“Damn it, are you going to promise you’ll call me tomorrow too?” The stricken look in her eyes guts me. “You keep telling me you don’t want to talk about high school,” I say. “About what happened with us junior year.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Because we were just kids. None of it matters now?” I ask, giving her back the words she’s given to me. When she doesn’t answer, I go on, push harder. “If that’s how you feel about it, then what’s the problem with giving me the chance to explain?” And harder. “If it matters to me, why not give me this one thing?”
“Because I don’t want to hate you anymore!”
I know I deserve it, that I made sure it would happen, but hearing that I’d been successful in making her hate me still wrecks me.
“Laurel, has it occurred to you that maybe I don’t want to hate myself anymore either?”
She laughs, and it’s completely disbelieving. No wonder she won’t give this a chance.
This is going to kill me. “Do you want me to leave?”
If the answer is yes, I’ll go. But I won’t give her up without a fight. Not without this one conversation we should have had years ago.
Shaking her head, she gives a fragile sigh. “Jack, I don’t know what I want.”
I reach for her hands and pull her in a step closer. “Then talk to me. Just this once. Talk with me about what happened. And when we’re done, maybe you’ll know what you want more than you do now.” I swallow. “And if you hate me—” Jesus, I don’t even want to think about it. “If you hate me, I’ll understand. If you hate me, we’ll go our separate ways. No more faking like this is anything it isn’t.”
Big brown eyes meet mine. “What about your deal?”
“The deal’s fine. We’re hammering the last of it out in the next week or two, and my relationship status hasn’t been an issue for a while.” Not since I took Edith to lunch and set my inner fourteen-year-old girl free, giving in to the kind of emotional gush guys generally try to avoid. By the time they were boxing up her devil’s food cake, Edith seemed to get that I wasn’t a good prospect. But even if that wasn’t the case, it wouldn’t matter.
Laurel bites her lip and then nods. “Okay.”
16
Laurel
The last thing I want to do is dredge up the past and be reminded of wounds I’d rather forget. But that’s Jack’s point, I guess. I haven’t forgotten, and I can’t let it go. Not completely. Not enough to really let him in… while at the same time, the idea of letting him go makes me feel so hollow and lost, I can barely breathe.
“I don’t know how to start.” Sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water in front of me, I take a slow breath, avoiding the eyes of the man seated across from me. “I mean, what do you want me to say? What happened between us in high school was shitty. And even though I know we’re not the same people we were back then, it’s not something I like to think about. Especially now.”
He starts to reach across the table like he’s going to take my hand, but he stops short. “Why especially now?”
“Because I like this version of you. I like being part of the vast majority that gets to see the side of you that’s almost as amazing as you keep telling everyone you are.”
There’s a flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips, but it’s short-lived.
“Laurel, for what it’s worth, this stuff with you, the old stuff, I’ve never felt amazing about it. From as far back as I can remember, I’ve wished I’d done things differently with you.”
Nice words, but that’s a lot of history he’s talking about.
“You thought I was joking about the horse thing. But I’ve been playing it wrong with you from day one. Six years old and all I wanted was to get a little closer to you. Figure out a way to stand beside you. Maybe impress you with how fast I could do the puzzle you were working on.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re really going all the way back, huh? Is that why you were constantly taking my toys? Showing off how much smarter you were?”
He rubs a hand over his mouth. “If I were so much smarter, I would have just told you how pretty your hair was and asked if I could sit by you. If I was smart, I would have tried to be your friend instead of moving in on your brother, so you wouldn’t know the reason I was always around was because I liked you. I would have found another way to get you to talk to me than to fight with you.”
“So that’s what it was back in those early days. A crush?”
“Does it really surprise you? I used to feel like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And your brother sure as hell knew.”
My head pops up. “What? No.”
Jack gives me a look that assures me, oh yes. “He was not Team Jack as far as you were concerned.”
“I’m going to have to give him some crap about this.” I had no idea. “How old were you?”
He wags his head, considering. “The first time he called me out? Probably ten. And by then, he’d kind of become more than a vehicle to get to you. We were best friends, and I didn’t want some stupid crush on a girl who couldn’t stand me to mess that up. So I might have gone out of my way to convince him, and me, that I wasn’t interested.”
Memories of Jack at ten years old come at me rapid fire. Building forts, RC cars, triple bounces on the trampoline. In hindsight, I can appreciate what a fun kid he was. How smart. But at the time… “You were such a hellion.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Pot, meet kettle.”
I’d like to deny it, but he’s right. We were a pair.
“You said the first time. When was the last?” I ask, reaching for my water.
“’Bout four weeks ago.”
I choke, sputtering for a second. Jack’s out of his seat in a flash, apologizing as he smooths his hand over my shoulder and arm before giving me back my space.
“Four weeks ago? What did he say?”
His mouth hitches up. “Something along the lines of ‘She doesn’t even like you and she’s doing you a favor anyway, so don’t fuck with her.’”
“Whoa. That is so not Law.”
