Kensie’s room was near the kitchen. Light spilled through the crack of the slightly opened door and Jamie pushed her way inside. She froze in wide-eyed horror at the sight of her best friend on her knees in front of her boyfriend. “Holy shit,” Jamie squealed. “Kensington Grace Roth, were you about to suck his dick?”
Kensie blushed, scrambling to her feet, chuckling as she buried her head in Trey’s chest.
“Jesus, Jamie, ever hear of knocking?” he groaned, buttoning his pants.
“The door was open. Also, I’d rather pour bleach in my eyes than see your little friend,” she smirked.
“Jam, did you need something?”
“My leather jacket, have you seen it?”
Kensie nodded, disappearing inside her closet. She returned seconds later with Jamie’s missing garment. “You look pretty,” she said eyeing her friend. “Where are you going?”
“Really babe?” Trey huffed, frustration etched across his face.
“An art exhibit.”
“For work?” Kensie arched a brow.
“No,” Jamie said, checking her phone. Her car was five minutes away. “I’m going with a friend.”
“Lo? How come you guys never invite me to things?” Kensie pouted. Trey stared at his girlfriend, not blinking once, before grunting and stalking off into the living room. Jamie stuck her middle finger up behind his back as he went. She should have felt bad for interrupting them, but Trey was an ass who didn’t deserve a blow job.
“Another friend.”
“Who?” Kensie pressed.
“You don’t know him,” she grinned, checking her phone again.
Four minutes.
“Since when do you have friends I don’t know?” Annoyance rolled from Kensington’s body in waves.
“Ken, we aren’t thirteen.” Jamie didn’t get why she was so upset. They barely saw each other anymore, and it wasn’t like she was leaving the country. She was going to a fucking art show.
“I know, but we are drifting. Who is this person you’re spending all this time with?”
Three minutes.
Trey popped his head back into the room. “Liam just called. You wanna go have dinner with him and Reagan?”
Jamie couldn’t help but chuckle at the hypocrisy. How could Kensie be mad at her for having a friend she didn’t know about, when she was hiding a Liam and a Reagan.
Kensie nodded, waving her boyfriend off. “Don’t look at me like that, Jam, it’s Trey’s brother and his girlfriend.”
“You’re allowed to have friends, Kensington.”
Kensie’s hands flew to her hips. “That’s not what I’m saying and you freaking know it.”
“Freaking? Since when don’t you say fuck?” Trey was turning her beautiful, self-assured best friend, into a proper lady, and it pissed Jamie the freak off.
“I’m not letting you turn this around on me.”
Two minutes.
Jamie slid the jacket around her shoulders. “I have to go.”
“This isn’t over, James.”
“I’m leaving, so it kinda is.”
The car rolled to a stop in front of what appeared to be an abandoned building, located in an up and coming neighborhood. The sidewalk was jam-packed with guys with beards and flannel shirts and girls with multi-colored hair and outfits to match—hipster even by Seattle standards.
Looking down at her all black ensemble, Jamie felt like a fish out of water. She believed in signs, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread engulfing her. Not only was she late, but her run-in with Kensington left her feeling off kilter. Her night was doomed to fail before it began. She exhaled, fighting the compulsion to rub her tattoo against her cherry red lips, and lifted her head high as she walked into the gallery.
The large room was brightly lit. People milled about, stopping here and there to admire the scrap metal sculptures dotted throughout the space. There were two makeshift bars, one towards the back of the gallery and another near the entrance.
Jamie scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face. When she came up short, she decided to make a detour to the bar. A drink would calm her nerves and it would give her the chance to text Ry and let him know where she was.
After she fired off the message, Jamie took her place in line. It moved quickly, and much to her disappointment there were only two drinks on the menu, beer or champagne. She kicked herself for forgetting her flask. She’d need something stronger than champagne to quell the anxiety eating away at her insides.
