Crush

by J. C. Emery

  Shame assaults me for not even thinking about the fact that Jeremy was supposed to be working this afternoon. I know he got in trouble when he picked me up from the Jennings’ house. He was supposed to be on security detail that afternoon, but instead he was picking me up. Dad was so pissed he even grounded me over that because I lied to Dad and told him I begged Jeremy not to tell anyone I’d left the house without a detail on me. Knowing how pissed Dad was that day, I should have stopped Jeremy earlier when we left the clubhouse. If he’s not going to think of the consequences of going rogue, then I’ll have to do it for him.

  “Miss Priss was in trouble,” he says.

  It’s weak, and Duke knows it. He gives Jeremy the riot act about responsibility and makes a snide remark indicating that maybe Jeremy isn’t mature enough for his cut yet.

  “It was a fucking emergency.”

  But Duke doesn’t care. He’s fired up, and it sounds like there’s no stopping him as he says, “Not my fuckin’ problem. Good luck explaining this shit to the Pres.”

  The call ends, and Jeremy just sits there, staring at his phone. I don’t push him to move or speak. I just watch as he mentally chides himself for fucking up with the club. Regret and sorrow fill me up until I’m choking on my own self-deprecation. Maybe I should stop poking into things if having to save my ass every time I find myself in hot water is going to get Jeremy into trouble. If there’s one thing he wants more than anything else, it’s his top rocker. I don’t want to be the reason it doesn’t happen for him.

  CHAPTER 19

  March

  13 months to Mancuso’s downfall

  It’s been bliss, just being with Jeremy these past several weeks. I wasn’t sure about his commitment to us at first. Everything had begun so rocky that I almost couldn’t believe he was for real. Above anything else, I wanted to believe him. He’d confided in me, saved me—more than once—and he’d protected me from my dad and the club finding out what I’ve been doing. But he’s still Jeremy, and his reputation leaves something to be desired. After a few weeks, Holly sat me down and asked me what was going on. Every time he’d leave for work or for home, my mood would make a drastic turn and I’d sulk for the next day or two.

  As a prospect, he’s busy. I get it. Nic just had her and Duke’s baby—a little girl they named Robin. She was born just two days after my eighteenth birthday, and holy crap, is she freaking cute. I’ve only seen her twice in the week since she’s been born, but I love her already. Holly and I went shopping for baby gifts, and I already know Dad’s in major trouble because Holly totally has baby fever. I’d kill for a sibling so that somebody else on this planet can understand the pain of having Sterling Grady for a father.

  When Jeremy isn’t pulling sixty-plus-hour weeks at the shop and doing God knows what else for the club, he’s on baby duty. I just want… time with my boyfriend. And now that I’ve gotten my GED test results back and I’ve passed, I have more time to spend with him—not that I actually spend more time with him since Duke’s passing off baby chores on him. Apparently baby crap smells worse than big people crap, which is nasty. I don’t even know how it’s possible considering the clubhouse bathrooms are always questionably unclean.

  It’s not really club business—making Jer babysit—so technically not a part of his duties with the club, but I’m not about to tell Duke that. I believe the phrase Duke used was “own your balls and asshole.” So instead I whined to Holly about it. I told her all about how I worry what he’s doing when I’m not around, and who he’s doing it with. I told her I want more time with him—more alone time—and that no matter how he swears he’s been faithful, I’m terrified to find out he’s not been. He’s so freaking hot and such a great kisser, and even though I haven’t gotten all that far with his lower half, I’ve seen it up close, and it’s mighty impressive. Then again, what do I know? But telling him it’s big and thick seems to make him happy, so I don’t question my judgment.

  Holly was gentle but firm in her assessment. Part of me wished Grandma had been available to talk to, but when I tried, she didn’t even know Jeremy and I were a thing. She said last she checked, I still hated him after he was an epic douche canoe. She’s been so absent lately that I’m starting to think she’s seeing someone.