Jack’s eyes go wide, and then he leans back in his chair, laughing at the ceiling. “How do you not know this? The two of us spent half of middle and high school warning the wrong guys off you.” His smile fades and his eyes go hard. “Or at least trying.”
My smile feels stiff, but I manage to hold on to it. I don’t know if Jack is thinking about the same night I am. If he even remembers what it was that caused that first step on the path we walked for so many years. But based on the muscle jumping in his jaw, I suspect he might.
One thing I never understood about Jack Hastings. For as easily as hurting me had come to him… he’d make anyone else who tried it sorry they did.
He clears his throat and scrubs a hand over his face. “That night after the benefit, I about lost my mind when I found you crying. You don’t even know how many places my head went. I knew you weren’t being straight with me about what happened. And I knew the reason. What was I, except some Jackass who got off on bickering with you and seeing which one of us could throw the lowest blow.”
For a moment there’s only our strained breathing between us. I don’t know if Jack is still waiting, hoping I’ll tell him what happened, but in the end, the only thing I can tell him is this truth. “You were there for me when no one else was, when I needed someone to be. Whatever happened between us after… that doesn’t change.”
“I think you needed someone to be there before that. And no one was.”
I close my eyes, trying to push away the feel of those groping hands, the echo of cold laughter, and the taste of cheap beer I didn’t drink. Trying to forget what it was like to have to sit beside him and “be polite” because we were in public and I was probably “making a big deal out of nothing more than a mixed signal,” to have to let him put his hands on me again for a dance.
One dance, Laurel. Don’t embarrass us.
Thi
s isn’t what I want to think about. Ever.
I push back from the table, fists clenched, and walk over to the window, where the early evening light is still bright, and couples and families and friends talk and laugh about everything that isn’t this.
“I went to your house the next day because I thought maybe you’d tell me what happened. And if you did, maybe I’d be able to do something about it. But even though you wouldn’t talk to me, I swear the minute I walked in, I could see the relief in your eyes. And it fucking gutted me to think that you’d been sitting there alone when you needed someone bad enough that even I could make you feel better.”
“That’s why you kept coming back?”
“At first.”
My stomach hollows. I close my eyes and rest my head against the glass. How am I supposed to listen, when I know this is where the story changes and Jack stops being the hero and reveals himself as the user douchebag who broke my heart?
“Jack, we don’t need to do this.” I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to hear the rest of the story. I don’t want to go through it again.
The scrape of Jack’s chair tells me he’s not going to give me this.
His hands close over my arms, and while a part of me wants to lash out, the greater part of me recognizes his touch for the comfort it is and leans back into his hold.
“I kept coming back because it wasn’t just relief in your eyes when I showed up at your door. It was happiness. And when you started giving me that smile I always wanted and the laugh I never thought I’d earn” —he rests his cheek against the side of my head— “I couldn’t stay away.”
Maybe not then. But he certainly figured out how.
“I wanted you, Laurel. But I was trying to wait. Law was going to be back from Germany in a couple of weeks, and I knew I needed to talk to him face to face. Make him understand that this wasn’t some hookup, and I didn’t think of you like I thought of the other girls. You were the girl, the one I’d wanted forever.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t open my eyes. I can’t do anything but listen to the sound of Jack’s voice as he breaks my heart in the one way I never expected.
“But every time I saw you, it was harder not to touch you.”
I remember the weighted silences and the lingering looks. How it physically hurt waiting for him to make a move. Hoping.
And then, suddenly, it’s all right there…
17
Laurel
Winter Break, Junior Year
This was crazy. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d seen Jack and suddenly, it was like I was going to die if I had to wait even a second longer. I missed him. It didn’t seem like it should be possible, but there it was. I kept watching the clock, getting a little more antsy and anxious with every three, seven, or ten minutes that passed.
Finally, I dug out some butter and eggs from the fridge, hefted the KitchenAid onto the counter, and started measuring dry ingredients.
I didn’t know how to do much in the kitchen, but chocolate chip cookies were the one thing I’d perfected.
By the time the front door sounded, I had a dozen cookies cooling on the counter and a dozen more just going into the oven.
Aware of this boy in a way I hadn’t ever been before, I followed the sound of his steps through the foyer, smiled when they stopped and then picked up faster than before.
A second later, he was sliding through the arched doorway to the kitchen, his eyes zeroing in on the rack behind me.
Okay, so I’d known chocolate chip cookies were his favorite.
“You made me cookies,” he said, a cocky smile slanting across his lips.
Don’t think about his lips.
“I made cookies,” I corrected, knowing he’d see right through me. Realizing it was okay if he did, that maybe I wanted him to.
Jack made one of those guy noises that sounded like it originated from deep in his chest and could mean anything, but usually meant exactly what you thought. Something good. Then he started toward me, eyes shifting from mine to the cookies.
Laughing, I backed up against the island where I’d been working, effectively blocking his path to the tray I’d just pulled from the oven. “They’re too hot, Jack. You have to let them cool.”
