by Ashley Harma
Jackson sighed again, hand up to his hair, and looked at the afternoon sky this time. “Well, if you’d asked me that a couple months ago, I would’ve said yeah. After all, they’re the only parents I’ve known. But,” he paused, taking a sip, “Tiffany’s really opened my eyes up to a lot here, and I won’t say I didn’t know it before, but I will say I didn’t want to think it before.”
Definitely no voicemail, unless her dad was leaving her an incredibly long one. She breathed a sigh of relief. “What’d she open your eyes to?”
“There’s something…” he gruffly shifted positions in his chair. “There’s something cold about them. I can’t quite figure out where it comes from.” Lila thought she understood what Jackson was saying, but she’d knew that he needed to spell things out for himself, so she let him keep talking. “Like, maybe they just weren’t ever meant to be parents, or didn’t really want to be? But sometimes, the way they treat me—the way they’ve always treated me—I feel like a business opportunity to them. Like a machine.” Lila wished she could offer up a disagreement—but she’d picked up on that coldness a little, too. “I don’t know, I guess it’s possible a lot of people don’t feel like kids to their parents but…”
Lila’s breath caught in her throat and tears welled up in her eyes. She’d never verbalized it to anyone, but that was exactly how she felt about her dad, too. Jackson caught the shift in her energy and turned to look at her. “Agh, sorry,” he groaned, “I’m such a dick, sitting here talking about that when my parents are way more parents than your dad’s been for awhile.” Lila nodded, sliding a finger under her eye to catch a tear that was just about to fall, but she still smiled at him.
“Goddamnit, Jackson,” she said quietly, still smiling. “How do you know exactly what I’m thinking?”
He grinned at her. “What, about me being a dickhead or the parents thing?”
She laughed out loud. “Both.” She wacked him in the arm lightly.
“So no voicemail, and no call back,” Jackson said, catching sight of her phone again.
“Doesn’t look like it.” Lila still didn’t feel settled about it though.
“Told you, probably nothing.”
“Hopefully.” She absentmindedly traced the mouth of her beer bottle with a finger. Then, as if it knew it was in the spotlight, her phone buzzed once: a text message. Lila grabbed it and looked at the lock screen. Unknown number, but the text was:
-What do u like 2 do 4 fun? BW
Her body flushed at the intials. BW could only be one person, but she had no idea how he’d gotten her number. Jackson, of course, noticed.
“Who texted you?” he asked suspiciously. Barrett was the one thing Lila’d been a little unwilling to talk to Jackson about, or anyone, really. She knew that everyone hated him—Lucy had given her so much shit that night, she didn’t want anyone else finding out yet, but she figured they all would anyway.
“Uh,” Lila fumbled, “it’s, um—“
“Fuck,” Jackson said. “One of the girls must have given him your number.” He rolled his eyes more for show than anything else, and threw back the rest of his beer. “I’m going to go get another round of these while you deal with the devil over there.” He pushed himself up and out of the patio chair, and padded inside.
Lila tried to calm herself as she typed out a response.
-How’d u get my #?
The bubbles popped up, both in the text box and in Lila’s stomach.
-Ask questions? Is that what u like 2 do? Raechelle.
Raechelle! What a sneak. She retorted:
-What do I like 2 do? Hmm. I like 2 go 2 bed early after a match.
-Here, I’ll go 1st: I like 2 ride my motorcycle & shoot guns.
-Ur redneck’s showing.
-Probably still chafed from ur legs wrapped around it.
Lila’s jaw dropped open in a surprised smile. He was so quick, so antagonistic. She really liked it. She had fun jousting with him. She hadn’t even started typing when his bubbles popped up again.
-I would like u 2 ride my motorcycle & shoot guns w/ me.
Lila started.
-When?
Bubbles.
-How about now?
At that moment, Jackson walked back outside with 2 beers in hand. He looked up and caught the expression on her face, and shook his head.
