I laugh softly and stroke him harder, loving how I can feel his response in the tensing muscles of his thighs and abs and hear it in the hitching of his breath.
It doesn’t take long for him to climax, the spasms running through his cock and a long, lingering moan escaping his lips.
He hasn’t come very much, but I reach over for a tissue to clean it up afterwards.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, sounding deliciously relaxed as he kisses my hair.
“You’re welcome.”
So we lie together for a long time in peaceful silence. I actually doze off a little, although it can’t be for very long.
When I come back to my senses, I glance up and see that Jack hasn’t been dozing too. He’s just gazing at me reflectively.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I’m thinking…” He trails off without completing his sentence.
“You’re thinking what?”
“I’m thinking it might be a good idea for you to take that internship in Paris next semester.”
“What?” My voice is a little sharp, since the words have taken me completely by surprise.
“You asked what I was thinking, and this is it. It might be a good idea.”
“Why would it be a good idea?” I pull away from him, since something in my chest is starting to hurt and I’m too vulnerable in his arms.
“It’s the kind of thing you’d really like. And it would be great for your career.”
“And?”
“And you would be away from everything.” His voice is even, low, calm, like none of this is a big deal.
It’s a very big deal to me that he evidently wants me across an ocean from him. “You know I don’t want to run away.”
“But why would it be running away, if it’s the best thing for you?”
“Where is this coming from all of a sudden? I thought you understood.”
“I do understand, and I think you’re…you’re damned brave. But I hate that someone is threatening you. And I hate that all those fucking college kids treat you like they do, that they post such nasty things about you. And I can’t stand that you might be in real danger.”
“I don’t think I’m really in danger.” My voice quavers with emotion at the intensity of Jack’s words.
“Maybe not. But we just don’t know, and I can’t stand even the smallest chance of it. And I’m compromised now as a bodyguard. I’m completely compromised. And I don’t trust myself to keep you safe.”
I clear my throat, trying to be reasonable, although I pretty much feel like screaming now. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. But you can have your dad assign someone else to follow me around. It doesn’t have to be you.”
“Are you kidding? I damn sure don’t trust anyone else to protect you either.”
I’m getting pretty upset now, so I sit up, pulling the covers up to hide my naked body. “Well, you’re going to have to figure something out, because you’re not going to be able to lock me away in some dark room because you’ve got control issues.”
“I have figured something else. You can go to Paris. You’ll be safe there.”
“So you’d rather be away from me as long as you can feel like you can control everything?”
“I don’t want to control you. I want to keep you safe.” He’s starting to look angry now too, although he’s not yet sitting up.
“I want to be safe too. I’m not an idiot. But I want to live my life without letting everyone else’s issues take away my choices. That’s why I’m still going to school here. And that’s why I didn’t stay home when my parents begged me too. And that’s why I’m not going to let you push me off to Paris so you don’t have to figure your own shit out.”
“You’re just being stubborn.” Now he finally sits up. “You’ve got it in your head you need to be this martyr person—punishing yourself for not being perfect all the time—and so you’re turning down obvious, sensible choices. Choices that would make you happy.”
I’m so mad I’m almost shaking with it, and I’m about to lay into him again, but then my phone rings. It’s on the floor with Jack’s clothes from last night.
I scramble off the bed to get it before he can.
I see from the name on the screen that it’s Kent. I’m not really in the mood to talk to him, but I’m sure Jack doesn’t want me to talk to him, so I answer the phone anyway.
“Hey,” Kent says in a warm voice. A normal voice. It’s almost ten o’clock on a Saturday, so it’s a little early for a call, but not entirely outrageous.
“Hi.”
“I wanted to thank you for last night. I had a good time.”
“Me too. Sorry about the…the intrusions.” I’m saying this now mostly to annoy Jack, who is sitting on the bed listening to my side of the conversation with a glaring frown.
“No problem. Hey, there’s a party down at the lake next Saturday. I was wondering if you wanted to come.”
“Oh. I don’t know. People from Stonegate? They won’t really want me there, will they?”
“There are a few jerks, but most of them don’t really hate you. I think if you gave it a chance, you’d find that they like you just fine. Anyway, I was mostly hoping you’d hang out with me.”
I can well imagine how a party down at the lake with Kent would turn out. It doesn’t sound all that appealing to me. But since I know Jack will hate it even more than I will, I say, “That sounds like fun. But let me think about it, all right?”
“Sure. Just let me know.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
When I hang up, I turn to Jack with a cool gaze.
“What does he want you to do?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business, unless you’ve decided to get me fired from my job.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to get you fired. He wants me to go to a party down at the lake next Saturday.”
“You’re not really stupid enough to be considering it, are you?”
Okay, there is really not anything he could say that will make me want to do it more than that. “I’ll consider anything I want to consider.”
