Pieces Of You: Pieces Duet Book 1, page 10
“Accosted?” He shakes his head, eyes dropping to my cleavage.
“Perv!” I release his shoulders so I can push him away, but he’s a solid wall. A statue. “Do you have the time?” I ask, changing the subject. “I need to work today, so…”
He drops his hand from my waist when he rears back, and I’m suddenly cold. Not just from the water but from his lack of touch. “What time do you have to leave?” he asks, adjusting the fancy watch on his wrist.
“The bus comes at three.”
He taps his watch a few times, then says, “I’ll give you a ride.”
“You don’t have to—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You work too much.” He sighs, shifting closer. “Don’t you ever just want to be a kid?”
God, what I wouldn’t give… “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. I’ve thought about what I’d reveal to him, should our conversations ever get deeper than they have, and I still haven’t come up with an answer. “I’ve never really been a kid.” It’s more than I expected to give him, and I hope it’s enough. For now, at least.
His head tilts to the side, eyes assessing. “What do you mean?”
My gaze drops to the little space between us. “You know what?” I say. “You’re right. I do want to be a kid, at least until I have to go to work.” And because I don’t have the courage to face him, I move away, floating on my back toward the other end of the pool. He follows, of course, walking swiftly beside me. “Question,” he states, and I settle with my head against the wall, hands gripping the edge of the pool. Legs kicked out in front of me, I squint to fight off the sun beaming down on me. He asks, “How does the whole emancipation thing work?”
I peer over at him and give him a half-hearted shrug. “You just have to explain your situation—dying mom and no other family, in my case—and then you have to prove that you’re financially able to take care of yourself and not rely on government handouts.”
“That’s it?” he asks, and I nod. “And you can do that? I mean, prove you can support yourself?”
I nod again.
“So… you’ve saved up enough money from working at the diner…” He sounds skeptical. I would be, too.
“Not really,” I tell him. “But Zeke vouched for me, said I’d always have a job if I needed it.”
“You wash dishes, right?” he asks.
My eyebrows bunch as I glare at him, confused as to where the hell he’s going with this.
He’s still standing beside me, his gaze switching from my legs to my face, skipping all the parts in between. “Wouldn’t you make more money being a server? You’d at least get tips that way.”
I snort, drop my feet to the pool floor and hold my dress down beside my thighs. “Why are you so obsessed with my finances?”
He laughs once, moving an inch closer. “I’m not, Nora. It’s just that you work so many hours, and it doesn’t give you a lot of time to do anything fun.”
Fun? There’s that word again. I raise my eyebrows. “I’d hate to think of what your definition of fun is.”
He steps closer again. “What if I invited you to watch my football game?”
“Why the hell would you want me there?” I scoff.
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. What if I invited you to a party or something?”
My nose scrunches at the thought.
He chuckles, low and slow. “Or what about a date?”
Now I’m the one laughing, loud and unrestrained.
He pokes at my side. “What’s so funny?”
“You?” I say, pointing at his chest. “Taking a girl on a date?”
“I date,” he states, matter-of-factly.
Well, color me shocked. “You do?”
“Yeah, if I like a girl, then we date, Deloris.”
“Ah, so the sexcapades are just for the times in-between.”
He’s watching me, staring again. “Pretty much, yeah.”
There’s one thing about Holden that I’m utterly jealous of: his ability to not give a shit about what people think of him. I find it fascinating. And admirable. “Huh.”
“So?”
I glance sideways, then back at him. “So… what?” I hesitate to ask.
His exaggerated eye roll makes me giggle. “What if I asked you on a date? Could you get time off work?”
I sigh, give in to the truth—even though it’ll hurt me. “You don’t want to date me, Holden.”
Clearly perplexed, he stands right in front of me, his hands finding my waist again. “Why not?”
Because I’m so many levels of fucked-up, he can’t even begin to comprehend. I don’t tell him that. Obviously.
