the accident in NY. I dealt. Damn you, Jaime Followhill. I dealt.
Jaime thumbed my chin, tilting my face to meet his gaze. Slowly, he brought his forehead to mine and closed his eyes, releasing a defeated b
reath. “Because I feel it, too.”
I wanted him to kiss me. To kiss me hard and soft all at once, a kiss that’d assure me that I wasn’t crazy for discovering what I’d just discovered on this tattered sofa in this tiny apartment.
That I was in love with my student.
I’d tried to convince myself that it was just sex. It wasn’t. It was pizza nights and laughing under my cheap, itchy blanket and nicknaming each other stupid names. I was Little Ballerina, while he was Giraffe Tongue, for reasons that gave me countless orgasms.
It was watching Tarantino movies and stealing breathless kisses at school, two thieves of pleasure, begging to confess their crime. I was spellbound, desperate, and possessed. And I knew with certainty that once he graduated and moved away for college, the blow would be just as hard as my subway accident.
Dancing was my life.
But Jaime? Jaime is my life, I realized.
He took a swig of the tequila, screwed the top back on, and jerked me into him, holding the back of my neck to bring my lips to his.
“Ask me.” His alcohol-fumed breath oozed into my mouth.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth. And it’s gonna be ugly. Buckle up.” He let me go, pushing away, his eyes fluttering shut. Frustration and hurt radiated from his face, and he slouched on the couch, looking almost defeated. This was not the Jaime I knew. The devil with the panty-dropping smile.
Worry gnawed at my gut.
“The first time I saw you,” he began, “I wanted to slap my name on your ass, let everyone know that I was going to be the only guy to tap that shit. You looked like a princess, Mel. An insanely hot princess with a perfect posture and unruly curls.” He smirked. “’Course, acting on it was out of the question. A fantasy. Then I came home that first day of my senior year, and Mom wouldn’t shut up about you. Melody this and Melody that. How bad you were at your job, how you were gonna ruin Mr. Pitterman’s legacy, blah blah, bullshit blah. She hated your guts. Gave you the job only because he croaked so suddenly.”
He was telling me things that I already knew, but it didn’t make them any less painful. The previous Lit teacher had died of a heart attack two days before school started. Principal Followhill had needed to act fast.
“You became a favorite topic at our dinner table. She loathed your ass.” Jaime took a sip, wincing from the bite of the tequila. “You were pretty and young and completely unimpressed by her power and the status and stinking money that runs our fucked-up little town.” He spoke with his eyes squeezed shut. Embarrassed, probably for the first time in his life. “You were a good teacher. That’s why I never gave you shit. It wasn’t your fault we were a bunch of privileged assholes.”
I placed my hand on his arm. He drank some more.
Your pain is mine, and I want to shoulder it, because I can. Because that’s what I do. I carry my pain all the time. Let me take away yours, my touch begged him.
“I told Mom to shut her trap numerous times. Not because I wanted to defend you but because gossiping about you was feeding a monster inside me. Talking about you only made it harder for me to ignore you. So fucking hot…” He nodded his head and bit his full lip, eyes still closed. “When I heard how you had to drop out of Julliard, I wanted to die for you. I had a feeling teaching wasn’t your calling. I kept thinking about eighteen-year-old you. My age. Your heart broken by bad luck, shattered by an accident that’d left more than a physical scar.”
I shifted on my small couch. It felt smaller with every word he said. My gaze traveled down to my hands. I was flattered. I was horrified. But most of all, I was confused. “You were thinking about me for the whole year?”
He snorted a sad laugh.
“More than thinking. Six weeks after school started, I had a huge fight with my mom. Coach Rowland was giving Trent shit about breaking his ankle. Like he planned to get hurt and fuck-up his whole football future. We finally stood up for Trent against Coach, but Mom defended Rowland. My fight with her left me so frustrated I gave in to my weakness for you. I followed you to your apartment, tried to steal a private peek through your bedroom window. I don’t know why I did that. It was like drinking fucking Emergen-C. I just wanted to take the edge off.”
Jaime opened his eyes, his blues challenging me. “You were the perfect sin to commit, Melody. Begging to be taken. Untouched by the rest of Todos Santos’s posing and entitlement. I got hooked. From that day on, I followed you everywhere like an eager puppy. To the supermarket, the gas station…the fucking park every morning before practice, where I watched you doing yoga positions and tried not to rub a quick one out behind a tree. I followed you on blind dates, and when I realized you’d never met the idiots before, I also found your dating account and opened a profile under a fake name just so I could stalk you better.”
