“Who the hell are you?” she asks me, snapping me out of my little la-la land moment, and I can’t help but smile at her. It’s the first hint of attitude I’ve come across in this town.
“Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll tell you.”
“I don’t care enough to ask you nicely. What I really meant to say was, why the hell are you still standing here?”
Adrenaline starts flowing through my body for the first time since I pulled off the interstate and into these serene rolling hills. She’s the first desirable thing I’ve seen in days. And I want her. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot, shaking her head like she doesn’t have the time for my banter. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Don’t you think you would remember if you’d met me before?”
She laughs at my cockiness. “She’s not in a position to move,” she says, nodding her head towards her friend who is looking up at us from her place on the log, “and I need a minute. So why don’t you take your ass back to wherever you came from,” she tells me, turning her attention back to her friend.
“Chicago,” I tell her.
“What?”
“You asked where I came from.”
“No. I don’t give a shit where you came from. I told you to get out of here.”
“What about you?” I say, just trying to engage her in any way possible. I can’t stop staring at her lips. I have an overwhelming desire to suck the shiny pink gloss right off of them.
“What about me?”
“You don’t seem like you belong here.”
She pauses at that comment. It looks like she’s trying to keep up her badass demeanor, but when she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth I know it’s to keep from smiling.
She likes the idea that she doesn’t belong here.
“I don’t belong here. As fate would have it, I’m going to school in Chicago.”
I flinch at that comment. Her words snap me right back into reality and I take my eyes off hers because those eyes of hers are telling me lies. If she’s headed to Chicago then, clearly, I wasn’t supposed to cross paths with her. I can already tell, two minutes into meeting her, that she’s not your average girl that can be easily forgotten. And as far as Chicago and everything in it goes, all I want to do is forget.
“Is this what I should expect when I get there? A city full of cocky assholes?”
“You’ll fit right in,” I tell her.
I’m still not looking directly at her, but I notice when she cocks her head at me, like she’s finally interested.
“I’m Jessa. What’s your name?”
I laugh at her sudden change of attitude.
“What? That wasn’t nice enough?”
“It was fine. I’m Paxton. It’s really great to meet you, Jessa,” I tell her facetiously, still not looking at her.
“Do you go to school there – in Chicago?”
“Since kindergarten.”
“So what the hell are you doing here?”
I look at her again, at her eyes, at her hair. If she’s leaving to go to Chicago and I’m gonna be stuck in this hell for the next year then, shit, maybe I should just take her. One last hurrah before I put myself on auto pilot for the next year. All I want to do is put my fingers in that hair of hers and know what it feels like to bite down on her fat, wet lip.
I step to her, until I have to duck my head to see her eyes. The defensiveness drops off her face and I hear the hitch in her breath. “Maybe I came here looking for you,” I tell her as my fingers slide into her hair and I grasp it, maybe too hard because a small whimper escapes her mouth. Her hands wrap around mine, like she’s going to pull them away. But she doesn’t. I keep my fingers buried in her hair, but my thumbs run down the soft skin on her face and land on her neck. I push down until I can feel the blood pulsing through her veins.
She stares at me and I stare back at her like there are words passing between us, but neither of us is speaking. Her eyes become intense, her nostrils flare and her lips part and I don’t know what that means – is she turned on or pissed off? I lean in closer, needing her lips on mine. Her hands move from mine and I think she’s going to push me off of her- because that would be the rational thing to do when a stranger fists your hair and is about to kiss you- but then her hands move to the back of my head and her fingernails dig into my skull… and there is no going back after that.
I bite down on her bottom lip and it feels so good between my teeth I’m practically growling and when I run my tongue across the flesh that’s trapped there, it tastes so good I need more. I want so much more. When I prod her mouth open and my tongue glides across hers, she licks me right back.
The way our tongues are exploring each other’s makes me feel like I’ve done this with her a million times; like we’ve spent years practicing until our kiss was perfect. But I haven’t kissed her before. I would remember kissing this girl. I would remember how it felt to have her in my hands. I would remember the taste of her mouth.
Desire spreads through my body- I want this girl more than I’ve ever wanted any girl. My fingers clamp down harder on the base of her skull and her throat and I pull her deeper into me. She kisses me back with the same amount of raw lust as I push myself as far into her as I can - until she has no choice but to work me over with her tongue. And she does. Jesus, does she work me over.
I lose myself in her. My mind shuts down and all I can feel is her. I move a hand down her body, my fingers trailing over her, memorizing the curve of her breast and her hip and her back. When I pull her to me, the desire that’s coursing through my body becomes painful and in the middle of all this desperate need, something suddenly feels empty. Like a space is being created that’s not gonna get filled. Like I’m never gonna get enough of this girl… Jessa. Like I need her inside of me in a way I can’t fucking explain. It’s the strangest feeling. It’s overwhelming.