At my non-response, he says, “You know Dean said something similar.” My gaze drops, and he bends his knees, ducking, so I have no choice but to see him. “He said that I wouldn’t be able to handle you.”
I hate the weakness in my voice when I tell him, “He knows you better than I do, so maybe he’s right.”
“Hmm,” he says. Then adds, “And he knows you better than I do, right?”
“I guess.”
Holden shakes his head, then cracks the tiniest of smiles. “Hey, remember when you kissed me?”
I roll my eyes, a short laugh bubbling out of me. “We’re back to this again?”
“I’m pretty sure I said that I liked you because you were complicated.”
“Yeah, right before you said that you like the way I challenge you.” I find the courage to look up at him, right into his eyes. “Is that what I am to you—a challenge you have to win?”
“God, you’re annoying,” he almost growls, his arms tightening around me, leaving nothing between us. “Why are you like this?”
This time, my laughter comes from pure nerves. “I wish I knew.”
“Well, knock that shit off.” And before I can stop him, his hands are gripping my thighs, forcing them apart so he can settle between them.
I instinctively wrap my legs around his torso while he presses into me, and I can feel the effects I’m having on him, feel his hardness bear down on my center. My entire body flushes with heat, my eyes drifting shut at the contact.
Without actually kissing me, Holden presses his lips to my shoulder, then up my neck until his mouth’s at my ear. “Whenever you’re ready to beg me to bend you over that workbench and bone you, just let me know.”
“Shut up,” I laugh out.
His shoulders shake with his chuckle as he holds me tighter.
“Hey, Holden?” I say because I can’t seem to shut up, either.
Lips on my jaw—so, so close, he croaks out a “Yeah?”
“You’re hugging me.”
He runs his nose along mine, lips skimming my mouth, his heated breaths falling shallow against my face. “I’m well-aware.”
I tug on his hair, pulling him back until his eyes settle on mine. And then I smirk. “Are you thinking about me naked yet?”
He laughs under his breath, his mouth on the crook of my neck again. I run my hands through his hair, eliciting a moan from deep in his throat. I feel the sound in areas I’m too ashamed to admit. “Actually,” he states, moving from my neck to my ear. And then his fingers dig into my thighs as he says, “I’m wondering what these thighs would feel like pressed against my ears while I slowly lick the entire length of your pussy.” He pulls back, eyes half-hooded. And then he blinks.
Once.
Twice.
And just like that, the moment’s gone.
Holden drops my legs, and I drop the idea of what fun could mean. He looks at his watch just as the alarm goes off. “But we don’t have time right now, so…”
He hops out of the pool and then offers me his hand. Once upright and poolside, he keeps me close, eyes holding mine, searching, right before he asks, “Did the shit with Dean make you afraid to try again?” He shakes his head quickly. “Not necessarily with me, but just in general?”
The single act of shrugging reveals my truth.
He sighs. “He broke your heart, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” I admit. “He kind of annihilated it.”
Holden sucks in air through his teeth but keeps his eyes on mine. “You know they say time heals a broken heart…”
“They say that, huh?”
He releases me to make a show of cracking his knuckles. “Time can heal broken arms and legs, too, Jamie.” His lips form the slightest hint of a smile. “You just say the word and I’ll finish that motherfucker for you.”
19
Holden
Jamie doesn’t say a word on the drive back to her house. She does, however, draw. With a black pen pressed to her thigh, she makes magic with her fingers. I almost veer off the road multiple times because I’m too fucking focused on her, and she’s too focused on her task that she doesn’t even realize we’re at her house until I practically slam on the brakes.
Driving was a distraction, and the sooner I stopped, the more I could watch her. But now we’re here, and she’s pushing her dress down, throwing the pen back in her bag, and it would be crazy of me to beg her to keep going, right?
Before I can contemplate it, she’s opening the passenger door and turning to me. “Did you want to come in?”
Only if you keep drawing. Clearly, I need to get out of the part of my brain that she seems to have overpowered.