  Apparently I was suffering from a bad case of self-doubt, which she drilled into me was only going to serve to hurt my relationship. While Dad never opted to say it to me himself, I’ve overheard him telling Holly that he agrees with her. That was kind of big, because until I had heard Dad admitting he was worried I was going to sabotage my relationship, I was convinced he would’ve been excited if Jeremy and I would break up.

  But that was a few weeks ago, and ever since then, our relationship has been nothing but perfect. I know perfect won’t last, because everybody keeps reminding me the first love is fleeting. Eventually our relationship will have to evolve, or it will end.

  Their words, not mine.

  A firm thud sounds against my bedroom door followed by Grandma’s soft voice. “Knock, knock.” As always, she doesn’t wait for permission to enter. She just does. And she has the nerve to talk about Dad’s manners. But I keep that to myself because she’s been MIA lately, and any time I can score with her—and maybe some of her bomb-ass snickerdoodle cookies—the better.

  Shifting on my bed, I turn to the door and raise an eyebrow in question. She stands with her hand on the doorknob and mimics my look with her own raised brow. “Well, well, well,” I say. “Funny seeing you here. At home. Where you left me. With Dad. And Holly.”

  “Is this your mature way of saying you’ve missed me?” she asks. I check out her outfit and roll my eyes. She has some kind of glitter-glue thing going on that matches on both her jeans and her button-up. It’s all silver and hot pink swirls and flowers and crap that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. I fucking hate puff paint with a passion—and I hate it even more that Holly got her a new set of paints for Christmas. It’s like they’re trying to kill me.

  “Well, like I said, you left me here with Dad. I mean, what did I do to deserve that?”

  She crosses the room and takes a seat at the foot of my bed and smirks. “From what I hear? You’ve done plenty to earn a little time under house arrest. Sneaking beer, cutting class, and being a brat to everybody you come into contact with?” She whistles and then grins. “Your father did the same crap. Good job throwing that back at him. It’s about time he got as good as he gave.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been working on giving him an ulcer,” I say. “But really, where have you been? You keep disappearing. It’s kind of pissing me off.”

  “That’s what I came to talk to you about,” she says. “I love you, baby girl. I do. But I put my life on hold to help your dad raise you. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world, but Grandma is done checking homework and grounding your stubborn ass. You’re an adult now, and you have Holly. Lord knows Sterling won’t be letting her go.”

  “So you’re ditching me?”

  “You’re ditching me, sweetheart. Pretty soon you’ll be off to school in the city.” The mention of culinary school is both exciting and scary. San Francisco is a huge city, and life would just be super different there. I wanted to go when Holly and I first talked about her time living in the city, but now I don’t know.

  “It’s not the same,” I whine.

  “Okay, real talk?” she asks. I nod my head. “I’m tired of hearing my son talking about having sex on every surface in this house. I don’t care how old he is—it’s not something a mother wants to hear.”

  “How do you think I feel? It’s awful! I have to wipe down every surface before I touch it,” I gripe.

  “You mean to tell me that you’ve learned how to clean? Well hell, guess it’s not such a tragedy after all. Besides, you’re escaping soon enough,” she says without any sympathy. “Plus, you don’t need me hovering over you all the time. You’re grown.”

  “Congratulations, you’re the only person who doesn�
�t think I need supervision anymore.” My attitude sucks, I know. But I don’t really care. She basically abandoned me with my father. Who does that?

  “You are just like your dad. If you two weren’t such a pain in my ass, I’d think it was funny. I love you, and I’m not exactly moving out just yet. But this is your dad and Holly’s house. They need time and space to be a couple, and I just don’t think Holly is ever going to think of it as hers as long as her boyfriend lives with his mom.”

  I snort because Grandma has a great way of making Dad sound like a loser. I know I’m hard on him, but I can’t help myself.

  “Can you tell Dad that I’m an adult, please?” I ask.

  “Baby girl, I’d need to be twenty years younger to have enough time on this earth to convince him that you’re not still five years old. Doesn’t matter how beautiful you are or how mature you get. Your dad is always going to see his little pig-tailed, button-nose brat on her first day of kindergarten.”