My hand shook as I slapped it over my mouth. None of this sounded like the guy I’d dated. I mean, screwed. No, wait, dated. Definitely dated. In the last ten minutes, this relationship had moved faster than a sprinter at an all-you-can-eat pasta buffet.
Another swig. Another deep breathe. Another thorn in my heart.
Jaime was treading closer to shitfaced territory with every truth that rolled out of his mouth.
“I’m listening,” I prompted, afraid that he’d clam up on me.
“Three months ago, I caught my mother cheating on my father with Coach Rowland. In my bed.”
I wheezed. We were running barefoot in a minefield of emotions, and Jaime had just exploded an IED under my legs.
Jaime’s dad had never bothered to hop on the gossip train traveling through Todos Santos. I didn’t know much about him. Only that he was known as a philanthropist who worked with several big charities, and that despite his privileged lineage, he wasn’t too interested in glitz and glamor.
“I don’t know which part was worse. That she let Coach emotionally abuse Trent for years or that she was fucking the bastard in my bed. I’d like to believe the location was just convenient. My bed always smelled like sex anyway and was never made.” His eyes glistened with pain.
I wrapped my hands around his neck.
Jaime spoke into my hair, his chin pressed to my shoulder. “Fucking someone who she hated sounded like good therapy. So I started planning, and you and I began talking more on that dating site. You opened up to me. Told me what you liked and disliked. Your taste in music. Favorite movies. Dream vacations, layer after layer peeled. And when it was time to strike—I set up a date. I was the loser guy who still lived with his mom at twenty-six.”
Bastard.
I laughed. He laughed. Then I grew silent and started crying. Damn PMS. He wiped my cheeks and offered me the tequila. I snatched it from him and took a swig. Everything was a mess.
“You’re a real asshole, Jaime.”
Jaime rubbed his head, mussing his glorious man-bun. “The text message you got when you backed out of your parking space? Planned. The reason you bumped into me? I set you up, Mel. The text was a deliberate distraction. A trap. But you know what the worst part is?”
I shook my head, feeling my tears, hot and angry, running down my face.
He stared at me through red-rimmed eyes. He didn’t shed tears, but I knew that he was holding them back. “Somewhere between the quest of wanting to fuck you and secretly rebelling against my mom, I fell in love with you. It wasn’t a beautiful process. Hell…” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It wasn’t even romantic. But it happened. Because you’re strong but vulnerable. Witty as fuck but not bitter or deliberately mean. Because I had to chase your ass to nail you down, and you still keep me on my toes. But if we’re going to keep going on like this, where I have to convince you to give me the time of the day while you look over your shoulder, constantly trying to shake me off, I need to bail out of this before I get hurt.”
He took my cheeks and dragged my face to meet his. “Men with big cocks have fragile hearts. You know the saying: big cock, big heart. Well, I’m proof it’s true.”
“So…are you mine, Melody?”
Was I? Yeah. Without a shadow of a doubt, I was. God, were we really going to do this?
I nodded, sniffing my runny nose. “No one else’s.” I pursed my lips, already tasting the saltiness of the grief that accompanied this statement.
Our lips crushed together, needy and demanding. I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t freaked out. For the first time in ages I was just…content.
A foreign feeling I wanted more of. A drug I would later get addicted to.
“You need to go back to dancing,” Jaime said through noisy, sloppy kisses. “Your leg’s fine now.”
“I’m twenty-six.” I sniffed, more tears falling, but we were still kissing. “That’s one-hundred-and-eighty-two in dog years and, like, two-hundred-and-two in ballerina years.”
“Then settle for something outside of a ballet company, granny. Teach.”
Finally, I pulled away from his face, sucking in a breath. I tapped my lower lip. “The dance studio here is owned by a friend of your mother.”
“So find a studio in San Diego. It’s only a thirty-minute drive. You can fulfill your dream and still live close to me.”
Whoa, what? This caught me off guard. My eyebrows knitted, and I searched his face. “Jaime, you’re moving to Texas. You’re going to college there. You have a great future planned.”
He held my gaze, ignoring my words completely. “You could even teach ballet in LA. Vicious is going to college there. If he can get in, so can I.”
I wondered if he was drunk or just crazy. He sounded like both. “Vicious isn’t the greatest role model. He’s just taking a little break until he burns this town down. You and I both know that.”
Jaime shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “Even if he does, I’d help him light the match. The HotHoles stick together. That’s who we are.” He laced his fingers through mine.