I’m gonna have to cut in.
We’re sitting as far apart as possible in the backseat of the small SUV belonging to our Uber driver, who’s a quiet and gangly guy about our age. I haven’t dared touch Jay, not since we left the party. I’ve barely even dared to move, and we haven’t talked much.
My blood is buzzing and humming with alcohol and anticipation, and all that tension and urgency and lust feels like a third passenger in the vehicle, taking up way too much space between us. A living and breathing thing, it’s crowding and smothering me, causing a vague sense of claustrophobia. I’m so anxious to get home to my parents’ house, where we’ll be alone, that my bones are aching. The waiting is actually causing me pain.
I’m gonna have to cut in.
His words, which he spoke with such calm authority, are like an infinite echo in my head.
Jay kissed me. On the dance floor. In front of everyone. Because he was jealous.
And it gave me the biggest rush of my life. I’m still high from it. Don’t think I’ve ever gone from annoyed to surprised to thrilled and turned-on in such a short span of time.
I hadn’t meant to dance to more than one song with Aaron, but I got caught up in the moment and was actually enjoying myself, finding him charming and funny and kind of sweet. Dancing with him was easy and uncomplicated.
It also didn’t make my heart pound and my mouth go dry. No, that didn’t happen until Jay showed up and sent Aaron packing.
I’m gonna have to cut in.
It was probably rude of us to leave like that, and I’m almost regretting it all of a sudden—but just almost. Still, I fish my phone out of my clutch and find my mom in my messaging app. Her clients often call her at odd hours, so she always keeps her phone close, meaning she’s most likely to actually see and read my text right now.
Jay and I had to leave in kind of a hurry, I type with my thumbs. Can you apologize to Grandma for us? Just tell her I’m sorry and hope it didn’t upset her.
Then I switch off the screen and mute the phone. If Mom is mad, I’d rather not know.
We turn into my parents’ driveway, and the driver pulls up beside my MINI, which is visible in the halos from the garage coach lights. Thanking the driver, I slide out of the car, and as the guy backs up into the street and takes off, Jay and I walk toward the front door. My feet have decided they’re done wearing high heels, and I’m wincing with each painful step.
We’re still not talking as I pluck my keys out of my purse. Even though I haven’t lived in this house for almost eight years, I still have a key; my parents wouldn’t hear of it when I tried to give it back. My hand is unsteady as I fumble for the keyhole.
Once I get the door open, Jay’s there at my heels, ushering me through it with a hand on my back. We step inside, and he immediately spins me around, pushing me back toward the door, which shuts with a bang behind me.
And then his mouth comes crashing down on mine, hot and hard and heavy. Letting my clutch slide to the floor, I grasp at the lapels on his suit jacket with a strangled whimper.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he says, a low growl against my lips. His breath is warm and smells mildly of beer. “I think you actually made me lose my mind tonight.”
A burst of breathless laughter escapes me, and I feel like I should come up with a snappy comment, but I’m halfway drunk and too horny to think straight. My head is spinning and staggering, my pulse pounding loudly in my ears.
Nipping at his lower lip, I say, “We need to go upstairs.”
With a small grunt, he’s kissing me again, reaching down to grab my ass with both hands. Kicking off my shoes, I throw my arms around his neck and let him lift me off the floor, my legs hooking on his hips. With our mouths still locked, tongues stroking and teeth grazing, he carries me to the stairs.
He takes a couple of steps up. But there he stops. Holding me up with one hand, he grabs on to the wrought-iron banister with the other. And then he lowers me to the carpet-cushioned surface, kneeling above me.
Okay, what? No. My whole body, from head to toe, screams in protest. “No,” I tell him, breathing hard as I plant my elbows on the stairstep, trying to push away from it. “Up. Upstairs, Jay. Someone could come home.”
In fact, I can almost guarantee my sister’s family isn’t far behind us, since my nieces had clearly run out of fuel.
Jay slips his hand up under my dress. “This is payback, Mia. I thought that’s what you wanted?” he murmurs against my neck, his voice grating.
Huh? I blink up at him. His eyes look hooded and unreadable in the sliver of porch light creeping into the hallway through the windows. Payback? For what— Oh. Right. The blow job. Our conversation in my bedroom.
So…what? Because I went down on him in my car on the freeway shoulder he’s going to do the same to me at the bottom of my parents’ staircase? That’s unusually immature and reckless for Jay.
I should make him jealous more often.
His palm is big and warm on the inside of my thigh. He cups me through the fabric of my panties, pressing down and rubbing with the ball of his hand, and with a moan I collapse and surrender.
Digging my heels into carpet, I spread my legs farther apart and fall back, my head connecting with the step behind it. The hard edge from another step digs into my back, but I don’t care. Creating friction with the soft cotton of my underwear, Jay is massaging me while his teeth dig gently into the sensitive spot in the crook of my neck, and I just can’t feel any pain right now.
