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“What is it with you and your damn obsession with being a legend?” I ask cuttingly, annoyed at myself for almost letting him back in. “You show all the signs of narcissistic personality disorder.”
He lets my meanness roll off him.
“You know,” he says, thrumming one hand on the steering wheel and extending his other arm to relax on my headrest as he half turns toward me. “You’re pretty worked up. You’re young, but all that tension can’t be good for you. You need to find a way to relax.” A gleam forms in his eyes. “I could help you out with that, if you want.”
I scoff in response. Though I’m only twenty, constant exposure to blue light, insomnia, and stress, not to mention proximity to Jeb, has my cortisol levels in the red zone. Nothing short of a heroic dose ofKlonapinhas a chance of getting me to relax.
“How about I give you a quick hand job to help blow off some of that steam?”
A tidal wave of heat rushes through me at his casual suggestion. “We’re hiding from the cops,” I say, my voice coming out in an incredulous, high-pitched squeak.
My logic doesn’t seem to deter him. “Those sirens we’re hearing are still five minutes out,” he says in a low, honeyed tone. “And I’mreallygood,” he promises and gives me a quick little wink. “I’ll have you popping off like a bottle of warm champagne, all cleaned up, and tucked back in by the time they even get here.”
My throat goes dry, and it’s the kind of thirst a gallon of water couldn’t quench. I open my mouth and then close it again, because if I speak right now it’s gonna be the words. ‘Oh, God, yes. Please, yes.’
Jeb leans toward me. “What do you say, Eli?” he whispers, his breath buzzing against my ear. “How about a little hand job between friends?”
“I-I have a girlfriend,” I stammer out.
Jeb pulls back. “A girlfriend?” His eyebrow arches in obvious disbelief.
“Yeah,” I say and it’s the truth—kinda. Mira Soblanski and I met at a camp for promising young physicists in the Adirondacks when we were both twelve years old. Neither of us had people skills and were academically years ahead of the other attendees. She was the first friend I’d ever really had, and I think I was the same for her.
Excited to finally have a connection with someone our own age, we decided we would be boyfriend and girlfriend. We shared secrets with each other about the pressure of being prodigies and debated whether to pursue physics or finite math for our PhDs, but we never kissed or even held hands.
Though we lived on opposite coasts of the country, we stayed close after camp and continued calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. When I realized I was gay when I was fifteen, I planned on telling her our plans for marriage might be off, but I hoped to keep her as my best friend. Then my world blew up, and I never had the chance to break up with her—officially.
So I wasn’t actually lying when I desperately used Mira as my excuse to reject Jeb’s tempting offer. Though, since a bout of curious cyber stalking not long ago informed me she’s dating a quantum physics undergrad, I’m pretty sure Mira has moved on.
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to choke on the half-truth I’m spouting. “It-it’s a long-distance relationship. Her name is Mira.”
“Well,” Jeb says, sitting back into his seat. He looks pointedly down at the obvious, aching erection in my pants, and then back up at me. “Mira is a lucky girl.”
I want to take it all back. I want desperately to tell Jeb to forget all about Mira and focus on that warm champagne thing he promised. But then I remember about distractions and the consequences.
So I remain silent and just soak up the awkward tension in the car until I’m rescued by the sirens racing past us.
“Well, it looks like we’ve officially evaded them,” Jeb declares, a cheery smile on his face.
Doesn’t seem he’s too disappointed about me rejecting his offer.And why would he be?His offer to‘help me relax’ was more like a pity offering. He can pick up anyone who catches his attention with a wink and a flirty smile.
A series of grainy images flash through my brain of the security footage outside of the building where I keep my computers. Jeb, leaning against the wall while some pretty girl was on her knees for him. I should have turned the camera feed off immediately, but audio of the sounds he made kept my fingers frozen above the off button and my eyes glued to the computer screen. I couldn’t stop watching his sexy, half-mast eyes staring into the camera and imagining that it was me who was on my knees for him.
The frustration rises in me like lava in a volcano that’s about to erupt. It needs an outlet, and since I rejected the one he offered me, I’m only left on taking out my frustration on him verbally.
“Except now because you decided to pull a surprise bank robbery, we are stuck in the middle of nowhere with a car we can’t drive any longer. We’ll be stuck out here for hours until Daisy or Johnny can bring us a vehicle.”
Jeb just smirks at me, unaffected by my meanness, and points to another small grove of trees about a mile up the road. I see a flash of silver. Focusing, I see it’s a metal bumper.
“It’s a car,” I say dumbly.
He chuckles. “All thieves keep their stashes. With Cash and Johnny, it’s weapons. Daisy, it’s shoes. Me, I regularly stash cars with clean plates in different spots so that I can use them if I need to.”
As usual, Jeb surprises me. The man who breaks out in hives at the word plan somehow seems to always be two steps ahead of me. I plan meticulously for every possibility, yet there was no way in all my mathematical calculations on probability I could have ever predicted Jebediah Ezekiel Jones and the out-of-control way he makes me feel.
“Come on,” Jeb says, looking over at me and taking pity on what I know is the completely lost look on my face. “Let’s get out of here and find a place to sleep tonight.”
Chapter4