“It will be dark up at the lake at night. There will be swarms of people—most of them drunk or high. It’s the worst kind of situation for close protection.”
“Well, no one asked you for your close protection. I’ll go if I want to go.”
“I don’t care if you hate me for it. I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger. If you even think about it, I’ll make sure your father knows so he can double or triple your security.”
I’m so angry now I’m almost spitting instead of talking. I have to take a deep breath before I control myself enough to form actual words. “Fuck you, Jack.”
“Any time you want, princess.” He’s not being warm or flirtatious or anything. He’s cold and hard as steel.
“Get out of my apartment.”
“You need to tell me if you’re planning to go to that party so I can arrange for protection.”
“I’m not going to go to the damned party. Now get out!”
I’m panting and shaking and trying not to launch myself at him and claw lines down his infuriating face.
I do manage to resist the urge to do violence, but I’m definitely doing violence to him in my head.
He’s obviously doing violence to me in his head too, but he reaches down to pick up his clothes, dresses quickly, and heads for the front door.
“This is not how you do a relationship,” I snap out at his retreating back.
He turns around, opening his mouth to reply. Then evidently he rethinks and says something else, since his expression changes dramatically. “Did I ever ask you for a relationship?”
And that question stops me cold. Because he never has.
Not once.
In fact, he’s let me know from the beginning that a relationship isn’t even on his radar.
There is nothing I can say, s
ince the realization hurts so much my body almost buckles.
He doesn’t say anything else either. He just walks out the door.
***
So the next week isn’t my best week ever.
It might not be the worst week ever, but it’s pretty far up there as far as bad weeks go.
This whole school year has been full of bad days and weeks. It’s probably the worst school year in my life, and it’s not even November yet.
Meeting Jack has been the only good thing to happen, and now I’m not even sure it’s a good thing at all.
When Jack leaves, I take a shower, trying to wash him off my body by staying under of a spray of water that’s way too hot for way too long.
I get all evidence of him off my body physically, but I don’t feel any better.
So I sit and stew for most of the afternoon. I don’t go out. I don’t answer the phone—even though my mom calls three times and my friend Amy calls twice.
Now, I’m well aware that this isn’t the most constructive way to deal with the situation, but it’s the only thing I feel like doing.
Jack doesn’t call, and I wouldn’t answer the phone if he did.
I do peek out the door at one point and see that there’s a substitute bodyguard.
And that’s totally fine with me. If Jack wants to give up on me, then all the better. He obviously doesn’t know anything about really being with a woman.
And so I shouldn’t want him anyway.
I do want him. And it feels like I’m broken because he’s not here.
But that’s weak and silly, and I don’t have to give into that part of myself.
So the next day is Sunday, and I don’t leave the apartment again at all. The substitute bodyguard is there again, which just proves to me that Jack has given up on me completely.
When I step out of the apartment on Monday morning, though, Jack is there after all, leaning against the wall, waiting for me, looking tired and strangely stretched.
“What are you doing here?” I say—rather rudely, since he’s surprised me.
“I’m here to take you to campus. What did you think?”
“I thought you sent a substitute to deal with me.”
“On the weekend, when you weren’t going anywhere, a substitute is fine. But not on campus when you’re surrounded by potential threats.” He looks cool and in control, and it bothers me unduly.
“How did you know I wasn’t going anywhere this weekend?” It’s a stupid question but, as you know, I don’t always think well on the spur on the moment.
“You have that research paper due today. I figured you’d be working on it.”
That’s exactly what I did for most of yesterday. The fact that Jack somehow knew it bothers me even more. “I’d actually prefer the substitute, if you want to know the truth.”
“I don’t care what you’d prefer.”
Well, that’s obnoxiously blunt. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. “You don’t care?”
“No. I don’t care.” He takes a step closer and his blue eyes pin me down. There’s no way I can look away. “This is what’s going to happen. I’m your bodyguard, and I’m going to stay your bodyguard until we figure out who is sending the threats. You can be mad at me. You can resent me. You can think I’m the biggest asshole who ever walked the earth. But I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re safe.”
“You’re the one who came on to me.” Again, not the brightest thing to say, but I’m breathless now and shaking a little.
“I know I did. It was a mistake.”
“It was a mistake?” I’m half convinced I misheard the words, since they don’t seem to fit the world as I know it.
“Yes. It was a mistake. I know better than to fuck the women I protect. It won’t happen again.”
“I thought you…” I trail off, because what I thought is too embarrassing to admit if it really isn’t true.
“You thought what? That I love you? That I want to get married and have fat little babies with you?” His words are dry, cool, almost brittle.
And they hurt so much I can’t even breathe. “No,” I manage to say. It feels like I’ve gone pale, but there’s nothing I can do about that. “I never thought that. But Saturday morning it sounded like you wanted…”
I trail off again because there’s no softening at all in his face. I thought he’d let go, let down his defenses, let me in—at least a little. But, if he had, it was just temporary, and he’s back in control again. He told me himself that he doesn’t want a relationship.