He scoots down a couple of steps, pushes the skirt of my dress up to my waist, and then his head is between my legs. Cool air brushes my skin as he tugs the crotch of my panties aside. My lungs start burning; I realize I’m holding my breath, and I release it in an audible rush just as his tongue makes contact with my clit.
Oh, my God. I hear a guttural moan escape from deep in my throat, and I don’t recognize the voice—it sounds almost inhuman and not like me. His mouth is so hot and so wet, and the way he’s licking and sucking so insistently and confidently and without hesitation feels so good I want to weep.
He brings a hand down to join his mouth. He starts stroking me with his thumb, from my opening and down over the sensitive skin below. My breath shuddering out in shallow gasps, I arch my hips, straining into his touch. When his finger shoves inside me, I moan and let my eyes drift closed.
The raw, exquisite sensations surround me like a fog, and I lose myself in it—willingly and happily letting myself get lost. I have no self-restraint with Jay. I want to give him all of myself. Want him under my skin, in my head, pumping through my veins.
He shifts so that his other hand is between my thighs, pushing a finger inside me, in and out while his tongue keeps dipping and swirling. And then the same finger, now slick and slippery from my pussy, slides down between my butt cheeks.
“Jay!” I blurt out while my whole body gives an involuntary jerk. The protest gets caught in my throat and comes out as a squeak. “What are you—”
“You said you like having your ass touched.” His voice sounds dark, almost angry.
“Yeah, but—”
“I want to hear you scream,” he says, stroking in circles, wetting the tight opening.
My breath catches, and I tense up. Fuck, that feels good. Still, I grind out a desperate, “On my parents’ staircase?”
“I don’t give a shit.” His finger dips a fraction of an inch inside, stretching me. I release a half moan, half sob.
“You think Aaron would’ve done this to you?” Jay’s breath is fanning hotly against the skin between my legs, and with each thrust he goes a little deeper into my ass. “You think he would’ve fucking loved it even half as much as I do?”
Oh, God. I’m letting him inside me in the most trusting and intimate way I can imagine, and he’s still hung up on me dancing with a guy whose face has already become nothing more than a blurry memory?
“Stop talking,” I say, panting, “and just get me off already.”
Jay snorts, but no more words come out of his mouth. Instead he wraps it around my clit again, shoving two fingers inside my pussy with the other still in my ass, and I’m gone. Coherent thought, gone. Ability to speak, gone. Any last scrap of self-control, completely fucking gone.
With two strokes, maybe three, my whole body ignites. Heat shoots up from my womb, through my core and my chest, and up and up until my neck and cheeks are aflame. Goose bumps follow, and then I cry out as I start coming.
The orgasm goes on and on, rolling over me in waves, and I can’t stop the noises coming out of my mouth. Closing my eyes, I surrender to it. I reach down to bury my fingers in Jay’s hair, keeping his head there, willing him to stay with his tongue on my sensitive bundle of nerves. Willing the moment to go on forever.
It doesn’t, of course. Now I feel like I’m sinking, unable to move a muscle as gravity pulls me down.
“Wow,” I gasp out when I find my voice again.
Jay lets go of me and inches back, pushing himself up to his feet. Reaching out a hand to me, he asks, “Was that a first?”
After sluggishly and somewhat clumsily tugging my underwear back into place, I take his hand and let him help me up. My heart is still hammering against my rib cage, my hands shaking.
“You don’t need to sound so surprised.”
He scoffs. “So when you said earlier that double penetration is your dirtiest fantasy, that was about ninety-seven percent bravado?”
Inexplicably, my cheeks prickle and burn. “Just because I’ve never had a guy do that to me before doesn’t mean I’ve never had anything...you know.”
Jay stays still and silent for a few seconds, and then he lets out a harsh breath. Grabbing my elbow, he flips me around and gives me a slap on the butt. “Upstairs.”
Letting out a yelp full of pretend indignation, I take a couple of steps up, away from him. Then I throw him a smirk over my shoulder before taking off, my bare feet springing lightly off each step as I race up the stairs.
Behind me I can hear Jay’s heavier footfall pounding as he chases after me. I pick up my speed for the last couple of steps, and when I reach the landing, my thigh muscles are burning with the effort.
Spinning around the banister with a squeal of laughter, I make a mad dash toward my bedroom, my heart slamming against my ribs. Jay is following so close behind me I can almost feel him breathing down my neck.
I reach my room and try to open the door without slowing down too much, but as soon as I twist the handle, his arm shoots out and around my waist, pulling me back.
As I let go of it, the door drifts open with a slow creak, and I jerk myself toward it, but Jay holds me pinned against himself. He feels large and hard against my back, and his body heat seeps through his clothes and mine and in through my pores.
“You’re a total mind-fuck, you know that?” he growls into my ear, digging his fingers into my hair and tugging my head back.
Leaning back, I relax into him and his strong grip on me. My pulse fluttering, I say, “And you need to loosen the hell up.”
He tightens his hold on me. “You don’t think I’m there yet?”
“No,” I reply teasingly, “but I think I can push you there.”