When it was Jamie’s turn to order, she grinned at the bartender, a boy who looked like he wasn’t even old enough to drink, and said, “Got anything stronger than champagne?”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “I think there’s some vodka at the other bar, for a toast at the end of the night. We aren’t really supposed to give it out before then.”
She swiped a plastic champagne flute from the table and tilted it back, swallowing the contents of the glass in two gulps. “Can I have another?”
The kid looked around, running his fingers through his hair. “We aren’t really supposed to.”
“Please,” Jamie pouted, fluttering her lashes. Flirting with bartenders was her specialty.
“You’re going to get me fired,” he grinned, sliding another her way.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she winked. Not that he saw, his eyes were focused on her tits. She would have told him he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, but that would mean cutting off her alcohol supply and it was going to be a long night.
“What are you doing after this?” the kid asked, more to her boobs than to her face.
“Me,” a grunt came from somewhere behind her.
Jamie didn’t bother turning around. She knew that voice anywhere; it was the same one he used when he was fucking her.
The kid’s eyes bulged out of his head as he looked over her shoulder. “You’re… you…Lithium Springs?” he stuttered.
“You a fan?”
To anyone listening, Ry sounded agreeable, but Jamie knew better. Ryder was an asshole. He may have been nicer than most assholes, but that was like saying Charles Manson wasn’t technically a murderer.
“Yeah, dude,” the bartender squealed. Jamie fought hard to suppress an eyeroll. “I’ve been a fan since battle of the bands. Hey, you don’t want this shit.” He reached under the bar, pulling out a bottle of vodka, and poured two healthy shots.
Asshole.
“Thanks, Bro,” Ryder said looking down at Jamie with a self-righteous expression. If she didn’t need the damn drink to calm her nerves, she would have thrown it in both of their faces.
“Sure thing, Ry. Whatever you need, I’m your man.”
“You hear that Kitty Cat?” Ryder smirked, handing her one of the shots. She knocked it back without flinching, before turning to face the smug bastard. He was dressed in skinny jeans and a white Stone Temple Pilots tee. His skin glowed, tattoos peeked out from under the shirt and his medium length blond hair was pulled up high on his head in a bun. His jaw was set into a rigid line and she fought the urge to trace it with her tongue.
He looked like the serpent in the garden and Jamie was down to bite whatever he had to offer.
“Show me around?” she breathed, trying to shake off the image of his dick sliding in and out of her wetness.
Ryder flexed his hand protectively around Jamie’s waist. “I should bend you over the bar and fuck you in full view of the party just so everyone knows who you belong to.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” she whispered.
He arched his brow, shooting her a look that said, oh really? For a split second, she thought he actually might do it, that he actually might fuck her, right then, right there. The really twisted part, she would have let him.
“Wrong answer, James.” Ryder took his shot and tossed the empty cup in a nearby trash can. His hands found her ass and squeezed hard, pulling her into him. “This is mine.” His mouth hung inches above hers. The
re was a determination in his gaze that made her want to cower. The way he held onto her was obscene. The people in line at the bar were staring, but Ryder didn’t care, nor did he make a move to release her. Their noses touched, his lips parted, and he spoke in a tone laced with so much passion, she struggled to breathe. “You belong to me as much as I belong to you.”
Jamie nodded. All the air left her lungs around the same time reason and common-fucking-sense left her brain. For as strong and domineering as she was to the rest of the world, she submitted to Ryder with an ease that made her uncomfortable. He had the irritating ability to make her feel completely sane and utterly insane at the same time, like the two emotions were best friends, not bitter rivals.
“Good girl,” he grunted, “now let’s go look at some motherfuckin’ art.”
Jamie stood in front of the massive eagle sculpture constructed from feathers and recycled aluminum, one of the fourteen pieces on display. Each piece, varied in size, shape and texture, working together to tell a story, Sins and Virtues.
