by Katie Wismer
Grey offered her his hand as they climbed out of the bus, and he led her toward the tree line. There had to be at least a dozen other people there, all of whom whooped at the sight of Grey. He high-fived and nodded as they passed, but he didn’t stop. He continued to lead Jo toward the trees, murmuring, “We’ll do introductions in a bit.”
She heard the roar of the fire before she saw it. Nestled near the edge of the cliff sat a generous bonfire, surrounded by large stones and fallen tree trunks for seating. They paused beside it, and Johanna couldn’t help but stare off the edge of the cliff—cliff being an extremely generous term since these mountains severely paled in comparison to the ones she was used to back home in Colorado—but the sun setting behind the hills in the distance was certainly nothing to scoff at. Electric hues of orange and pink bled across the sky, tinging the entire world red around them.
“So.” Grey stepped up beside her and tucked his hands in his pockets. “What do you think? Will this do?”
She leaned her shoulder against his. “Better than the dive bar, I’ll give you that.”
He grinned, and the flickering light from the fire flashed off his profile. “I’ll take it. You want to come meet the rest of the band?” He escorted her back through the trees, one hand steady against the small of her back. Their first stop was at a cooler to grab a couple of beers—thank God. A man and a woman nearby inched over as Grey popped the top off a bottle and handed it to Jo.
“You must be the famous Johanna,” said the man. He was almost exactly the same height as Grey, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Grey was all angles and hard lines, this man had a round face and boyish smile. He held out a large hand for her to shake. “I’m Eric, United Fates’ manager. And this is my lovely wife, Gwen.”
Jo had to force her eyes not to bulge at the word wife. How old were these people? How old did they think she was? She shook his hand and smiled at Gwen, who didn’t look much older than Johanna was with her short, black bob and sparkly eyeshadow.
“Famous, huh?” Jo asked, glancing at Grey out of the corner of her eye. “Should I be concerned?”
Eric clapped Grey on the back and winked. “Very.”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, Eric?” Grey asked.
“Ah, yes, pick on the old people.” Eric threw his arm around Gwen’s shoulders and steered them in the opposite direction. “Believe it or not, one day soon, you, too, will be twenty-eight. Have fun tonight, kids.”
Grey smirked and nodded toward a man leaning against a tree a few yards away. “That’s Pete over there—he plays bass. Eric is his older brother.” He made the rounds, pointing out and naming the rest of the people in the clearing. “I’d take you over to introduce everyone,” he murmured, suddenly standing right behind her. “But they’re all notoriously chatty.” His hands found her waist, and his chest pressed against her back. “And I’d much rather have you to myself. Especially if I’m still on that one-hour time limit.”
Jo laughed, and her cheeks warmed at how breathless it came out. “Considering you ate up twenty-five minutes getting here, and it’ll take twenty-five minutes to get me home, that would leave you with…ten minutes.”
His lips brushed the back of her ear, and she felt his breath on the back of her neck. “Would you be oh-so generous, Johanna, to allow me a little more time tonight?”
She took a swig of her beer, pretending to consider this, and leaned back a little against his chest. “Only if you make it worth my while.”
Once the last of the light drained from the sky and the temperature plummeted, everyone crowded around the fire. Jo and Grey claimed the log facing the cliff as the rest of the group loitered near the edge, laughing and tipping back cans of beer. One of the girls came around and held out a bag of marshmallows to Jo, though her eyes were on Grey as Jo reached inside and pulled two out to roast. The girl walked away and joined the rest of the crowd wordlessly. Grey hadn’t introduced Jo to anyone else, and none of them had tried to come over. Jo shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Here,” Grey murmured as he slipped his leather jacket around her shoulders. She nestled into his side, but refused to look at him despite feeling the heat of his gaze on her face. Instead, she stabbed a long stick through the marshmallow and leaned forward to hold it over the fire.
“I’m sorry about all of them,” he added after a minute. “They can be…unwelcoming sometimes, especially when they’re all drunk. It really isn’t personal.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he stared back, his expression serious. “But they’re your friends,” she said slowly.
He inclined his head, but pressed his lips together like maybe that wasn’t exactly true.
She turned back to the fire, focusing on getting the perfect brown edges on her marshmallow in hopes that it would distract her from the twisting in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t the not talking that bothered her. Well, not entirely. It was the looks she’d catch them shooting over their shoulders. The whispers they shared after they looked away.
Grey met her eyes again. A small, soft smile crossed his face, and she realized she was probably making a big deal out of nothing. Seeing into things that weren’t even there. Maybe they were just trying not to intrude on her date with him.
The fire crackled, filling the air around them with smoke. Grey reached over and brushed a hand against her thigh as he angled his head back to look at the stars. They weren’t far enough removed from the city for a completely clear view, but the stars were much brighter here than Jo could see from her dorm. She studied Grey’s profile, the soft set of his features when he thought no one was looking.
Once the marshmallow was properly roasted, Grey pulled it off the stick and smashed it between two graham crackers for her. She quickly took a bite to keep the gooey marshmallow from dripping, but all that accomplished was smearing it on her face.
“I’m very classy,” she said around a mouthful.