I get out of the truck and meet her at the front door, where I watch her slide in the key, turn it, yank at the handle, kick at the bottom, and then finally push that fucker open.
The inside of her house is… white. And immaculate. And completely clutter-free. Not at all what I had pictured the few times I let my mind go there. There’s a small living room with a couch, a white coffee table, and a TV on a bookshelf—also white. The kitchen’s on the left, and to the side is a hallway, which I assume leads to the bedroom and bathroom. The space is compact, but it’s more than enough for one person. I wonder for a moment how it felt when her mom was around.
The house gets blanketed in darkness when Jamie closes the door behind us, then flicks on the light switch. Nothing happens. “Oh, no,” Jamie says, flicking the switch on and off a few times. “I swear I paid the bill,” she murmurs, and my stomach sinks as I watch her use the flashlight on her phone to go to the kitchen. She pulls out a folder from a cabinet, and I go to part the curtains. No light comes through because a piece of cardboard covers the entire window.
The cardboard, too, is white.
“Too many creeps around,” she mumbles, and she’s too distracted by whatever she’s doing; she doesn’t seem to notice the visceral reaction I have to that one statement. “I knew I paid it,” she almost yells, and then she just stands there, in the dark, her figure only half illuminated by the light of her phone.
“Maybe it’s a mistake,” I offer. I don’t really know how this shit works. The only times I’ve even looked at a bill was when I went through Dad’s finances at the farm to make sure he could make it through another season.
“It’s never happened before,” she says, and I wish I could go to her, comfort her somehow, but I’ve never really been that guy. At least, not with anyone besides Mia. Dean is that guy. But Dean is also a dick, so… “Shit…” She grabs her keys from the kitchen counter and marches back toward me, grabbing me by my arm, before leading me to her front door. She turns and yanks on the doorknob three times before it finally swings open, and Dean should’ve fixed the fucking door for her.
By the time we get outside, her nails are digging into my forearm, but she’s so clearly pissed, I’m afraid to even mention it. “Stop me from killing him,” she says over her shoulder, stomping through the trailer park and past a group of trailers way beyond their life expectancy.
“Killing who?” I ask, wincing when her fingernails dig deeper. I can’t even imagine how we must look. Me at 6’4” and her at tiny—dragging my gigantic ass across the dry, dirt ground. She stops at a trailer at the front of the park and slams her fist on the door. “Calm down,” I tell her, and if looks could kill… she just knocked me out with a single glare. And also maybe gave me a half-chub because Angry Jamie is insanely hot. I’ll be sure to tell her. Later. When my life or the life of whoever is on the other side of that door isn’t in question.
A guy in his mid-thirties answers, dressed in boxer shorts and what I’m sure was once a white tank top. “’Sup, Jamie?” he says. “Got rid of that preppy asshole, I see.” His gaze drops to her tits, and I take a step forward.
“You shut off my power, Jayden?” Jamie sneers.
Jayden shrugs, pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, and sparks it. Through a ribbon of smoke, he says, “And water.”
“Why?”
“You were short on your rent.”
“It was twenty dollars!”
“Still short.”
I pull out my wallet and hand him a fifty. “Here, turn it back on.”
“Holden!” Jamie yells, but the guy’s already taken it from me.
“Can’t,” he says. “Maintenance is out until Monday morning. I’ll make sure he gets to it first thing.” He slams the door in our faces.
Jamie turns to me, that glare in place, arms crossed over her decent rack. “You just gave him fifty dollars.”
“I know.”
“Don’t fucking do that again, Holden!” She’s beyond pissed, and now she’s storming back to her house, dirt flying with each one of her stomps. “I don’t need you or anyone else saving me.”
I tell her, “It’s just money. You’ll pay me back.”
She spins on her heels so fast I almost knock into her. “That’s not the point!”
Oh, God, she’s about to cry. I cannot see her cry. I clear my throat, stand taller. “You’re very pretty.” What the fuck is wrong with me?
