Hold Me Now (A Totally '80s Romance Book 3)

by Addison Moore

  His lips find mine as we roll around in the sand, laughing, kissing, getting lost in our wild lust, declaring our I love yous as if we’re the first people on the planet to do so. It feels like we are.

  It feels right.

  It feels a lot like love.

  * * *

  At noon, we pick Jilly up from her sleepover, and she beams when she sees me.

  “Jenny!” She wraps her arms around me like we were long-lost family. In a way, it feels like we are. We drive back to their house, and Jilly is the first one out of the car. She goes straight for the mailbox and plucks out a letter before making a break for the house.

  Jessie squints out at her as she lets herself in and slams the door behind her. “You notice anything odd about that?”

  “She didn’t demand that I make her a mountain of PB&J sandwiches?”

  “That—and mail doesn’t run on Sundays.”

  * * *

  Dear Katie,

  Jessie and I went to the beach. He said I love you, and I said it back.

  XOXO ~ Jen

  Jessie

  Jennifer Barkly. A goofy grin rides on my lips each time that girl crosses my mind, and seeing that I’m smiling like an idiot twenty-four seven it’s safe to say there isn’t a second when she’s not in my head, in my heart, in that deep unknowable part of me that I didn’t know existed. All of those other girls, those non-relationships, my soul felt hollow, and now I know why. I thought I had it all, but I was missing that all important ingredient, the piece to the puzzle that brought the entire picture to life—love.

  Jennifer and I swim through the week, drowning in our newfound affection, hiding in the halls at nutrition and lunch just to steal another kiss. We took our pictures this week for the yearbook’s Best Of section. Her friend, Heather, took them of Jen and me for Best Dressed, and Russ took one of me for Best Looking. It feels weird owning that category, but it felt pretty darn good sharing the limelight with Jennifer for Best Dressed. It feels pretty darn good sharing everything with her. Now that basketball season is officially over, we pick Jilly up from school together. I help Jen construct that tower of PB&J for my sister, we watch movies, play Atari, and listen to The Beatles. Jennifer brings her records and introduces me to her favorite new wave bands, and now all Jilly does is blast them. She wants to dress like Jen, talk like her, wear her hair like hers. Jilly has finally found that big sister she’s been wanting so bad all these years, and it couldn’t warm my heart more that she found her in Jennifer.

  At night, once Jilly falls asleep, I make Jennifer mine again, running my hands over her body like every night is our last one together. I can’t help feeling like we’re walking on the edge of a cliff. I’ve never fallen in love before. I’ve never felt so happy, so downright thrilled to be alive, on the same side of the planet as this beautiful, beautiful girl. But that sad kid who lives in me, the one a mother couldn’t love, wonders if what we have will last, or if this is just another cruel hoax fate is trying to pull. I hope not. It would destroy me to lose Jen. It would destroy Jilly, too.

  On Wednesday, after weeks of cold shoulders from both Tess and Rachel, the Pop and Lock Princess storms in my direction and thrashes me up against the lockers.

  “Shit.” The horrible rattle causes every head in the hall to turn in this direction. “What the hell?” I would never even consider hurting a girl, so Rachel can pretty much kick my ass around the science building, and I won’t do squat about it. I won’t like it, but I won’t do squat.

  “You shit on me!” She digs her finger into my chest.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” A brief visual of me bedding Rachel runs through my mind, and I quickly sweep it away. Not only did it feel hollow, it felt mechanical. Every time I’m with Jen I feel more alive than ever, awake, high all at once.

  “You slept with that geek!” she spits it in my face and growls.

  “I didn’t sleep with any geek.” I won’t even acknowledge her insult.

  “That Jennifer girl!” She gets up so close she can bite my nose off if she wanted to. “That loser, dweeb-o-rama, barf me out, book nerd, Barkly the Barker!”

  “Get the hell out of my face.”

  Rachel hocks a wet one right into my eye before stomping out of the building. I watch, perplexed a moment, as she’s swallowed into the light.