Grey smiled and leaned in until he was just inches away, so close she could see the dance of the flames reflected in his eyes. His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a moment, and his smile shifted into something much less innocent. He crossed the rest of the distance between them, but instead of his mouth finding hers, he leaned down and slowly licked the marshmallow off her chin. He leaned back just enough to look into Jo’s eyes, and she licked the remaining crumbs from her lips, every nerve in her body suddenly warm.
He reached up, cupped the side of her face with his palm, and slowly brushed her lips with his thumb. Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned forward again. Her eyes fluttered shut as she waited to feel his lips against hers, but…it didn’t come.
She blinked her eyes open just in time to see a slow smile spread across his lips. Then it hit her—he was toying with her. He was enjoying whatever this game was, probably just to watch her squirm. She was about to pull back when he slid his hand up her thigh, and he leaned forward again, this time crushing his mouth to hers before she could even think about it.
She stayed stiff for a moment, more confused than anything else. But then his teeth dug into her lower lip, and the taste of him filled her mouth—beer and smoke and chocolate—and despite the small voice in the back of Jo’s mind reminding her they were surrounded by his friends, as his hands slid under the hem of her shirt and found the bare skin of her back, she melted into his chest. It was nothing like the clumsy kisses she’d had before. Every movement was sure and measured. Every sweep of his tongue, every graze of his teeth. She gasped, breathing in the breath he was breathing out, marveling in the heat of his hands as they traveled across her skin. And she realized every part of this was deliberate—every pause, every touch—it was like a game to him. A perfectly choreographed routine.
And for some reason, she didn’t want it to stop.
“You want to go grab another beer?” he murmured against her mouth.
Unable to speak, she nodded. She wasn’t sure if he actua
lly wanted a beer or just an excuse to leave, and she found a small part of herself hoping for the latter. If people turned to look as they left, Jo didn’t notice. Grey adjusted his jacket on her shoulders as they stood, then took her hand as he led her back through the trees. The air was noticeably colder now that they were away from the fire, and she huddled against his arm for warmth. He went straight past the clearing with the cooler and toward the parking lot, and Johanna’s stomach flipped.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured. “But I have much better beer in the bus.”
He didn’t turn on the overhead lights as they climbed inside, leaving only the movie theater strips to light the way. He pulled two beers from the mini fridge—a brand Jo had never heard of before—but didn’t let go of her hand. He set the beers on the bar and pulled her closer until she was standing just inches away from his chest.
“I think the beers can wait, don’t you?” he asked.
She barely had time to nod before he pinned her against the wall and covered her mouth with his. His teeth dug into her bottom lip as he yanked the jacket from her shoulders and tossed it aside. She started to trace her hands up his chest, but he grabbed her wrists and pulled them above her head. Every nerve in her body was on fire and desperate for contact, and she arched against him. He pulled her away from the wall, spinning them both around so he was sitting on the couch and she was straddling his lap.
As his lips trailed down her jaw, he let his teeth scrape along the side of her throat. She tilted her head to the side, granting him better access, her breaths seeming so much louder now in the quiet. His hands held her firmly on his lap, then slowly trailed up her hips, finding the sliver of skin between her jeans and the hem of her shirt.
Finally, she managed to catch her breath. Everything was happening so fast, too fast, like the room was spinning. She could only half remember how she’d gotten there. She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed back, just an inch. He licked his lips as he looked up at her.
“Not tonight,” she breathed. “I don’t want to do this—not tonight.”
“Okay.” One of his hands slid up her back and rested just behind her neck. “But does that mean I have to stop kissing you?”
She bit her lip and slowly shook her head.
His hold on her tightened, and the smile that overtook his face was feral. “Excellent.”
6
Senior Year - March
“Jo, we really need to talk about your taste in hookups.” Miller strode into the newspaper office even more disheveled than usual. His navy button-down was wrinkled and half tucked into his jeans, his hair sticking straight up on one side.
Luckily, it was still half an hour before the meeting, so no one else had shown up yet. Jo was sitting at the front of the room, feet propped on the table, scarfing down her microwavable lunch while she studied for a graphic design quiz. Mustering any motivation when graduation was so close was nearly impossible, and Jo’s eyes kept drifting from her textbook to the window at the back of the room. It was a perfectly sunny day, and the back quad was flooded with people laying out on blankets or throwing Frisbees around. She could probably get some good shots—
Miller slammed a piece of paper on the desk in front of her and pointed at it.
“What am I looking at?” she asked without actually looking at it.
“What grade did you get on your paper for Wells’ class?”
She shrugged. “A B.’”
“Look.”
Sighing, Jo let her feet fall to the floor and leaned forward. “Yikes.” A large, red F was scrawled at the top of Miller’s page. Jo did a quick scan of his opening paragraph and frowned. “Wait, this is way better than mine—ohhh. Jordan.”
Miller snatched the paper back. “Yeah, oh.”
Jo drew her shoulders up to her ears and grimaced. “You should go talk to Professor Wells. The second he reads your paper, he’ll know that isn’t the grade you deserved. I’ll go with you and explain things, if you want.”
