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Jaime smirked, his right hand tracing my inner thigh, traveling upward and disappearing under my pencil skirt. “I beg to differ. High school girls are high maintenance. They’re full of drama. They talk about fucking hair straighteners and parties for hours. The hot ones make you go to Jennifer Love Hewitt movies. No. There’s nothing fun about high school girls. You, on the other hand…”
His fingers found my soaking undies, and as usual, he cocked his head, smirking, letting me know that he was onto me. My body sang a tune only Jaime knew the words to and my heart drummed so fast and loud that I felt the pulse in my toes. Doing this was almost like begging to get caught.
A part of me was desperate to be seen.
“You talk back,” he said. “You’re cold and stubborn. Sad and snarky. I like your brand of weird. The whole package.” He drew an imaginary circle with his finger around my face, leaning into me. “But most of all…” he breathed, placing a gentle kiss on the corner of my lips. “I like the chase. You make me sweat somewhere besides a football field. Turns out…that’s the exercise I’ve been looking for.”
Just as he said that, the door flung open and Vicious pushed his way inside. Lucky for me, he was staring down at a piece of paper he held in one hand and the ripped-open envelope he had in the other. “Can’t believe she says shit like this,” he muttered.
That allowed me a minute to jump off Jaime’s boner and rearrange my skirt, leaning back down and pretending to flip through one of the books he had on his table. “Here’s the paragraph you were looking for.” I cleared my throat and straightened.
Vicious finally looked up, but it wasn’t at me. “Trent just texted me. Coach called a team meeting. Toby’s been named as captain for next year.”
“Whatever.” Jaime’s jaw ticked. The atmosphere in the room changed. No words were spoken, but plans were being made, right in front of my eyes.
Toby Rowland was in so much trouble, it physically hurt me to think what they’d do to him once they got him alone.
“Whatever sounds right,” Vicious echoed, his voice flat. “Thanks a fucking ton for detention, Ms. G. Hope you know what you’re doing.” He shook his head with a sadistic smile. A threat.
“Vicious,” Jaime gnashed. A warning.
Vicious strode to his chair and flopped down, waving his hand. “She’s lucky you have a soft spot for her. Otherwise I’d have reduced her to ashes at Liberty Park.”
A hard spot, baby, I thought as I made my way back to my desk. And you have no idea.
THAT DAY CHANGED EVERYTHING, BECAUSE that day Jaime and I started texting. It made it so much easier to plan things. More hot dates at my partially-packed apartment. More fucking in insane positions. More stealing kisses at school, getting off on the thrill of being caught.
At the end of the week, Jaime sent me a picture of himself flexing his guns in front of the mirror in their locker room. I almost didn’t open the text message, fearing I’d see something horrific like someone else’s junk, but then I remembered it was Jaime I was talking about. He was oddly responsible for someone his age and with his status. Out of the four of them, he was the quietest. The one with the working moral compass. If Vicious was the evil one, and Dean was the stoner one, and Trent was the lost, beautiful soul searching for its mate, Jaime was the cement that glued them together. He was the guy you could always count on. And I was starting to count on him too.
Jaime:
It’s scientifically proven. You’re riding the best stud in town. These guns could kill.
Me:
Jaime, you’re an eighteen-year-old. Perspective, please.
Jaime:
This from someone who goes to sleep with my dick clutched in her hand. Pizza tonight?
Me:
That happened once. By accident.
Me:
And yes. But no onions.
I leaned back against a box filled with books and giggled, hugging my cell phone like an idiot. A disaster, I thought to myself. What the fuck are you doing? Dating him now?
Jaime:
No onion? No condom then. I’m clean. Your on the pill.
Me:
YOU’RE. YOU-apostrophe-RE.
Me:
And deal.
Jaime:
Nice doing business with you. x
Dear God, I needed to stop this. Stop this before I was going to get hurt. Already, the way my heart squeezed every time I noticed him for the first time in class felt a little too hard. The pleasure of sleeping with him freckled with a dash of pain. He still filled me. Filled me with joy and laughter and amazing sex. But now he was sucking from me, too.
Emotions, thoughts, logic.
That evening, Jaime got to my apartment and tackled me to the sofa, peppering my whole face with kisses. I laughed, throwing my fists at his sculpted abs. We rolled around, half making out, half fighting and laughing, before we both stopped to take a breath, examining each other’s faces for the first time since he walked in. He was atop of me, his eyes roaming my face, searching for answers to questions we were both too scared to ask aloud.
