by Mia Kayla
“Jimmy.” I tugged at his wrist, but he didn’t budge. Anxiety began to rise in my throat as my stomach churned. I could predict what was going to happen next.
I reached for his arm, pulling it toward me, but it didn’t budge. Jimmy worked the muscles of his jaw as he curled his fingers into a fist.
My pulsed increased as my awareness of my surroundings heightened.
“Please, Jimmy,” I begged, silently praying that Jimmy would calm down. I didn’t want to witness Stewart getting beaten to a pulp.
The sound of my voice finally registered, and Jimmy relaxed slightly, pivoting in my direction. I was certain it had taken all his willpower to do so. He reached for my hand to walk way.
Then, someone yelled, “He’s just pissed Brason screwed his girlfriend.”
I turned to see who had spoken, but I couldn’t tell. The room was too packed and somewhat dark.
The scowl on Stewart’s face told me there was some truth in that. “You’re a piece of scum, Brason.” He spit on the floor, the pool of saliva landing right by Jimmy’s foot. “You’re just like your father. You’re going to end up just like that fucker, a washed-up football player. Everything he touches turns to shit. People like you think you’re a god. You like to take things that aren’t yours just like your deadbeat dad.”
Jimmy clenched his jaw, and I could tell he was about to lose it. I squeezed his hand and yanked him as hard as I could in the other direction.
Then, I stepped directly in front of him to break his focus on Stewart. “Let’s go. I came here to see you, not a fight.”
“Go leave and screw your whore,” Stewart sneered.
Jimmy flipped around, released my hand, and planted his legs wide apart as he stared Stewart down like a bull about to be released from his pen.
“Go up to my room, Boo. I’ll be up in”—he glanced at his watch on his wrist—“one minute. I’m sure this won’t take long.”
No! I tried to pull him back again, using all my upper body strength. He didn’t shift an inch, and my heart rate increased as my eyes darted between them.
Stewart’s eyes shot in my direction. His look gave me goose bumps but not the good kind.
“Go upstairs, sweetheart. When he’s done, I’d like to take a turn.”
I didn’t even have time to contemplate what was happening before Jimmy charged Stewart, tackling him to the ground. He rammed his fist into Stewart’s face. Stewart kicked Jimmy off and continued to taunt him. Jimmy just plowed him into the floor again.
“Jimmy!” I screeched. I couldn’t do anything but stand there, my mouth open, but in the next second, realization set in. Jimmy was going to give this guy a good beat down.
I kept hearing the impact of Jimmy’s fists pummeling into Stewart’s face. I glanced frantically at the crowd just standing there, making a circle around this spectacle, like this was normal.
When Jimmy stood, I reached for him, panicked and needing this to end. Either from the adrenaline of the fight or thinking I was someone else, he elbowed me, jabbing me hard in the ribs, and I fell back, hitting my head against the hardwood floor. Pain raced down my back from the impact.
Turning, his eyes widened at me crumpled on the floor. “Shit.” He reached for my elbow, helping me stand.
Almost as if he’d forgotten Stewart completely, he put a hand under my knees and scooped me up into his arms. With new purpose, he marched through the crowd, upstairs, and into his room, slamming his door behind him.
Inside the dark room, he gently set me at the edge of his bed. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Boo.” His chest heaved in and out as if he’d just run a race. There was sweat on his brow, but otherwise, he was unscarred. Bending down, his eyes scanned my body, his big hands framing my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
When I nodded, he stood and paced the other direction. He fisted the top of his hair as I watched his breathing slow.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“Jimmy?” I said quietly.
This was the part where I would scold him for fighting. I’d played this role so many times back in high school, but when he glanced back at me, when I called his name, his eyes were unreadable.
“I didn’t know,” he insisted. “I didn’t know they were together.”
“What?”
“Jen, uh…Stew’s girlfriend.” He shook his head. “She told me they broke up.”