Miller shoved the paper back in his bag. “I’ll go during his office hours later. How stupid does Jordan have to be to think I wouldn’t talk to Wells?”
Jo perked up. “Maybe he’ll get fired. Can TAs get fired?”
“I hope so,” muttered Miller as he pulled up another chair and collapsed next to Jo. He glanced at her sideways. “You know that’s supposed to be my chair, right?”
She spun around in a circle. “But it’s the only one that swivels.”
“Which is why it’s the Editor in Chief’s chair.”
“Well, today it’s the Photography Director’s chair.”
Miller shook his head, but even as he turned his back to dig through his bag, she could tell he was smiling. He whipped out a folder and tossed it on the table. “Do you have those layouts for me, Photography Director?”
Jo slouched a little lower in the chair. “Don’t you have anything better to do than haggle me on my lunch break?”
Miller gave her a pointed look. “Jo, our final issue is coming up, not to mention the final showcase—”
“Please don’t remind me. My parents are flying in for that.” She pursed her lips. “Well, so they say. We’ll wait to see if they cancel last minute. And you know I’ll have the issue ready in time. I always do.”
Miller eyed the napkin where Jo had discarded the mushrooms from her lunch. “Are you going to eat those?”
“Ew, obviously not.”
Miller shrugged and pulled the napkin toward him. “How’s your portfolio coming? Think you’ll have it ready in time for the showcase?”
Jo sucked her teeth. “It’s fine as it is, I guess. I’m doing a shoot with that cool yoga studio by the lake this afternoon. So hopefully I can get those shots ready in time. But if not…” She flung her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Mediocre may have to do.”
Miller snorted. “Your portfolio is hardly mediocre.”
“But it’s not outstanding, which is what I’ll need to grab the attention of all the magazines and recruiters coming for the showcase. Did I tell you Sandra Simone is coming?”
Miller popped a mushroom into his mouth. “That photographer you’ve been salivating over for the past year?”
“I would kill to work with her after we graduate. I’d be an unpaid intern, a personal assistant, certified bitch-boy, anything. I need to figure out some way to stand out at the showcase.”
Miller nudged her with his elbow. “You want me to pretend to be a crazy fan to impress her?”
Jo snorted and stabbed a carrot with her fork. “Only if you cry and make it look really realistic.”
“I hate to brag, but I did take an acting class my freshman year of high school.”
“Oh, wow. So you’re clearly the most qualified for the position.” Jo tilted her head back and batted her eyelashes. “Whatever would it take to convince you to help me?”
He shrugged and ate another mushroom. “I’d have conditions for the agreement, obviously.”
“Obviously. Name your terms.”
“One”—he held up a finger—“you’re buying the fries for the rest of the semester.”
She inclined her head. “Fair enough.”
“Two, you have to be my date to that god-awful formal I have to attend with the rest of the Criminal Justice department.”
She waved a hand. “I already assumed as much. Continue.”
“And finally.” Miller paused, his eyes squinting as if debating his next words. “You have to get the fuck out of my chair.”
Jo lingered behind as the meeting wrapped up and the room filled with the sounds of shuffling papers and scraping chairs. There was a class block right after this, so most people had places to get to. Since Jo was nearly done with all of her credits already, her Monday/Wednesday/Friday schedule was pretty light aside from a morning seminar, these weekly meetings, and her independent study. The rest of the staff headed for the door, a much larger crowd now than it had been when she and Miller joine
d as freshmen. Ever since Miller took over the paper last year, their staff had multiplied—mostly of the female variety—which was a blessing and a curse. The paper was definitely better for it, and they were able to put out more content each week, but Jo’s patience could do without as much human interaction and incessant questions from the clueless freshmen.
“Hey, Jo.”
She turned at a tap on her shoulder. Gracie, one of their columnists, stood there with her teeth dug deep into her lower lip. Her curly blonde hair was yanked back in two tight space buns today, and they bounced along with every movement of her head.
Jo threw her backpack over one shoulder and her camera bag over the other. “What’s up, Gracie?”
Gracie shifted her weight back and forth, seeming to grow more anxious by the second. Miller was still by the table at the front and met Jo’s eyes over Gracie’s head. He pinched his lips together to suppress the amused smile threatening to break out. Miller seemed to think it was hilarious that all of the freshmen were slightly terrified of Jo, but Jo really didn’t get it. Sure, she found them a little exhausting to deal with, but she was always nice to them. She couldn’t judge them too harshly. Her freshman year had been…a trip, to say the least.
“Feel free to say no,” said Gracie. “But I have to find a photographer to shadow for my Intro to Photography class, and I was wondering, well, if you wouldn’t mind—”
“You free this afternoon?” asked Jo.
Gracie froze mid-word, her mouth hung wide, and blinked a few times before responding. “I—yes.”
“Do you have a car?”
“Well, yeah—”
“Great.” Jo patted her on the back and headed for the door. “You can drive me to my shoot.”
Gracie hesitated only a moment before scurrying after Jo, who shot Miller a quick wave before slipping into the hallway. Jo slowed her walk just enough to hear Gracie’s flip-flops frantically slapping against the ground behind her before shoving through the exit door and heading toward the quad.