“What?”
“I mean, you’re insanely hot when you’re mad like this… but… but you’re pretty always.” Shoot me. In the head. Right now. “I just thought you should know…” Jesus Christ. Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking!
Big hazel eyes, blink, blink, blink. Again and again. Until the tears are gone. Thank God. “Well… thank you.”
I shrug, my muscles loosening with relief. “You’re welcome.”
She starts walking again, this time with more reasonable steps. “I mean it, though, don’t do that again.”
“Okay,” I say.
“And I’ll pay you back.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
Back at her house, she walks through the darkness, down the hallway, and into her bedroom, and I follow because… to be honest, I’m still sporting that half-chub, and her dress is still damp, clinging to parts of her I’ve thought about way too much since she kissed me, and I kissed her back.
She uses her phone as a source of light while she goes through her drawers, and I take a moment to look around the room, using my phone for light. Like the furniture out in the living room, the bed is white, wrought iron with brass toppers on the corners. It’s so lush and fancy and seems so out of place; it makes me question who she really is. If you take away the reality of her situation, is this the kind of stuff she’d like to surround herself with? The sheets, too, are white, and I sit on the edge of the bed, run my hands across the soft material. There’s a small dresser with a mirror—guess what color—and on the dresser is the only thing in the room that isn’t white. It’s a small box, most likely for jewelry, made of dark wood, with a carving of a single flower. A dahlia if I’m not mistaken.
She drops her clothes on the bed beside me, the black garments a complete contrast to everything else. “I have to get dressed,” she states, standing in front of me.
“Who’s stopping you?” I challenge, but she’s clearly not in the mood. I sigh, thinking about my next words for all of a millisecond. “I’m about to do something insanely creepy here, and I’m going to need you to let me. And in return, I’ll let you hold it against me for the rest of my life.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “The rest of your life?”
I nod, then settle my hands behind her thighs, bringing her between my legs.
“Holden,” she warns.
“Relax, Jamie,” I mumble, eyes on hers as I bring my hand to the front of her leg, just under her dress. “If I was going to finger fuck you or taste between your legs, I’d have done it at the pool.”
“You’re so crass,” she states, but there’s not even a hint of disgust in her tone.
“Yeah, and you’re not the slightest bit mad about it, are you?” I lift her dress, slowly, so slowly, loving the way her muscles tense beneath my touch, the way her breaths become short, ragged. Her forearms land on my shoulders, and I dip my head forward, just under her breasts, and I breathe her in: sunshine and solace.
“Creep,” she whispers, and she has no idea.
I grab my phone, open the camera app, and take a picture of her thigh, of her art. Of her masterpiece. She’s drawn the profile of a girl’s face, a girl so similar to herself. Large flowers with matching leaves cover the back part of her head, where her hair should be, both in front and behind the figure, and it’s… “It’s beautiful, Jamie.” I pull back, release her completely, and try to maintain some form of composure. I don’t know what it is about this girl and her art that has me so drawn to them both. I clear my throat, push aside all those thoughts. “You’re taking art, right?”
“Yes,” she says, stepping back. She stares down at her hands—such dainty, gifted little things.
“Is that what you plan on doing? Like at college, or career-wise?”
Shifting from one foot to the other, her words are quiet when she says, “Not really. I draw as an escape and sometimes as a necessity.” Her nose scrunches, shifting the freckles on her cheeks. “But it’s not really a passion or something I want to do for the rest of my life. Besides, I don’t know if I’m good enough.”