  And how the hell does she know I slept with Jen? I haven’t told anyone. Jen mentioned she wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with her two best friends. Maybe they made up. Maybe my barbarian of a dick and I were the very reason. An egotistical sense of pride takes over a moment. On second thought, I’m pretty sure none of her friends would trickle this info to Tess or Rachel, different crowd, different ethics. Someone must have overheard. God forbid this has anything to do with Jilly. Only, knowing my twisted little sister, she’d be the first to cheer us on.

  At nutrition, Jennifer and I get together and share a pack of M&M’s before heading to that alcove just shy of her locker. A pack of blonde Barbies strolls past us, gawking and giggling, scooting faster out the door as if there were a fire under their miniskirts.

  “Don’t mind them.” I pull her close. “Russ mentioned the Chess Club is trying to solve the Rubik’s Cube as a group—something about Guinness. I guess it wasn’t enough to have it solved once at Glen.”

  “Right,” she says quietly while eyeing something against the wall. “What’s this?” She heads over to her locker and plucks a folded piece of paper from the air vent. “Is this from you?” She cocks her head in that sweet way that suggests a grand gesture. “You know, you’re proving to be a pretty great boyfriend. I’d even say you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty, but I’m sort of liking it.” She gives a sly wink.

  I’ve been plying her with little gifts, a bean bag Ziggy with an inspirational phrase written on his T-shirt, a Hallmark card that says I care, and I bought a single pink rose and left it on the hood of her car on Monday. I have something extra special that I’m dying to give her—a bracelet from my grandmother on my father’s side. About a month before she died, she told me to give it to someone special one day. I couldn’t imagine gifting it to anyone but Jennifer. But that letter in her hand, it’s not from me.

  “What is it?” I wrap my arms around her waist and tuck a kiss behind her ear. Jennifer’s neck is calling to me, and I don’t think I can hold off any longer. I’ve tried to change, but a part of me demands to suck the hell out of her neckline.

  “Just something…ridiculous.” Her voice grows faint like maybe it’s not.

  “From Heather or Melissa?” I look up at her, hopeful for a second that a reconciliation is in the works. They haven’t spoken in a few weeks, and Russell is ready to knock me into tomorrow. I’m sure Joel will the very next time he sees me.

  “No, it’s just a stupid thing. It’s from journalism, actually. Something to do with the class.” Her eyes grow glassy, and her voice shakes. “You know”—she swallows hard—“I think I need to talk to Mrs. Robins. This is a pretty big project we’re working on, and she might need my help. I guess I’ve fallen behind in my homework.” She pulls away, and I reel her back.

  “Yeah, sure.” I dot her face with a kiss. “Don’t look so worried. I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll work out for the best.”

  She presses her lips tight as she bolts down the hall.

  Journalism homework?

  Why do I get the feeling we just fell off that cliff, and I don’t even know it yet.

  Chapter Eight

  Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?

  Jennifer

  Can’t breathe. I force my eyes to scan the school paper one more time and read that ridiculous Dear Ginny article again.

  Dear Ginny,

  I like have a confession to make. This boy and I have been like pretending to go around just to scam off each other. (I’ll give you a hint—he scored the one and only winning shot in the final basketball game of the season). Anyway, I wanted to get wild before graduation, and,
well, like, believe it or not, he wanted to get mild. (I know, like a totally lame ploy to get into my pants, right?) So, this past weekend, we like sort of took our relationship to a whole new level (on his best friend’s waterbed! Can you say loser city?) The next day, we went to the beach and exchanged those three powerful words, only I didn’t really mean them. I don’t love this guy. Like, fer sure, get serious, you know? I couldn’t. He’s a total douchebag, a player. This is just my way of getting back at him for years of rejection. Like seriously? Who could really love someone whose mission in life is to be just like his daddy—a devil in a suit? It’s like his destiny. He told me so himself. So my problem is, he’s not really my type. I just want to continue to scam off his hot bod—especially the Barbarian he keeps in his boxers. (Yeah, it may be small, but it is mighty!) Anyway, the Genie in my pants really appreciates it. Should I break it off with the loser, or keep him around for kicks?