He stood there, looking like he was in pain, and I slowly stepped toward him. Then, I saw it. As our eyes locked, vulnerability shone in the span of brown staring back at me.
He’d been with her. It felt like I’d gotten punched in the gut when I thought about it but seeing the sadness in his eyes, I pushed down my feelings to comfort him, because that’s what we’d always done for each other.
“Damn it, Boo.” He hung his head like he was that abandoned boy again. “I’m not like him. I swear it. I’m never going to be like him.”
“I know,” I softly told him, gently stroking his arm.
“No, Boo.” He shook his head like I didn’t get it and met my eyes. “Everyone thinks I’m going to end up like him, but I’m not.” There was a tightness in his stare. That look and the tone in his voice were determined to make me believe him, to convince me, to convince himself.
But I already knew he wasn’t his father. He could never be.
“It’s not going to happen, Jimmy. You’re already ten times the man he was.” My voice was firm.
He had to trust that I believed him, but his eyes wavered.
Jimmy’s neck was stiff, his veins sticking out. His whole body was tense as if he were about to bolt any minute.
I reached for his fisted hand and forced it open, locking our fingers. The air between us was thick, charged with something I couldn’t name. The next second, I pulled him into me and rested my head on his chest. I didn’t know if being in his arms was for his benefit or mine. All I knew was that I didn’t want to see that insecurity on his face.
After a minute, his whole body relaxed, his shoulders going limp. “I hate him.” His voice was soft but full of conviction, and I knew he meant it.
He dropped his head into the crook of my neck and wrapped his arms around my lower back. He inhaled deeply, and when he exhaled, his breath tickled my neck.
“I know,” I whispered as I rubbed his back.
Seeing the doubt in Jimmy’s eyes, I truly understood the deep heartbreak his father’s indiscretion had caused his family. Jimmy had been burned by his father’s betrayal, and it broke my heart to see him doubting himself now because of it.
He pulled me closer, tighter against him. It was as if I were his anchor, and he’d fall if he let me go.
He held me in silence until finally his breathing returned to normal.
I angled my head to peer up at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to kill anybody tonight?” I said jokingly, yet I was totally serious.
“Not tonight,” he replied with a little humor. “But only because you’re here.”
The dimple was back on his cheek, but I could still read a hopelessness in his eyes, which caused a heaviness in my chest.
I pulled back and extended my pinkie. “Never.”
He frowned. “Never what?”
“I’m never going to let you end up like him. You won’t anyway,” I added quickly. “But if you start to stray, I’ll reel you back in. It’s listed under my best friend honorable duties.”
He attempted a pitiful smile and wrapped his pinkie around mine.
“Should we stay up here all night?” I asked, glancing around the dark room. Only a sliver of moonlight shone through the slit in the thick curtains.
Part of me wished he’d say yes. A movie in his room sounded much more appealing than a party full of frat boys. But if we did just that, I knew he’d be overthinking things. He’d continue to let himself be haunted by his crappy dad.
When he didn’t answer, I sucked up all my courage and prepared to
make the best of this night. “You know what? I think I want to party. This is my first frat party, right? Show me how these things work.” I forced a grin to make my lie believable. I needed to erase that desolate look on his face. Fake it to make it, right?
After a beat, he said with slightly amused shock, “Bliss Carrington wants to party?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, grinning for real now because my plan was working.
“Well then, I’m your guy.” He hooked his arm around my neck and led us back downstairs.
To our relief, Stewart had left, so the party had returned to its rambunctious but fun atmosphere. While we drifted through the frat house, his brothers slapped him on the back, congratulating him on beating the crap out of Stewart.
I shook my head at their enthusiasm on the fight. Guys were so stupid. Why did they do that?
Jimmy’s face showed no reaction. He’d stop and have this look in his eyes as if he were thinking deeply about something. But the next minute, that look would be gone. I sensed he was still thinking about his loser of a father.