“Jamie.” I make sure her eyes are on mine when I tell her, “If you never believe a single word I speak ever again, believe me when I tell you that you are good enough.” She stares at me with blank confusion. “I mean it,” I say, getting animated. “I’ve never once looked at a piece of art and felt anything… and when you do it, it’s like… like…” How the fuck do I even describe what it’s like to need to rush home from school just so I can open my desk drawer and peek at her work? “It’s like feeling everything all at once…”
“Perv!” I release his shoulders so I can push him away, but he’s a solid wall. A statue. “Do you have the time?” I ask, changing the subject. “I need to work today, so…”
He drops his hand from my waist when he rears back, and I’m suddenly cold. Not just from the water but from his lack of touch. “What time do you have to leave?” he asks, adjusting the fancy watch on his wrist.
“The bus comes at three.”
He taps his watch a few times, then says, “I’ll give you a ride.”
“You don’t have to—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You work too much.” He sighs, shifting closer. “Don’t you ever just want to be a kid?”
God, what I wouldn’t give… “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. I’ve thought about what I’d reveal to him, should our conversations ever get deeper than they have, and I still haven’t come up with an answer. “I’ve never really been a kid.” It’s more than I expected to give him, and I hope it’s enough. For now, at least.
His head tilts to the side, eyes assessing. “What do you mean?”
My gaze drops to the little space between us. “You know what?” I say. “You’re right. I do want to be a kid, at least until I have to go to work.” And because I don’t have the courage to face him, I move away, floating on my back toward the other end of the pool. He follows, of course, walking swiftly beside me. “Question,” he states, and I settle with my head against the wall, hands gripping the edge of the pool. Legs kicked out in front of me, I squint to fight off the sun beaming down on me. He asks, “How does the whole emancipation thing work?”
I peer over at him and give him a half-hearted shrug. “You just have to explain your situation—dying mom and no other family, in my case—and then you have to prove that you’re financially able to take care of yourself and not rely on government handouts.”
“That’s it?” he asks, and I nod. “And you can do that? I mean, prove you can support yourself?”
I nod again.
“So… you’ve saved up enough money from working at the diner…” He sounds skeptical. I would be, too.
“Not really,” I tell him. “But Zeke vouched for me, said I’d always have a job if I needed it.”
“You wash dishes, right?” he asks.
My eyebrows bunch as I glare at him, confused as to where the hell he’s going with this.
He’s still standing beside me, his gaze switching from my legs to my face, skipping all the parts in between. “Wouldn’t you make more money being a server? You’d at least get tips that way.”
I snort, drop my feet to the pool floor and hold my dress down beside my thighs. “Why are you so obsessed with my finances?”
He laughs once, moving an inch closer. “I’m not, Nora. It’s just that you work so many hours, and it doesn’t give you a lot of time to do anything fun.”
Fun? There’s that word again. I raise my eyebrows. “I’d hate to think of what your definition of fun is.”
He steps closer again. “What if I invited you to watch my football game?”
“Why the hell would you want me there?” I scoff.
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. What if I invited you to a party or something?”
My nose scrunches at the thought.
He chuckles, low and slow. “Or what about a date?”
Now I’m the one laughing, loud and unrestrained.
He pokes at my side. “What’s so funny?”
“You?” I say, pointing at his chest. “Taking a girl on a date?”
“I date,” he states, matter-of-factly.
Well, color me shocked. “You do?”
“Yeah, if I like a girl, then we date, Deloris.”
“Ah, so the sexcapades are just for the times in-between.”
He’s watching me, staring again. “Pretty much, yeah.”
There’s one thing about Holden that I’m utterly jealous of: his ability to not give a shit about what people think of him. I find it fascinating. And admirable. “Huh.”
“So?”
I glance sideways, then back at him. “So… what?” I hesitate to ask.
His exaggerated eye roll makes me giggle. “What if I asked you on a date? Could you get time off work?”
I sigh, give in to the truth—even though it’ll hurt me. “You don’t want to date me, Holden.”
Clearly perplexed, he stands right in front of me, his hands finding my waist again. “Why not?”
Because I’m so many levels of fucked-up, he can’t even begin to comprehend. I don’t tell him that. Obviously.