  “Well, that sucks,” I say. She’s trying to be nice, but I want some alone time with Jeremy, damn it, and she’s not freaking helping.

  “No, baby. It’s one of the best things you could ever wish for in life. He’s nearing forty, but Sterling is and always will be my baby. I don’t care what anybody says. I’ll always remember the day he was born, his first day of school, and every other important milestone he’s had, and I’ll hold those close to my heart.”

  “Lucky Dad,” I say with a biting tone. It’s great that she remembers all this shit about my dad, but I’m betting my mom doesn’t remember a damn thing about me. Not that she was there for any of my milestones, except my birth. I’m pretty sure she didn’t have the option to ditch out of that. Grandma wraps her arms around me and pulls me in. I let myself sink into her and take a deep breath so I don’t tear up.

  “Missing your mom?” she asks. I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to answer that question. I have nothing to miss, but the idea of Grandma being less available is fucked up. It’s making me feel bad, which is why I don’t like talking about Layla. “You got screwed out of a mom, but my son got screwed out of a dad. We do the best we can with what we have, and maybe you don’t have Layla, but you do have someone damn special.”

  “My grandma,” I say. I press my eyes into her button-up to dry the tears that are forming in my eyes.

  “Nah, someone whose clothes you actually want to steal. You have Holly.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do,” I say quietly.

  “You might not understand this just yet, but a mother isn’t always the one who gives birth to you. She’s the one who fights for you even when you don’t want her to, and that woman has been fighting for you since before she even met your dad, and when he got in her way, she ran right over him.”

  She’s right. I do have Holly. And Holly does fight for me. In everything. Truth be told, it wasn’t until recently that I realized how much Grandma’s been gone. She spends a few more minutes telling me how much she loves Holly, not just for Dad, but for me as well. I want to ask her if she’s seeing someone, but I figure I can always get it out of Holly later. She’s likely to be more truthful anyway.

  When she’s gone, I slip back into my thoughts. If Grandma’s dating, that means everybody around here is getting some except for me. Even my freaking grandmother. People with gray hair and wrinkles should not have a better love life than I do. They really shouldn’t.

  The last time Jeremy and I snuck away for a little while, we spent a few hours on Glass Beach just watching the water and talking about everything from his favorite superhero as a little boy to my favorite pastry. It’s sort of become our spot. Somewhere in there we started talking about the future, but that went to a place I don’t really want to go, so I changed the subject, and now I know more about Ryan’s relationship drama than I ever wanted to know—not that I wasn’t already aware of most of it. The future is a scary subject because there’s so much that I want in life, but the only thing I need is Jeremy. And I don’t know how to say that without everybody thinking I’m a foolish child who’s going to regret her choices. I’d much rather stick my head in the sand and let those pesky school deadlines pass so I can pretend I just missed the admissions cut-off as opposed to the truth—that I can’t imagine going to school so far away. Despite how attractive San Francisco once sounded, now it’s just too far away.

  My fingers move swiftly over the touch screen of my phone as I try to conquer the second castle in Level-V of Candy Castle. I now regret gifting Diesel my extra two lives the game had given me when I hadn’t played in a while. I’m low on energy level, and I’ve made a series of ill-timed moves that have my character’s health in the red. My character in the game jumps too soon—due to no fault of my own—and misses the bridge I’m aiming for. A message comes on the screen telling me that I’m out of lives unless I want to buy more credits, so I decide to give up on the game for now. Damn it. I only gave Diesel those lives because he bitched that chicks think he’s a good listener and he can’t properly concentrate on the game when we’re all blabbing in his ears. I had a momentary feeling of guilt that ended with my being more generous than I actually am.