I pull her up my body, trying to somehow get her closer… deeper. She clings to me, holding me tightly and it’s satisfying - I need her to want me like I want her. For a moment my eyes open and somehow, in the middle of this beautiful chaos, in the dark of night with her eyes so close to mine, I can see her clearly. And I get it.
The thing that I felt with the eyes… I can feel it again. That’s what this shit is. I need her in some fucked up way that I can’t understand or explain. It doesn’t make any kind of logical sense, and it scares the shit out of me.
In that moment, I pull out of her mouth and push her away from me. She stares at me with some level of confusion, her breaths heavy, her chest rising and falling with the effort. Her wet, pink lips hanging open, her turquoise eyes burrowing into mine like she can see straight into me. Like she knows me. “Fuck off,” I tell her before turning around and getting the hell out of there.
Chapter 1 - Jessa
On the drive with Dylan to Chicago I was already realizing that I had made a huge mistake. It could have been the way he sang along with the Ed Sheeran, Jason Mraz and John Mayer cds he played on a loop for six hours straight. Maybe it was the annoying way he kept both hands on the steering wheel at ten and two at all times. Or the way he talked excitedly about joining a fraternity and suggested that I join a sorority. That drive with Dylan made it blatantly clear that Dylan is not my kind of guy.
I kind of figured this would happen because it’s what always happens when you turn a fun, flirty, sexy relationship into a committed one. People get comfortable and the real them emerges and you realize that when people stop trying so hard to be the person that you will want to belong to, that they aren’t who they were pretending to be. The Dylan that I was just screwing for more than nine months back in River Bluff sure as hell didn’t break out John Mayer on me.
What the hell was I thinking? After warding off relationships through all of my post-pubescent years I decide to, not only force myself into one, but then act like it was cool when Dylan decided to follow me to college in Chicago.
Watching my friend Emily and her guy Danny; the way they managed to help each other through all of their shit and make each other better, did something to my brain. It made me want to be happy too and, in a moment of weakness, I decided Dylan would be the man to make it happen.
But Dylan is not the man to do that. No man is the man to do that. I know that. Men only make things complicated and confusing and force you to take your focus off of your real problems and make you focus on theirs. Or, more accurately, all of the new problems you have because of your relationship.
I need to let him go, I know I do. But how do I do that? How do I tell the guy that gave up his own plans and moved to a strange place for me that I no longer want him? That I, in fact, prefer he disappear from my life so I can leave my failed attempt at happiness in the distant past.
It would help if I had a legitimate excuse, but I don’t. Not that I have any real experience in this department- Dylan’s my first real boyfriend. When I was fifteen, I stupidly thought I was in love, but he turned out to be the biggest asshole I’ve ever crossed paths with. Compared to that sleaze bag, Dylan is the ideal boyfriend. He’s nothing but sweet to me. He’s attentive – way too attentive. He’s everything a perfect boyfriend should be. And we do everything a perfectly boring couple does. Parties aren’t fun because I’m suddenly a possession that Dylan needs to be attached to at all times. I’ve seen every new release at the theatre and eaten at every restaurant within twenty miles of campus because… what the hell else is there to do with your boyfriend on a Friday night? He came over in fricking sweatpants the other day. Sweatpants. And not the sexy kind that some guys wear that hang low on their hips and make you want to find out what’s under all that baggy fabric, but stained ones with a hole in the knee. Jesus.
As far as relationships go, I’ve always preferred the kind that were loosely defined by the sex I was getting. Those kinds of relationships don’t require dates and can’t take issue with you talking to another guy. That kind of relationship is about having fun and experimenting with each other’s bodies. In those relationships it’s mostly easy to get out. And I always know when it’s time to get out. It’s like a switch is being thrown and suddenly I cannot stand being kissed by the guy. It happens every time. And when it does it’s time to go. And I go. Maybe they protest, but hell, you’re not my damn boyfriend.
I’ve hit that point with Dylan. I can’t stand his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth makes me want to vomit, his groping hands make me want to knee him in the balls. The problem is that I can’t just go. It’s not that easy. Which is why…. I don’t do this shit.
Lesson learned. Won’t happen again. But that doesn’t solve my current problem.
“Whatcha thinking about over there?” my roommate, Taylor, asks me from her bed, which is four feet away from my own.
“Dylan,” I tell her.
“Oh, yeah? I bet I know what you’re thinking of,” she giggles.
“I bet you don’t,” I say, unintentionally mocking her high-pitched tone.
Taylor is a sweet girl. She’s from a small town like me. Hers is in Wisconsin. She moved here to be with her boyfriend, Will. They met in Mexico on spring break and it was love at first site. They are deliriously happy and they are our new ‘couple friends’ – Will lives on Dylan’s floor in the dorm next to ours. It’s all so sweet and perfect and it makes me feel claustrophobic and miserable and like a complete phony.