At my non-response, he says, “You know Dean said something similar.” My gaze drops, and he bends his knees, ducking, so I have no choice but to see him. “He said that I wouldn’t be able to handle you.”
I hate the weakness in my voice when I tell him, “He knows you better than I do, so maybe he’s right.”
“Hmm,” he says. Then adds, “And he knows you better than I do, right?”
“I guess.”
Holden shakes his head, then cracks the tiniest of smiles. “Hey, remember when you kissed me?”
I roll my eyes, a short laugh bubbling out of me. “We’re back to this again?”
“I’m pretty sure I said that I liked you because you were complicated.”
“Yeah, right before you said that you like the way I challenge you.” I find the courage to look up at him, right into his eyes. “Is that what I am to you—a challenge you have to win?”
“God, you’re annoying,” he almost growls, his arms tightening around me, leaving nothing between us. “Why are you like this?”
This time, my laughter comes from pure nerves. “I wish I knew.”
“Well, knock that shit off.” And before I can stop him, his hands are gripping my thighs, forcing them apart so he can settle between them.
I instinctively wrap my legs around his torso while he presses into me, and I can feel the effects I’m having on him, feel his hardness bear down on my center. My entire body flushes with heat, my eyes drifting shut at the contact.
Without actually kissing me, Holden presses his lips to my shoulder, then up my neck until his mouth’s at my ear. “Whenever you’re ready to beg me to bend you over that workbench and bone you, just let me know.”
“Shut up,” I laugh out.
His shoulders shake with his chuckle as he holds me tighter.
“Hey, Holden?” I say because I can’t seem to shut up, either.
Lips on my jaw—so, so close, he croaks out a “Yeah?”
“You’re hugging me.”
He runs his nose along mine, lips skimming my mouth, his heated breaths falling shallow against my face. “I’m well-aware.”
I tug on his hair, pulling him back until his eyes settle on mine. And then I smirk. “Are you thinking about me naked yet?”
He laughs under his breath, his mouth on the crook of my neck again. I run my hands through his hair, eliciting a moan from deep in his throat. I feel the sound in areas I’m too ashamed to admit. “Actually,” he states, moving from my neck to my ear. And then his fingers dig into my thighs as he says, “I’m wondering what these thighs would feel like pressed against my ears while I slowly lick the entire length of your pussy.” He pulls back, eyes half-hooded. And then he blinks.
Once.
Twice.
And just like that, the moment’s gone.
Holden drops my legs, and I drop the idea of what fun could mean. He looks at his watch just as the alarm goes off. “But we don’t have time right now, so…”
He hops out of the pool and then offers me his hand. Once upright and poolside, he keeps me close, eyes holding mine, searching, right before he asks, “Did the shit with Dean make you afraid to try again?” He shakes his head quickly. “Not necessarily with me, but just in general?”
The single act of shrugging reveals my truth.
He sighs. “He broke your heart, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” I admit. “He kind of annihilated it.”
Holden sucks in air through his teeth but keeps his eyes on mine. “You know they say time heals a broken heart…”
“They say that, huh?”
He releases me to make a show of cracking his knuckles. “Time can heal broken arms and legs, too, Jamie.” His lips form the slightest hint of a smile. “You just say the word and I’ll finish that motherfucker for you.”
19
Holden
Jamie doesn’t say a word on the drive back to her house. She does, however, draw. With a black pen pressed to her thigh, she makes magic with her fingers. I almost veer off the road multiple times because I’m too fucking focused on her, and she’s too focused on her task that she doesn’t even realize we’re at her house until I practically slam on the brakes.
Driving was a distraction, and the sooner I stopped, the more I could watch her. But now we’re here, and she’s pushing her dress down, throwing the pen back in her bag, and it would be crazy of me to beg her to keep going, right?
Before I can contemplate it, she’s opening the passenger door and turning to me. “Did you want to come in?”
Only if you keep drawing. Clearly, I need to get out of the part of my brain that she seems to have overpowered.