Just because I want it doesn’t mean it’s ever going to happen.
That’s one thing I’ve learned in the last year.
***
So the whole week sucks as much as Monday did.
I go to classes like a zombie and try to forget that Jack is always there, hovering over my shoulder, reminding me of everything I want but can’t have.
It’s not like Jack and I ever really went out. We just had sex twice. No dates. No commitments. Nothing to make me think there might be a future.
But this is worse than when Carter dumped me. I was hurt and humiliated back then, and all my stupid dreams were blown apart into nothing. It was all high drama and tears and depression. But the whole time I was aware of myself crying and brooding and wailing over him. (I didn’t literally wail—I’m not that melodramatic.) It’s hard to explain but there’s always been little, secret side of me that watches and enjoys and sometimes laugh when I’m over the top.
That little, secret side of myself is just as crushed now as the rest of me. I don’t cry. Not much anyway. I go to class. I eat—not much but regularly. I go through the motions of my life. But all the time it feels like something important has died.
And not to be macabre with my figures of speech, but the corpse is walking around with me all the time, making the death even worse.
After class, I go home and I don’t go out. Either Jack or the substitute sits outside, and since I’ve claimed my phone back, I don’t even have to see him if someone texts or calls me.
So basically the week is endless, and nothing good happens at all. I keep hoping to get to the end of the week so it will be over, but I have no reason to hope next week will be any better.
Then it gets to be Friday, and Jack walks me up to the front door of my apartment.
He does a quick walk-through, but before I go in, he stops me by asking, “What are your plans for the weekend?”
“What do you mean?” I know what he means, but sometimes you ask a question anyway.
“You know what I mean. What are you planning to do this weekend?” He’s gotten cooler and cooler as the week goes on, as if he’s forgetting how hot and deep and tender he was just last week.
“I don’t know. I have another paper to write. Amy might come up Sunday, and we’ll go shopping.”
His eyes narrow as he peers at me, as if he’s searching for something in my face. “That’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it. What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Fine. Can I go in now?” I might sound a little impatient. I might have sounded a little impatient with him all week.
“Yeah. Mike will be here tomorrow. Make sure to tell him if you decide to go out.”
He’s thinking about the party at the lake. I know that’s what he’s thinking about. He suspects I might decide to go, and he’s preparing to tell me I can’t.
I don’t say anything. If I want to go that party, then I’ll go—with or without his permission.
I don’t always follow every rule. I fucked my professor when I knew I shouldn’t. I’ll defy Jack if I want to…or even if I don’t.
***
I decide to go to the party on Saturday after all. Not because I feel like it but because I want to prove something to Jack. And to myself.
My problem is that, if I leave, Mike, the substitute bodyguard, will go with me. And he’ll probably call for back-up, since
it will be so hard to watch me in that setting.
And that would mean Jack wins.
I’m not going to let Jack win at this, so I do the only reasonable thing to do.
I dress up in sexy jeans and a designer top I got this summer in New York, I do my hair and makeup, and then I go out to my balcony.
I’m on the third floor, if I haven’t mentioned it before.
If this were a movie, there would be some way to climb down, a handy trellis or a something. But unless I’m Spiderman, it’s not going to happen.
Defeated, I go back inside and slump onto the couch, glaring at the door where Jack disappeared yesterday.
This whole stupid week sucks.
Then I have a brainstorm. It’s absolutely brilliant.
I go out into the hallway and tell the bodyguard I’m trying to make cookies but I’ve run out of sugar. It’s a ridiculous lie, but this guy isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and he doesn’t look at all suspicious.
He walks with me down to the ground floor, where I knock on the door of Miss Reamer. She’s an elderly woman who is always at home.
She greets me warmly and I ask for sugar. She, as expected, says of course she’ll let me have some but I really have to come in for tea first.
This is what I’m waiting for, so I tell Mike that I’ll be in Miss Reamer’s apartment for a while.
He nods and leans against the wall of the hallway to wait.
I go in. I then make up a story about how this new bodyguard is being “fresh” with me and I’m nervous around him, so I want to get away so I can report him.
She tells me I can call from her apartment, but I do some fast talking and say I’m just too nervous with him outside the door.
She sympathizes at great length and talks it over with me until I come up the plan. I can go out onto her patio and climb over the half-wall into the common lawn and pool area outside. From there, I can get into the garage and get my car to leave.
Miss Reamer approves of this plan and applauds my quick thinking. So this is exactly what I do, after thanking Miss Reamer profusely and telling her to plead ignorance if the bodyguard asks where I’ve gotten to.
I get to my car and am out of the garage in less than five minutes.
Knowing Jack Page 14