“Oh no. What?” Lila covered her smile with a hand, looking up at Jackson sheepishly. “Oh my god,” he half-laughed, half-scoffed, sitting back down. “What, are you meeting up with him right now?” Lila put her fingertips to her teeth, feigning embarrassment.
“Will you hate me if I go?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jackson replied curtly, sitting down. But there was a glint in his eye, so Lila knew he was kidding.
“Come on, don’t hate me!” She pouted at him.
“I won’t hate you. I’ll just think you’re an idiot for going around with a guy like that.” He cracked one of the beers open, not breaking his harsh façade just yet.
“Going around with a guy like that? What is this, the fifties?” Lila snorted.
“Tiffany and I are going steady, Lila,” Jackson put on a fake, nasal voice. “I gave her my letterman’s jacket. You should date a nice boy like me.” He sniffled and pretended to push up a pair of glasses.
“So I’m, like, Rizzo in Grease in this scenario, right? I did always like her short hair in the movie.” Jackson finally cracked, laughing at her joke and shaking his head as he took his first sip of the new beer.
“I guess you won’t need this, then?” he motioned to the other bottle.
“I haven’t set anything up yet, so gimme.” Jackson opened it for her and handed it across.
-I could do now, that’ll get me home b4 curfew.
-Where r u?
She looked up at Jackson. “Is it okay if he comes to get me here?” Jackson pretended to spit his beer back into the bottle.
“Lila! No! Don’t you know that if you invite them in, vampires can enter whenever they want?” She wacked him again and he knocked her hand away. “If Prince Warde will deign to come pick you up here, that’s fine.”
“He knows where it is?” she asked. Anticipation was growing within her.
“Mmmhm,” Jackson nodded into his beer.
-The Morans’.
Bubbles. Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles.
-Pick you up in 15.
She set her phone down, taking a big swig of her beer.
“He coming to get you?” Jackson asked, a begrudging tone to his voice.
“Yep, 15.” Lila sat back and pulled her knees to her chest. She hadn’t really been prepared to see Barrett today, but she’d been so excited to hear from him that it hadn’t crossed her mind until now. She looked okay—she had on tight black pants and a new, grey crop top Georgia had wrangled her into buying.
“Girl, if my fucking stomach looked like that,” Georgia’d said about her abs, “I would never put a shirt on. I’d only wear bandeaus.”
Her hair was messy, but whatever. That was kind of sexy, right? She ran a hand through it before deciding to put it up into another high, messy bun.
“Oh god, don’t sit here and primp yourself,” Jackson whined from his seat.
“Sorry! Sorry.” She laughed, grabbing for her beer again.
“I’m sort of kidding,” he admitted.
“Do you really not like Barrett?” she asked, watching him.
“I really don’t. I think he’s an asshole, I think he’s a limited fighter with one move that’s honestly too dangerous if you’re not looking to kill someone, and I think he’s a player who treats women like shit.” He paused, but Lila knew he wasn’t finished. “But, I know what it’s like to have other people tell you they don’t like someone you like. And, most importantly—I don’t think you’ll let him treat you that way.” Lila grinned at him, reaching over to clink her bottle to his. “And I’m interested to see what he does with a woman who won’t let him treat her that way.”
“You better not waste that beer just because lumphead’s on his way to get you.”
“And what does that mean?” Lila asked, eyeing him.
“It means—chug! Chug! Chug!” Jackson chanted at her as she complied, tipping the bottle back and flushing the amber liquid down the hatch. “At’a girl,” he commended her.
At that moment, they both heard the roar of a motorcycle approaching. Lila flattened herself against her chair for a moment, suddenly nervous about seeing him again. What if he took her out to the middle of nowhere, fucked her, and left her there again for some bullshit excuse like he needed to go to bed early? Or, worse, what if he didn’t try to fuck her? Lila pushed the thoughts out of her mind.
“Okay, up and at ‘em,” Jackson called her back out of her head. “Grab your shit and leave with your rebel boyfriend, you dirty, dirty slut!”