I get out of the truck and meet her at the front door, where I watch her slide in the key, turn it, yank at the handle, kick at the bottom, and then finally push that fucker open.
The inside of her house is… white. And immaculate. And completely clutter-free. Not at all what I had pictured the few times I let my mind go there. There’s a small living room with a couch, a white coffee table, and a TV on a bookshelf—also white. The kitchen’s on the left, and to the side is a hallway, which I assume leads to the bedroom and bathroom. The space is compact, but it’s more than enough for one person. I wonder for a moment how it felt when her mom was around.
The house gets blanketed in darkness when Jamie closes the door behind us, then flicks on the light switch. Nothing happens. “Oh, no,” Jamie says, flicking the switch on and off a few times. “I swear I paid the bill,” she murmurs, and my stomach sinks as I watch her use the flashlight on her phone to go to the kitchen. She pulls out a folder from a cabinet, and I go to part the curtains. No light comes through because a piece of cardboard covers the entire window.
The cardboard, too, is white.
“Too many creeps around,” she mumbles, and she’s too distracted by whatever she’s doing; she doesn’t seem to notice the visceral reaction I have to that one statement. “I knew I paid it,” she almost yells, and then she just stands there, in the dark, her figure only half illuminated by the light of her phone.
“Maybe it’s a mistake,” I offer. I don’t really know how this shit works. The only times I’ve even looked at a bill was when I went through Dad’s finances at the farm to make sure he could make it through another season.
“It’s never happened before,” she says, and I wish I could go to her, comfort her somehow, but I’ve never really been that guy. At least, not with anyone besides Mia. Dean is that guy. But Dean is also a dick, so… “Shit…” She grabs her keys from the kitchen counter and marches back toward me, grabbing me by my arm, before leading me to her front door. She turns and yanks on the doorknob three times before it finally swings open, and Dean should’ve fixed the fucking door for her.
By the time we get outside, her nails are digging into my forearm, but she’s so clearly pissed, I’m afraid to even mention it. “Stop me from killing him,” she says over her shoulder, stomping through the trailer park and past a group of trailers way beyond their life expectancy.
“Killing who?” I ask, wincing when her fingernails dig deeper. I can’t even imagine how we must look. Me at 6’4” and her at tiny—dragging my gigantic ass across the dry, dirt ground. She stops at a trailer at the front of the park and slams her fist on the door. “Calm down,” I tell her, and if looks could kill… she just knocked me out with a single glare. And also maybe gave me a half-chub because Angry Jamie is insanely hot. I’ll be sure to tell her. Later. When my life or the life of whoever is on the other side of that door isn’t in question.
A guy in his mid-thirties answers, dressed in boxer shorts and what I’m sure was once a white tank top. “’Sup, Jamie?” he says. “Got rid of that preppy asshole, I see.” His gaze drops to her tits, and I take a step forward.
“You shut off my power, Jayden?” Jamie sneers.
Jayden shrugs, pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, and sparks it. Through a ribbon of smoke, he says, “And water.”
“Why?”
“You were short on your rent.”
“It was twenty dollars!”
“Still short.”
I pull out my wallet and hand him a fifty. “Here, turn it back on.”
“Holden!” Jamie yells, but the guy’s already taken it from me.
“Can’t,” he says. “Maintenance is out until Monday morning. I’ll make sure he gets to it first thing.” He slams the door in our faces.
Jamie turns to me, that glare in place, arms crossed over her decent rack. “You just gave him fifty dollars.”
“I know.”
“Don’t fucking do that again, Holden!” She’s beyond pissed, and now she’s storming back to her house, dirt flying with each one of her stomps. “I don’t need you or anyone else saving me.”
I tell her, “It’s just money. You’ll pay me back.”
She spins on her heels so fast I almost knock into her. “That’s not the point!”
Oh, God, she’s about to cry. I cannot see her cry. I clear my throat, stand taller. “You’re very pretty.” What the fuck is wrong with me?