  Now that I’m without the distraction of Candy Castle, I find myself immediately suffering from a bad case of boredom. My fingers twitch and my toes dance in search of purpose. There is nothing to do around this house, except for watching TV or sitting around and talking with the parental units. Neither of which is really all that appealing right now. If I had my way, I’d be lying next to Jeremy, wrapped his arms. Dad gets to live with his girlfriend, so it’s pretty fucked up that I can’t even have some alone time with my boyfriend. We’re both adults for crying out loud. Jeremy isn’t allowed in my room, and I’m certainly not allowed in his. Dad’s taken the “my house, my rules” thing and extended it beyond the laws of reason. It doesn’t matter to him one bit that Jeremy’s room is in Duke and Nic’s house. We’ve been pretty lucky so far with Nic. She may not actively lie to Duke about anything, but she certainly isn’t rushing to tell him the truth about all of our activities either. And even though Nic’s cool about our sneaking off into Jeremy’s room for a few minutes, it’s never enough. I just want some more alone time with him, and I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

  I check the clock to find that it’s after eleven, which means that Dad and Holly are likely in their room. Having sex and the freedom to do whatever they want. Who knows if Grandma is even still in the house.

  I pick my phone back up, open the messaging app, and start to type out a text to Jeremy. But then I stop.

  I’m a legal fucking adult, and this level of strict supervision isn’t necessary. Dad certainly didn’t get this kind of supervision from Grandma, and even though I know very little about my mom’s family, I know she ran wild. There’s no reason I can’t clock a few more hours a week with my freaking boyfriend.

  Frustration builds, and I find myself lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling while resenting every adult around me. It’s not fair. They all get to go out and do whatever they want, whenever they want, and in most cases whoever they want, but God forbid they extend the same courtesies to me.

  So screw this crap.

  I’m done being the perfect little girl who does most of what she’s told. Even though Jeremy has been really understanding with the boundaries so far, I’m getting sick of them. I just want to be able to make my own choices and be treated like the adult everybody tells me I am.

  I want to have sex.

  Jeremy has had sex, which he doesn’t really like to talk about. I’m not really up for hearing about it either, but the irritation of being unable to share that with him is driving me mad. I mean, I guess I know he enjoys it. Otherwise, why would he want to do it all the time? I just want to have that with him. We are so good together in every other way that I want this experience, too.

  I’ve tried to figure things out on my own, for myself, but it’s hit or miss. Tracie told me that I could watch YouTube videos about it
and that the internet has a wealth of information, but that just seems a little bit too pathetic. It’s bad enough to be terrified that I’m not going to be very good for anybody else, but knowing that I can’t even be good for myself makes me want to give up entirely. If I can’t manage to have sex with Jeremy soon, I’m going to just become asexual, if that’s even possible.

  Grandma always says practice makes perfect, so I figure it only stands to reason that I should practice before Jeremy and I get so frustrated that we end up giving up on our relationship altogether. Not that I want to think he will dump me if we don’t have sex, but I’m not an idiot. He’s hot, and he could get it from just about anywhere, especially with that cut on his back. Unfortunately, I know that all too well.

  Without thinking, I hop out of bed, shove my phone in my pocket, and grab my sweatshirt from the back of my door. A pair of flip flops rest a few feet over in front of my dresser. I shove them on my feet without even checking to see if I match and slowly open my bedroom door. I’m practiced enough that I make it down the stairs and through the living room and out the front door without triggering the alarm or making much noise. I’ve timed myself, and I’m now able to get from my bedroom to the front porch and reset the alarm in under forty-five seconds.

  Shrill guitar riffs and a heavy drumbeat sound from the basement level where Dad’s room is, and I say a little thank-you to whoever is listening, because I know from experience that he can’t hear my Bug starting up when his music is that loud. My keys and my license are already in the pocket of my sweatshirt, thankfully. I didn’t even think about grabbing them on my way out, which could’ve turned out really bad. With a practiced ear, I listen to the sound coming from the basement level and wait until the chorus, which seems to be louder than the rest the song. Right when the chorus starts up, I slide into my unlocked Bug, fire the engine, and back down the driveway as quickly as I can without hitting anything. The first few times I tried to sneak out, it was not without disastrous results. I did everything slowly, with fear that I would get caught. But then I finally learned that faster is better, because at least if I get caught, I can get away first and have a chance at freedom. I’ve since had a much higher success rate.