“Ha ha ha,” she deadpanned. “Very funny.” But she did jump up and grab her shoes—worn-in black leather boots, thankfully, perfect for a motorcycle ride—and put them on. She put her arms through her lightweight black cardigan. “You’re just mad that Tiffany had family plans this afternoon and isn’t here to hang out with you.” Jackson pointed a finger at her, like you watch yourself, and then gave her a wink and a smile.
“Tell Barrett I said I’d come say hello, but I couldn’t be bothered.” She grabbed her purse and slung it across her body.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll tell him that,” she said as she walked back inside.
“No! Do!” Jackson shouted from the back. “He really will like it!”
Lila grabbed a quick glance at herself in the hallway mirror, the rumble of the motorcycle pulsing through her feet as it pulled into the driveway. Here goes nothing, she thought, and blew out the front door. The valet was on his way to approaching Barrett, but Lila held up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t worry, he’s just picking me up.”
“All right, Ms. Collins. Leaving your car here?”
“For the time being, yeah—actually, is that okay?” She hadn’t even thought to ask.
“That’ll be fine, plenty of room in the garage,” he said. Lila thanked him and turned to the driveway.
Barrett sat, looking as amazing as ever, on a jet black Harley Davidson, polished to a pristine gleam, his helmet resting comfortably against his thigh. He had on blue jeans, motorcycle boots, and a well-fitted leather jacket despite the heat. Lila hadn’t thought he could look any better than he did with next to nothing on, but then again, she’d never seen him in clothes. He made them look good. He grinned at her from behind a pair of classic aviators.
“Jackson not coming out to say hello? Cassandra? Lyle? Where’s the fam at?” He sneered just a little bit. Lila walked towards him, licking her lips subconsciously as the memory of their bathroom stall adventure came rushing back to her.
“He said to tell you the help could enter through the back.” She’d made it to the side of the motorcycle, and whether it was the heat of the engine, or the heat of being near Barrett, something made her instantly warm.
“That’s far too clever for Jackson,” Barrett tipped his sunglasses down to really look at her. “That one had to have come from you.” Lila crossed her arms.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Got a helmet for me on this thing, or what?”
“Scared of a little motorcycle ride?” Barrett smirked. Before Lila could answer, he handed her his helmet. “I don’t blame you. No telling how a psychopath like me might drive. Take mine. I’ll risk it.” Lila received the helmet from him, which was much heavier than she thought it’d be.
“Where are we going to again?” she asked, throwing a leg over the back of his bike and sliding onto it. Her body pressed against his and, despite the many layers of clothing, her sex clenched at just the thought of being that close.
“Shooting range. You’ll see. A favorite of mine.” Barrett spoke to her over his shoulder, and she basked in the precision of his profile for a moment. His nose, his chin, his jawline—the man was sculpted to perfection. A sheen of sweat glistened on his scalp, which Lila could see through his short hair. She wanted to lick every inch of him. Without another word, he turned around and gunned the bike. Lila slipped the helmet over her head and was instantly smothered in his smell—a potent, woodsy musk that smelled like perspiration and cedar. It drove her crazy, and all she could do was wrap her arms around his waist and hold on tight.
They sped out of the gravel driveway, rocks kicking up behind them, and hit the open road.
Chapter Thirteen
Barrett handled the bike like a pro, and it was a smooth, fast ride. If there were no cars—and there weren’t, in either direction, for long periods of time—Barrett would weave rhythmically over the double yellow line, arcing big, luxurious waves across the pavement. Lila had never ridden on a motorcycle before, but this seemed almost easy with Barrett at the helm, and he seemed so relaxed and quiet she couldn’t help but get more comfortable herself. After about a 20 minute ride, he pulled off onto another gravel road and headed down a wooded path to an unassuming, one-story building, made out of corrugated metal. No sign on the front, no markings of any kind. Barrett parked the bike and turned to wait for her to disembark first. Lila threw the helmet off her head, her bun coming loose and her hair flowing everywhere as she shook it out.
“This is it? Where are we?”