“What?”
“I mean, you’re insanely hot when you’re mad like this… but… but you’re pretty always.” Shoot me. In the head. Right now. “I just thought you should know…” Jesus Christ. Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking!
Big hazel eyes, blink, blink, blink. Again and again. Until the tears are gone. Thank God. “Well… thank you.”
I shrug, my muscles loosening with relief. “You’re welcome.”
She starts walking again, this time with more reasonable steps. “I mean it, though, don’t do that again.”
“Okay,” I say.
“And I’ll pay you back.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
Back at her house, she walks through the darkness, down the hallway, and into her bedroom, and I follow because… to be honest, I’m still sporting that half-chub, and her dress is still damp, clinging to parts of her I’ve thought about way too much since she kissed me, and I kissed her back.
She uses her phone as a source of light while she goes through her drawers, and I take a moment to look around the room, using my phone for light. Like the furniture out in the living room, the bed is white, wrought iron with brass toppers on the corners. It’s so lush and fancy and seems so out of place; it makes me question who she really is. If you take away the reality of her situation, is this the kind of stuff she’d like to surround herself with? The sheets, too, are white, and I sit on the edge of the bed, run my hands across the soft material. There’s a small dresser with a mirror—guess what color—and on the dresser is the only thing in the room that isn’t white. It’s a small box, most likely for jewelry, made of dark wood, with a carving of a single flower. A dahlia if I’m not mistaken.
She drops her clothes on the bed beside me, the black garments a complete contrast to everything else. “I have to get dressed,” she states, standing in front of me.
“Who’s stopping you?” I challenge, but she’s clearly not in the mood. I sigh, thinking about my next words for all of a millisecond. “I’m about to do something insanely creepy here, and I’m going to need you to let me. And in return, I’ll let you hold it against me for the rest of my life.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “The rest of your life?”
I nod, then settle my hands behind her thighs, bringing her between my legs.
“Holden,” she warns.
“Relax, Jamie,” I mumble, eyes on hers as I bring my hand to the front of her leg, just under her dress. “If I was going to finger fuck you or taste between your legs, I’d have done it at the pool.”
“You’re so crass,” she states, but there’s not even a hint of disgust in her tone.
“Yeah, and you’re not the slightest bit mad about it, are you?” I lift her dress, slowly, so slowly, loving the way her muscles tense beneath my touch, the way her breaths become short, ragged. Her forearms land on my shoulders, and I dip my head forward, just under her breasts, and I breathe her in: sunshine and solace.
“Creep,” she whispers, and she has no idea.
I grab my phone, open the camera app, and take a picture of her thigh, of her art. Of her masterpiece. She’s drawn the profile of a girl’s face, a girl so similar to herself. Large flowers with matching leaves cover the back part of her head, where her hair should be, both in front and behind the figure, and it’s… “It’s beautiful, Jamie.” I pull back, release her completely, and try to maintain some form of composure. I don’t know what it is about this girl and her art that has me so drawn to them both. I clear my throat, push aside all those thoughts. “You’re taking art, right?”
“Yes,” she says, stepping back. She stares down at her hands—such dainty, gifted little things.
“Is that what you plan on doing? Like at college, or career-wise?”
Shifting from one foot to the other, her words are quiet when she says, “Not really. I draw as an escape and sometimes as a necessity.” Her nose scrunches, shifting the freckles on her cheeks. “But it’s not really a passion or something I want to do for the rest of my life. Besides, I don’t know if I’m good enough.”
“Jamie.” I make sure her eyes are on mine when I tell her, “If you never believe a single word I speak ever again, believe me when I tell you that you are good enough.” She stares at me with blank confusion. “I mean it,” I say, getting animated. “I’ve never once looked at a piece of art and felt anything… and when you do it, it’s like… like…” How the fuck do I even describe what it’s like to need to rush home from school just so I can open my desk drawer and peek at her work? “It’s like feeling everything all at once…”