Another step. “I like hot.”
I couldn’t help it, something inside me started to hum as I imagined him saying that under different circumstances. Ones that had nothing to do with cookies.
He totally wasn’t stopping.
Giggling, I put my hands up to ward him off, but he’d gotten his eyes on the prize.
His chest met my hands, and my arms crumpled between us as he caught me around my back with one arm and lifted, holding me at his side.
“Jack!” I squeaked, shocked and delighted as he grabbed not one but two cookies and took a huge bite.
He moaned with a smile. “So good.”
I nodded, feeling breathless though I wasn’t even holding my own body weight.
He had a bit of melted chocolate on that full bottom lip, and for a second I imagined leaning forward to taste it there. “You have a little… on your lip.”
My words were quiet, almost shy. Something I’d never been around Jack. But as I pointed to my own lip and watched Jack tuck his to give it a slow lick, my cheeks heated and my belly tensed.
“Did I get it?”
I nodded, afraid to move because I didn’t want him to realize he was still holding me. That he might want to let me go.
“You had one of these yet?” He held the second cookie up before me.
“No. They were too hot.” And I made them for him.
His mouth curved like he could hear my thoughts. “They’re not too hot. Try it now.” He held the cookie in front of my mouth. “Promise you won’t get burned.”
I took a bite, and yeah, I made a mean cookie.
Jack’s hold around my waist loosened, and slowly, he eased me down until my feet hit the ground and again I had to look up to see his face. My hands were still resting against his chest, and his arm was still wrapped around me, but only a ghost of that smile remained. “You’ve got a little…”
I pointed to the mirror spot where his chocolate had been, but he shook his head as he stared at my mouth.
My heart was racing, and my belly felt like it was in some kind of free fall from a ride at Six Flags.
Then, almost in slow motion, he ducked his head to mine and licked at the corner of my mouth. I shivered in his arms, my breath catching as our eyes met from that scant inch apart.
Time seemed to stretch and pull, and then that full bottom lip brushed feather soft against my mouth. Barely a graze, but every nerve in my body was tingling and alive. Another soft brush and then the slow, sinking press of his mouth full against mine, teasing in a gentle rub that I felt all the way through me, that made me want more and—
Beeep. Beeep.
Startled, I jerked back, checking around us to make sure we were still alone. Jack brushed my cheek with his thumb, the dazed smile on his face like nothing I’d seen from him before. I started to lean back into him, pushing to my toes—
Beeep. Beeep.
Oh geez. “Timer,” I said a little breathlessly. Not remembering to actually move.
Jack took a step back, that smile turning sexy. “Save the cookies, Laurel.”
For the rest of the afternoon, I wondered if Jack might kiss me again. I waited for it. But all he gave me were light touches and these pleased looks that made my belly twist and ache for more. And when he left, he caught a bit of my hair between his fingers, wrapping it in a loose loop as he leaned in and dropped a kiss at my cheek before saying goodbye.
The next days were more of the same. I saw a kind of tender sweetness from Jack I’d never expected. A gentle side that made my heart ache even as my body begged for more. And his kisses… they made me melt. But no matter how much I wanted more, he only gave me one before he left. One kiss that seemed to get longer, deeper, hotter every da
y.
Until the night his single kiss burned so hot I was surprised we didn’t leave scorch marks on the wall by the front door. To that point, he’d been so careful to keep his hands above my shoulders, never crossing whatever line he’d drawn for himself. But that night, I’d been the one to cross the line. Instead of resting my hands against his chest or sliding them up to his shoulders, I’d been so lost in his kiss, my fingers had ended up tangling in Jack’s hair, and he’d snapped. The next minute, I was against the wall, my breasts pressed against his chest, each claiming thrust of his tongue giving me a taste of something hot and needy within me.
Slowly, Jack pulled back, his kisses gentling until it was just his breath teasing my lips. He texted me that night, telling me he hadn’t meant to let things go that far.
I texted back that I’d liked how far things had gone.
More than a half-hour passed before I heard from him again. He thought we should slow things down.
I stared at my phone, wondering what happened to the well-documented, fast-moving bad boy I’d been hearing about in hushed whispers in the girls’ bathroom for years.
The next day, Jack texted me early to let me know that, due to some non-specified “stuff,” he wouldn’t be free until later that night. I’d liked seeing Jack during the days when my parents hadn’t been around, and we had the house to ourselves. No one watching, commenting on how well we seemed to be getting along. Or what an appropriate choice Jack Hastings would be. Tainting something that had been kind of perfect. But maybe it was time. People were going to find out about us when break was over. Maybe it wasn’t the end of the world if he came by when my parents were home. Especially since Jack wanted to slow down.
Only my parents weren’t there when he arrived.
“The symphony?” He actually looked pained hearing the news. Probably because he’d been an honorary part of our household long enough to know that the symphony meant they’d be spending the night in the city. And not only were we alone in my house, but we would be the whole night.
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