“It’s a private place, don’t worry about it.” He sat back on his seat, pushing more into her. “What, are you worried I’m going to kill you and leave you out here?” He laughed. Lila shoved the helmet into his chest a little hard and slid off the seat.
“I wasn’t until you said that,” she replied. She watched him throw his leg over the bike. She wasn’t sure if he was going to kiss her; she knew that she wanted him to. He swiveled to her, giving her a wolfish once-over, lingering over her exposed midriff.
“You should be worried. I’d like to chop you up and eat you—right? Is that what psychopaths say?” He stepped closer to her.
“You’re really gunning for some sort of psychopath nickname here, huh? What, you want me to call you Ted Bundy?” He took another step closer to her. Her breath became more shallow. She wanted to touch him so badly.
“Nah, come on, you can come up with something better than that.” He lingered this close to her for a moment, taking in her face, deliberately focusing on her mouth for a good while, driving her crazy, before he winked and walked off in the direction of the entrance. “This way,” he called behind him. Lila gathered herself, trying to ignore the wet that was already spreading between her legs, and followed him to the door.
He knocked in a pattern of threes on a nondescript grey door, and a sliver of it slid back to reveal the eyes of a man. He recognized Barrett, then looked at Lila.
“Who’s she?” he asked gruffly.
“She’s with me, that’s who,” Barrett said coolly.
“Yeah but who is she?” the man asked again, narrowing his eyes at Lila.
“Come on, Bruce, cut the shit and let me in.” Barrett sighed and unzipped his leather jacket. Lila caught a quick glimpse of his thin, threadbare, grey t-shirt.
Bruce grumbled behind the door and slid the peephole shut. After some banging and turning, the door opened, and Bruce stepped aside to let them in—not without staring Lila down a little bit. She didn’t break eye contact though, just smiled at him as she walked past. Inside was dim, fluorescent, low ceilings. She and Barrett clicked down a long, empty hallway, thin sheet rock walls on the right and paneled windows on the right, looking out onto a long shooting range.
“Ever been to one of these?” he asked as she walked.
“Nope.” She stared through th
e windows. “Never shot a gun before.”
“Never? Aw, baby’s first gun.”
“Baby?” she shoved him lightly. “How old are you anyways?” She realized she had no idea.
“24,” he said, turning off to the right and entering a door that opened up into small lockers and benches. She followed him inside.
“Baby, my ass,” she grinned. He sat down on one of the wooden benches and started to slip his motorcycle boots off, looking at her.
“Yeah? How old are you?” One off, then the other. He turned to a locker and spun the dial on a Masterlock, clicking it open. Inside was a clean, white undershirt, sneakers, and an extra pair of jeans folded up on top of them.
“15,” she said, just to watch his eyebrows fly up in a moment of panic. She broke into laughter. “Gotcha. Wow, you really believed me there for a second? Too easy.” Barrett faked a frustrated growl and pulled her over to him, hands tightly gripped on her ass. He put his face into her stomach, breathing her in as he slid his hands up to her lower back and then down to her ass again. The whole thing with Barrett was such a rollercoaster—one moment he wasn’t paying her any attention, or he was leaving her, panties down, in a public bathroom, and one minute he was clutching her to him like he needed her right there. After a moment, she put her hands on his head, cradling him to her. They sat there like that for what seemed like a long time, but couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds. Then, Barrett pulled away to reach for his sneakers. Lila sat down beside him. She didn’t have anything to change into, after all, so she just watched him.
“You could lose that sweater,” he said as he tied one of the shoes, “and your purse.” She took her purse off and set it on the bench between them. He grabbed it and hung it in his locker. “And the sweater,” he said.
“Do I need to take it off?” she asked, confused. Barrett turned to look at her.
“You need to take it off so I can watch you shoot a gun in a crop top.” That glint, that better-to-eat-you-with smile—Lila wasn’t sure she’d ever get over how sexy she found him. She didn’t want to get over it. She shrugged her cardigan off her shoulders and handed it to him.