  P.S. He has this like totally annoying little sister who constantly harps about her dead mom. (Her mother couldn’t even like stand her. Apparently, the pet name Mommy Dearest gave her is appropriately the Little Shit.) So, like anyway, I suggested the brat write the corpse a letter. But I didn’t stop there. I wrote the twerp back from the imaginary great beyond. (Like totally freaky, right?) Do you think I should like stop cold, or pen her one last letter telling her it’s too damn hot down there for me to care about her anymore?

  Signed,

  Confused in San Ramos

  “Holy shit.” I squeeze my eyes shut tight with tears spurting from the sides like they do in cartoons. I need to find Mrs. Robins. I need to beg her to tell me who wrote this piece of crap—even if it is completely anonymous.

  Squeeze’s “Up the Junction” plays gently from a radio down the hall as I barrel toward her room.

  I give a gentle knock to her door, and she holds a hand out. She’s seated behind her desk with a sandwich in one hand, the phone receiver in the other, looking a little perturbed at the moment. I slip back out. It’s probably best if I just take off. It’s not like I can make an entire print run of the school newspaper up and disappear. It’s circulated during nutrition.

  NUTRITION! It’s still nutrition.

  I make a mad dash back into the hall and eject myself out of the building, landing me right at the mouth of Barbie Doll Lane. And like a nightmare unfolding, I see every single student body with a copy of the paper tucked in their hands.

  “Shit,” I whimper.

  Heads turn in my direction as I scoot as fast as I can toward the student parking lot until I remember I’ve been riding in with Jessie all week. Double shit! I’ll walk home if I have to. The whispering taunts of Genie start right up, and even Tits McGee comes back to haunt me. I knew it wouldn’t take long for the school to piece together who scored the winning shot of the basketball game—the only game Glen won—and who his “new girlfriend” was. And I do mean was. Jessie is going to hate me for this.

  The word moded is tossed about loosely by the blooming crowd. I feel exactly that, moded. Although, I’m not sure why. I didn’t write the letter.

  I stop short. Wait—why would he hate me? This is fake! A fraud. Someone out there knows about our silly little nicknames, that we slept together on Russell James’s waterbed. It was probably Heather and Melissa trying to get back at me—for what I don’t know. Maybe this is their immature way of breaking Jessie and me up? But that last part of the letter, the worst part was about Jilly. I’ll die if this ever gets back to her. I’ll kill whoever wrote this crap. It’s too cruel, way too cruel for Heather or Melissa to even dream about.

  “Jennifer!” a girl calls out from behind just as I’m about to cross Senior Lawn.

  “Jen, wait!” another girl cries, and a part of me sighs with relief. If ever I needed my two best friends, it’s now. I turn around just as the two of them wrap their arms around me, and I lose it right here on the exact patch of grass we felt so honored to step on just a few short months ago. September seems so far away. Everything seemed so innocent back then. I would give anything if I could rewind time.

  “What happened? What is this?” Melissa pulls me along as a crowd starts to gather.

  “Where’s Jessie?” I give a rabid glance around. If everyone is in on this, he’s bound to find out any minute.

  “He’s with Russell.” Heather grimaces as if it were worse than it sounds. “Russ said he’s going to kill him for having sex on his bed.”

  I nod as if that were the only next logical step in this already illogical day.

  “What the hell is going on?” Melissa demands. “Did you write this? Who’s Genie?”

  “No.” I slap my hands over my eyes. “I would never. And Genie is nothing anybody should ever know about.”

  “Somebody knows about it.” Heather pulls me in as people begin to shout things about a Barbarian chasing Genie. Looks as if they’ve put it all together. “I have to get out of here.”

  “No.” Melissa pulls me back. “Whoever did this wants just that. You’re going to stay, and we’re going to figure this out. Who did you tell all this stuff to?”

  “No one, I swear it.”

  “Here they come,” Heather pants the words out so fast, rife with genuine worry, that for a second, I envision my very pissed parents stomping on over. But it’s not. It’s much, much worse. Jessie and Russell head this way, both of them very clearly ticked off.