In no time, Jimmy started pounding back drinks. When he finished one, some guy would hand him another, and he’d just guzzle it down, crushing the Solo cup once it was empty.
I should have stopped him. Maybe I should have scolded him like a good friend would have, but there was something about his demeanor that made me think he needed to let loose. So, for once, I shut my trap.
It seemed like he was having fun, goofing off and clowning around with his buddies, but his eyes told a different story. The vulnerability from earlier was still there. That was another reason I’d let it go even though I knew I’d be the one taking care of him later.
“You okay?” he asked, peering over at me.
“Yep,” I said, giving him a thumbs-up. I noted that my watch said it was midnight.
This is going to be a long night.
He’d ask me the same question every fifteen minutes, and I’d give him a thumbs-up and utter the same answer. The more beers in his system, the glossier his eyes would get.
Forty-five minutes later, he asked me the same question, slurring, “Y-you o-tay?”
Instead of answering him this time, I reached for the beer in his hand. “Jimmy, I think you’ve had enough.” It was time to pull the best friend card.
He closed his eyes as though they were too heavy to keep open. I thought he’d argue, but he grabbed my hand, led me to the couch, and sat down. I watched him tip sideways then try to sit upright. He failed. When I sat beside him, he rested against me for support and shut his eyes.
“Jimmy.” I nudged his shoulder to wake him up. “Hey,” I said, shaking him.
He slumped against the couch and started snoring lightly. I huffed with annoyance, realizing this was the beginning of a really long night.
Great. Just great.
Thirty minutes later, as Jimmy snored louder against my shoulder, I caught the attention of two of his frat brothers. I asked them to help me get Jimmy to bed.
The equally wasted frat boys carried Jimmy’s dead weight up the stairs.
“I-I got this. I okay,” Jimmy slurred.
When he kept repeating himself, I rolled my eyes. He totally didn’t have it.
The two big dudes carried Jimmy by his shoulders as Jimmy’s head hung, lolling back and forth.
They plopped him at the foot of the bed, and I filled their vacancy as Jimmy leaned into me.
“Thanks.” I nodded to them.
They nodded their heads, gave me a curious look, and shut the door behind them.
I pushed at Jimmy’s shoulders, using all my girlie strength to keep him upright. Jimmy’s eyes fluttered open for a moment. Then, he rested his forehead against mine and closed his eyes again. I could smell the beer on his lips, and the scent mixed with his cologne. He was drunk beyond belief. I wondered if this was his weekend norm here. I’d have to talk to him in the morning and set him straight, scold him like a good friend should.
He continued to mumble things I couldn’t understand.
“I’ve missed you,” was all I understood.
When I shifted, he dropped his head back, almost hitting it on the footboard before I set him upright.
“Crap.”
He was dead weight, but I used up the rest of my power to push him back, letting him plop on the bed with a big thud, his head hitting the pillow.
Oh, thank God. I’d been legitimately worried that I wouldn’t be able to get him in the bed.
I knelt on the mattress, lifted one of his legs, and tried to pull off his shoe. “God, Jimmy, what have they been feeding you? Ugh.” After doing the same with the other foot, I threw his gigantic shoes across the room. One shoe banged against his desk and landed on the floor.
His shirt reeked of beer, and it needed to come off. I didn’t want to feel like I was sleeping next to a keg all night. Staring at his massive chest, I contemplated whether I should remove his shirt or just let him sleep. I decided he’d be more comfortable if he didn’t smell like beer, and I’d sleep more soundly.
I straddled him, and started to pull his shirt up, revealing his perfectly toned abdomen. My breath caught as I took in the sight of him. His body was perfection. With my fingertip, I traced the lines of his stomach, all eight defined abs. He’d been working out since the beginning of high school, and I’d wager even more now.
I’m sure his coaches push him hard, I thought as I drank him in.
Slowly, I ran my finger down the front of his chest, which felt forbidden somehow, but every part of me wanted to touch him in a way I never had before, like that Jen girl had. I wanted to stake my claim over him.