And, Taylor has appointed herself the official welcoming committee and friend to all. Therefore, there is a fun little dorm party in my room just about every night. And on the nights when I’m not interacting with my floor mates, by no choice of my own, I am on a double date, or just a regular date. None of this is me. None of this is what I want to be doing. I can’t even pretend anymore that I’m having fun. I just want out.
“Well tell me, what were you thinking?” Taylor asks.
“I wasn’t thinking anything really… just about tonight.”
“Tonight’s gonna be so fun. What are you wearing?”
I look at Taylor and force myself to smile. “Um… I don’t know. I have to make a phone call,” I tell her, getting out of my bed. “I’ll be back in a little while and we can figure it out.”
“Oh. Okay,” she tells me with a puzzled look on her face.
I take the back stairway out of the dorm and walk to the edge of the tiny patch of trees that is behind it. I’m planning on calling Emily, but I end up pulling Paxton’s number up.
I haven’t talked to him for a few days. He’s in Venice, California with his dad. Apparently Venice is where he spent most of his summers growing up and is the place he considers home. Not that he ever mentioned the place, or his dad and the rest of his California family, until six months after I met him. I realize now that he never really talked about his life at all – not the one in Venice and not the one here, in Chicago. We spent so much time together during his year in River Bluff and I feel like I know him so well, yet if I had to make a list of facts about his life I couldn’t even fill a page.
“Beso… it’s you,” he says, calling me by the, oh so funny, nickname he has recently bestowed upon me. Beso means kiss in Spanish and he will never let me forget about that first night we met. Ever since Paxton’s been back home he tends to throw a Spanish word in every once in a while. I guess it’s a Venice thing.
“Paxton… you’re high.” I can hear it in his quiet, dreamy voice. Every time I talk to him he’s at some loud party or just about to get it on with some chick… or high and completely disengaged. He’s not the kid I knew in River Bluff, which is disconcerting, but the least of my problems at the moment.
“Doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No.”
The line goes silent. All I hear is Paxton’s breath. “I know you’re calling for a reason, kid. Spit it out,” he eventually mutters and I wonder why the hell I chose to dial his number. Ever since he went home all I get is pissy attitude on the other end of the line.
“I just came outside to get some air and I was bored, staring at the trees, so I thought you could keep me company, but that’s not really panning out for me.”
“I’ll keep you company.”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a deep breath; hesitating. “So… I’m kind of in a bind.”
He lets out a low laugh. “You always got a reason.”
“Well, clearly, if I’m just looking to chitchat you and your new badass attitude are not my go to. I just need to talk to someone outside of this quaint little life and you are the least quaint person I know.”
“Jock Boy getting on your nerves?” he asks, using one of his nicknames for Dylan. He’s got a long list of nicknames for him. Jock Boy is one of the more generous on the list.
“Everything’s getting on my nerves. I know once I spew all of this you’re just gonna to be an arrogant ass and tell me you ‘told me so’ and I need to stop being such a poser, but I can’t keep it inside and I seriously have no one to talk to here.”
“Lay it on me, Jess.”
“I just… I can’t do this anymore… this cookie-cutter shit with Dylan. I don’t want to go on dates. I don’t want his thoughtful lips on me. I’m sick of rom-coms. I don’t want to be part of a group of couples. I don’t want to hold anyone’s hand. I don’t want to have to check in every half hour and account for every second of my life. And the dorm – the girls, I can’t handle it. I don’t want to sneak sips of peach schnapps in a ten by ten room with twenty other girls. I don’t even know how to giggle. I get glared at every time the truth comes out of my mouth because no one here sees anything except rainbows and butterflies and I can’t keep living in this pretty little world. It’s making me c
razy.” When I hear how hysterical I’m becoming, I stop. Paxton’s quiet. I know he’s trying hard to hold back the words that are blowing up his mouth. “Just say it, Paxton.”
“I told you so,” he half says, half laughs. “You don’t belong with that guy, Jess. I mean, I know you think the long, wavy hair is sexy and you love the big, blue eyes. And damn, he worked on that tan all summer. And those rugby shirts he wears are hard to resist. But Jess, he’s a pussy. You’re too much for him. You’ve been running his ass over for a year and he just lays down and takes all of your shit which, contrary to popular belief, is not a good thing. You need a fighter. You need someone who’s going to stand up to you.”
“I need no one is what I need. I need to be myself again. Myself. Not someone’s girlfriend. Not anyone’s anything. I’m not cut out for this shit. It’s suffocating. Why do people do this? I mean, why does everyone couple off and think they’re not complete until they find their ‘other half’? There is no other half. We are not missing half of ourselves. It’s so stupid and I can’t believe I got caught up in this bullshit system.”
“That’s my girl,” Paxton says. “I missed her.”
“She’s a treat,” I say, taking a seat on the grass; feeling exhausted by the mess I’ve got myself into.
“So what’s the problem? Break up with him.”
I take a deep breath and try to form rational thoughts. “He followed me here. He gave up his plans and followed me here.”
A Son of Carver (Carver High #2) Page 34