She couldn’t help but feel exposed as they meandered through the physical representations of her vices: pride, greed, lust, gluttony, anger, envy, sloth; and waded through her shortcomings: humility, liberality, chastity, abstinence, patience, kindness, diligence.
This is my first time seeing these,” Ryder commented, wrapping his arms around her. “They’re incredible.”
“They’re really good,” she agreed, doing her best to keep her voice neutral. Ryder was always affectionate and normally she went along with it—at times she even enjoyed it—but this felt different, too raw, too real. Jamie circled the statue, using her perusal of it as an excuse to shrug out of his embrace. There was a poem on the shiny metal plaque standing in front of the eagle.
I’m fine,
I repeat for the millionth time.
A lie constructed by pride.
Silly little thing,
always keeping me from breathing.
-pride
“Are you okay, Kitty Cat?” Ryder asked, turning her around to face him. His hazel eyes searched hers, concern etched across his face.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She nodded, her gaze drifting back to the plaque.
“Because you’re crying.”
Jamie blinked, surprised to find water leaking from her eyes. “It’s really, really good,” she said, turning away from him, swiping at the hot tears that rolled down her cheek. She was a mess, and in need of more vodka.
Grabbing her hand, Ryder laced his fingers with hers. “You have to let me in,” he begged.
“Why?” she asked taking her hand back. She felt the same way about holding hands as she did about kissing, too intimate. It was too much, the date, him claiming her in front of a room full of people, and those damn sculptures. They haunted her. They howled her story into the wind, spilling the secrets of her soul.
“Because I want to kiss you and hold your hand and I don’t want to have to beg you to do shit with me. I want this to work.”
The devastation on his face almost broke her. “You said you wouldn’t push, but this entire night feels like one big fucking shove.”
Be thankful
Be mindful.
Be kind.
She chanted, but Jamie couldn’t get the self-destructive side of her brain to listen to the rational side. If she wasn’t the cold and heartless bitch she pretended to be, then her emotions would consume her. She hated doing this to Ryder, but she needed to protect her heart.
“I’m being patient,” Ryder whisper-hissed. “I’ve been patient. What the fuck else do I have to do?”
Shaking her head, Jamie sighed, “This was a bad idea.”
Stop talking. Don’t self-destruct, not now. Not with him.
Ryder nodded his head, his sleepy eyes scanning the crowd. “Let me say bye to Nic and the guys, then we can go.” Unspoken promises hung in the air. Jamie could see his gears turning. His plan to fuck her into submission once and for all was written in the air between them. In truth, she wanted him to, but the ball of self-loathing that knotted in her belly, sparked by the emotions Nic’s poetry evoked, had her stomping on the self-destruct button once more.
“Not just the show. This whole thing,” she motioned between them, “us.” The rational angel on her shoulder screamed for her to shut up but of course, Jamie didn’t listen.
She never listened.
“No,” Ryder shook his head. “I’m not letting you off that easy, Kitty Cat.” Broken, honey-colored eyes bore into her green, searching for answers she wasn’t ready to give voice to.
Jamie opened her mouth to speak, whether to fight him or submit to him, she’d never know. Before she had the chance, a man walked up behind Ryder, and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Ry, dude, you made it.” He, like Jamie, was dressed in all black. He wore thick rimmed glasses, but unlike most people in attendance, his looked more practical than fashionable.
Reluctantly tearing his gaze from Jamie, Ryder smiled at the man. It was a smile reserved for those closest to him. “Nic, bro, this is fucking epic. We wouldn’t have missed it.” Ryder said, grabbing Jamie’s hand. “This is Jamie, my girlfriend. Jamie, this is Dominic, the madman behind Sins and Virtues.”
Jamie swallowed past the dry lump in her throat. Girlfriend? The room began to spin, and she did her best to focus on the man in front of her while ignoring the urge to crawl out of her skin. “Nice to meet you,” she extended her hand. She hoped to God it wasn’t too sweaty. “Ryder is right, your stuff is incredible.” She could do this, she could pretend. She was good at pretending: on air, with her family, with her friends. “I work at WSEA-9. I’d love to interview you sometime.”