Too bad I’m only brave when he’s drunk and passed out.
When he mumbled something incoherent, I froze and then jerked my hand away. My pulse quickened as though I’d been caught. I watched his eyelashes flutter in his sleep. His mouth opened slightly, and I could hear his deep breaths—in through his nose and out through his mouth. When he stilled and his soft chatter ceased, I blew out a breath and then went back to the task of removing his shirt. After exerted effort, I was able to get his arms through. The rest of his shirt was still stuck around his neck.
Now, how do I get it off his heavy head?
I brushed the back of my hand against the side of his cheek, feeling scruff against my fingers. His lips were pink, the bottom lip fuller than the top, and my imagination went wild as it had many times these past couple of years.
I wanted to kiss him just to know how it would feel to kiss the boy I’d been utterly in love with for as long as I could even remember. Even though I didn’t know it, that love had always been there just beneath the surface of our friendship.
I placed my index finger on his mouth and outlined his bottom lip, the one he used to jut out every time his mom had grounded him from his video games.
I leaned in, and although I wanted to kiss him, meet his lips, I knew it was wrong when he was anything but sober. So, I lowered my head and kissed his cheek instead.
As my lips touched his cheek, I felt his fingertips against my waist, and I froze. My pulse skyrocketed as his hands inched underneath my shirt, touching my flesh, caressing the bare skin of my lower back.
I stopped breathing.
Is he awake?
He mumbled something unintelligible again, nothing I could decipher, as his hands moved to the middle of my back just below the clasp of my bra. I pulled back to see if he was alert, but his eyes were shut.
I tried to move, but his arms tightened around me, caging me in, pulling me flush against him. His lips found the tender spot of my neck. When I felt his tongue against my skin, my body overheated. I was on fire.
All at once, he started to gyrate his hips underneath me, and I gasped.
What the hell should I do?
He continued to mumble as my heart beat wildly, thumping uncontrollably in my chest.
I didn’t have enough time to process anything before he flipped me onto my back, a
nd all at once, his lips were on mine—soft, gentle, and caressing. I didn’t even have time to react. My hands stayed at my side. I was utterly still. My thoughts were a jumbled mess. It was as if my brain had shut off, and I couldn’t think clearly enough to come up with a plan.
Part of me wanted to be drunk, too, even though I didn’t drink. Then, I could let my inhibitions go, pretend he wasn’t drunk, and touch him like he belonged to me. I wanted to pretend he was mine even if it was just for one night.
All I could hear was my heart beating loudly in my chest, so hard I thought it would burst out and land on the duvet. His lips moved against mine but mine remained unmoving. I was still in a stupor.
“Mmm,” he groaned. “I want you.”
You do?
A sensation of warmth flooded my body.
I want you, too. God, do I.
But I couldn’t do this. It was morally wrong. He was drunk. As much as I wanted him, he wouldn’t even remember. And then where would our friendship be?
As I was about to push him away, his hands moved from underneath my shirt up to my face, framing it with his fingers. He used his knee to spread my legs, cradling himself right below my hips. I felt him hard against my jeans as he continued to rock his hips against me.
He must have thought I was someone else or maybe he was dreaming. I had no idea. Either way, his lips and the way his body was moving above me ignited a hunger I’d never felt inside of me before, firing up the deepest part of my core.
“Open,” he commanded, flicking his tongue to find passage in my mouth.
And because I trusted him and because I wanted to, I did just that. I opened to let him in.
Oh God.
His lips were soft, delicious. I couldn’t help the moan that slipped out as our tongues twisted and danced together, my whole body turning liquid beneath him. As I loosened, letting him take the lead, I melted into his hold. A tingling feeling spread throughout my body, and I was hypersensitive everywhere he touched. After a minute, he started to get more insistent. His hands were at my back, grabbing desperately at my bare skin. He tasted of beer and mint as he teased my tongue with his.