  “What’s happening?” Jessie wraps his arms around my waist. “I know you didn’t write that bullshit.” His Adam’s apple spikes like maybe he’s not so sure. “Tell me who you told that stuff to, and I’ll deal with them.”

  “Nobody knows that. God, none of that was even true.” The bell rings, and bodies spill around us like disorganized ants. “I haven’t breathed a word about any of that.” I latch my gaze onto his and press in with everything in me. Everything was a lie. That stuff about Jilly? I would never say that. I would never do that!”

  “I believe you.” Jessie pulls me in and holds me like that a good long while. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I will shake the shit out of this school until we get to the bottom of this.” His eyes glow like maple syrup in the sun, and I just want nothing else but the world to melt away so I can get lost in Jessie Fox’s eyes. He presses a kiss to my ear and whispers, “You must have told someone something. Just try to remember who.”

  That’s the problem.

  I didn’t breathe a word.

  * * *

  All day, school fucking sucks. I don’t even like using expletives, and yet, there’s no other way to describe this nightmare other than that explicit and the “rife” use of expletives. It fucking sucked, sucked, sucked.

  Jessie and I pick up Jilly like we usually do. Jessie is just as pissed off as I am. We both decided that we wouldn’t breathe a word about the school newspaper to her, but Jessie thinks it’s best if we bring up the letters in the event the freak who wrote that article is actually messing with Jilly on the side.

  We drive back to their house with Jilly chirping happily about her day. Men Without Hat’s belts “Safety Dance” from the speakers, and, ironically, nothing feels safe anymore. We get to Jessie’s house just as Ramona leaves, and I immediately start making Jilly’s favorite after-school snack. I pull the bread out and the jelly from the fridge, and Jessie lands the peanut butter onto the counter. He has that look on his face I’ve only ever seen him have during games, under totally duress, usually when the team is about to lose badly.

  “Jilly, I have to ask you something.” His chest bucks, and for a second, I think he’s going to lose it. “Remember a few months back when Jen started helping out, she had you write a letter to your mom?”

  Her mom? Doesn’t he mean their mom? This entire day is messing with his head.

  Jilly’s tiny features contort as if she’s just been caught.

  “It’s okay,” he says quickly. “I just want to know if you were still doing that—or if there’s something else you’d like to tell us.”


  “I don’t know.” She squints over at me as if this were all my fault.

  Crap. “What is it, Jilly?” I say it a little harder than I meant to. I can feel it coming a mile away. There was really no reason to ask. The freak from the article had struck again. He or she has already been hurting Jilly. A chill runs up my spine, and the next logical step seems to get the police involved—but, if I do that, my parents will hear of it. Everyone will know that Jessie and I had sex. My sweet mellow dad will blow Jessie’s head off with a shotgun, and I’ll be sent to the nearest convent to test market new and improved chastity belts for the rest of my pitiful life.

  “I’m not hungry.” She bolts upstairs, and Jessie and I book after her.

  Jilly tries to jam her door shut, but Jessie wedges his foot in the threshold and barges his way inside.

  “What the hell is going on, Jill?” he barks. Gone is the reasonably calm brother. Jessie is pissed at whoever is doing this, and he’s about to shred the world to pieces until he gets some answers. “Has someone been sending you letters?”

  Her face bleaches out.

  “Oh my God.” I spin around and lose it into my hands. I can’t bear the thought that someone has toyed with Jilly that way. And no matter how hard I try to point the finger at someone else, I can’t help but feel like I’ve somehow put the wheel in motion. The only finger pointing around here should be directed at me.

  “Come here.” Jessie spins me into him and holds me there. “Jilly? Show me the damn letters before I lose my head.” There’s a quiet restraint in his voice that lets me know he wanted to say far worse things than that.

  Jilly ducks under her cotton candy pouf of a comforter and lands a pile of mail onto her mattress. “I got these.”

  Six long slender envelopes stare back at us with a flowery girly penmanship that looks startlingly like my own.