Work.
Yes.
Work was good.
“I saw the one you did with Lithium. Is that how you two met?” Nic asked. He had curious eyes, the eyes of an artist. Not only was he listening to her, but he studied her, collecting data to fuel his muse.
“Kinda,” Ry chuckled. He dropped his arm around Jamie’s shoulders, oblivious of the anxiety boiling in her belly.
“Excuse me,” Jamie smiled. “I’m going to run to the restroom.” She didn’t have to pee, but she did need a minute. Air, space, whatever. She needed time to process his words. She knew the lines were blurring, but the moniker didn’t surprise her as much as the effect it had on her heart did.
Pressing a kiss on her forehead, Ryder released her. “I’ll go find the guys so we can go soon.”
Jamie turned to Dominic. “Nice to meet you, Nic. I’ll get your info from Ry and I’ll be in touch.”
“Sounds good.” He nodded.
Jamie retreated toward the front of the gallery. Her plan was to stand out in the cool air and over analyze why hearing Ryder call her his girlfriend made her want to throw up and swoon at the same damn time. But first, she needed to make another visit to the kid with the hidden bottle of vodka at the bar.
The crowd had died down over the last hour and thankfully, there was no line. “Hey,” she said as she approached. “Got any more of that Ketel One?” And for good measure she added, “Ry asked me to get one for him and the guys.”
The kid nodded dutifully, reaching under the bar. He filled three plastic cups with the clear liquid, and replaced the cap. “It’s so cool that they’re here.”
“Um-hmm,” Jamie mumbled, consolidating the contents of each cup into one extra-large shot. “Thanks,” she grinned, making her way towards the exit.
The cool night air kissed Jamie’s cheeks and the warmth from the vodka burned her throat. She exhaled for what felt like the first time all night.
Girlfriend.
Would she even be any good at it? What would be expected of her? Normally, when she felt this overwhelmed she’d call Kensie, but lately it was harder and harder to talk to her best friend. It was partly her fault, Jamie knew that, but her pride stopped her.
Silly little thing.
Being in a relationship with Jamie was like playing
Grand Theft Auto. It was all fun and blow jobs until there was a gun pointed at your head.
Kitty Cat never hesitated to pull the trigger.
Ryder thought they were past all the, “I don’t do the boyfriend,” bullshit. He thought they were making progress, slow progress, as slow as Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb, but he was okay with that as long as they were inching forward.
And they were inching forward.
He was her boyfriend in every way that mattered. At this point, she was closer to his mother than he was. If she wasn’t at work, she was with him. Hell, she spent more time cleaning his cum from between her legs than she did at her apartment. Ryder ignored her little meltdown in front of Nic, but now as he watched the blonde retreat to the bar, anger seared his intestines.
“Everything okay?” Nic asked, eyeing him like he was a live grenade.
Ryder bobbed his head up and down, the skin around his mouth stretched into a grimace. “It’s complicated.”
Complicated, the fucking understatement of the century. After a week of begging, he was forced to resort to extortion just to get Jamie’s ass to go to the show. Now she goes and pulls this shit.
He could forgive that she was late, by an hour. He could forgive her flirting with the dick riding bartender, but he couldn’t forgive her denial of him.
“I don’t belong to anyone.”
Bull-fucking-shit.
She was his. He owned her. Was that unhealthy? Maybe. Misogynistic? Definitely. But she owned him too.
“You really got it bad this time, huh?” Nic chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder. Nic, like Ryder’s other friends, subscribed to the notion that he fell in love too easily, but that’s who he was, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.
“Why so serious?” Javi asked, doing his signature Joker impersonation as he and CT sauntered over. Was he really that transparent? He thought he was doing a decent job of keeping his temper in check, but so far he was 0-2.
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