His arm easing off my waist, he nudges me into my bedroom. The door shuts with a click behind him. The curtains are still open, and moonlight spills in through the windows, illuminating the room in a faint and blue-ish tint.
I turn around to look at Jay; he’s standing slouched against the door, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants.
“Try me.” His voice sounds hoarse and humorless.
I inch closer to him, reaching out to run my hand down his silky-soft tie, tugging lightly on it. “Can you say something to piss me off first?”
He’s quiet for one heartbeat, maybe two, and then he sneers, “Okay. We’re not sharing a room because there was no other option. It’s because you think rules and consequences are for other people. Someone tells you no, and you take it as a challenge to prove you can ignore it without anything bad happening to you.”
Uh. What? Blood rushes in my ears, my neck prickles, and I curl my hand around his tie.
Did he essentially just call me a spoiled, selfish brat? I’m pretty sure he did.
Yeah, I know I told him to make me angry, but he came up with that answer too quickly for it to be a random, meaningless observation. Damn it.
So how do I respond to that? I need to go for the jugular. Figure out his weakness and take complete and unrestrained advantage of it.
Fuckface really did a number on you, huh?
Is he jealous of Matt? I’m still not sure. But maybe that’s what tonight was about, not Aaron Mitchell. I can’t bring that up, though. I’d have to pretend Matt still matters to me, and he doesn’t.
If this is going to work, we need boundaries.
Right. Boundaries, like not kissing me in front of my whole family? Pretty sure he doesn’t care about that anymore.
You’re important to me. I value our friendship more than I want to get you naked.
A hint of queasiness curls in my stomach. Nope. No way am I talking about that.
Have you thought about having sex with me? For how long?
Bingo.
With a small smile, I press myself closer to him, pulling so hard on his tie he’s forced to bend. I bring his head down until our noses touch. My heart beating wildly and my head swimming at what I’m about to confess, I tell him something that I’ve never told another person. Something I buried so deep in my memory it almost seems like it’s not even real.
Except that it is.
“I had sex dreams about you in college,” I say in a loud whisper. “More than one. While I was still with Matt.”
I feel him go rigid. His chest stops moving, like he’s holding his breath. In the low light of the room, his eyes look black and fathomless.
Air expels from his chest in an audible rush. “Jesus Christ, Mia.”
Slanting his head, he captures my lips in a kiss that’s probing and hungry, almost frantic. Moaning deep in my throat, I meet him beat by beat, stroke by stroke. Every time he touches me is like a shot of tequila flaming down my throat and burning my stomach—it’s the same surge of heat, the same flare of exhilaration.
And every time, it’s the same realization that washes over me like a flash flood and drives me wild: This is Jay.
Jay’s tongue thrusting inside my mouth.
Jay’s hands unzipping my dress and tearing it off my shoulders and down to my waist, nudging until it falls in a puddle around my ankles.
Jay unclasping my bra and yanking it off, and Jay lifting me up by my armpits while dipping his head down to draw a nipple in between his lips and teeth.
It’s Jay, and that’s still so surreal and so arousing it feels like it might shatter me from the inside out.
Impatient to have no barriers between us, I squirm until he lets me down, my feet connecting with the floor again. Wedging a finger into the knot of his tie to undo it, I wrench it off. Next I run my hands from his neck and down the broad expanse of his shoulders, wedging them under and shoving his suit jacket off.
“Help me,” I demand under my breath as I fiddle with his belt, and he complies by starting on his shirt buttons. Then, because I need him to be in as much of a hurry as I am, I drop my other hand and cup the thick and unyielding bulge in his pants.
He lets out a groan, swaying against me for a second before he pops the last button and sheds the shirt. Brushing aside my hand, he goes to work on his belt.
“Where’s that sex toy kit of yours?” he rasps out.
“Uhhh,” I say, distracted by the clink of his belt buckle and metallic slide of his zipper, squinting at him in the moonlight as his suit pants fall to the floor with a whoosh. “Why?”
“Just get it.” He walks over to the bed and starts rummaging with the bedding. Feeling like I’m moving in slow motion, I somehow find my way to the closet, digging around blindly until I find the stiff wax-paper gift bag and fish out the plastic pouch inside.
I have no idea what he plans on doing with this stuff, but whatever it is, I have no objections. I’m high-strung with lust, and with every step I take back toward him, I feel myself still wet and swollen and throbbing from what he just did to me on the stairs. A mental image flashes, a bird’s-eye view of us down there only a few minutes ago, my legs spread wide, Jay’s head between my thighs.
God. My breathing gets shallower, my pulse quickening.
“What are you doing?” I’m watching Jay rip a bundle of blankets and pillows off the bed and carry it toward the window where the moonlight glows brighter and the darkness is diminished.
“Bed’s too noisy.” He drops the comforter first, tossing pillows and blankets down on top of it.
And then he looks back at me. He’s standing there in the half-light, looking so hot in his boxer briefs that I grow weak with the need to touch him. To have him inside me, right now.
I can see his face better over there, can see the dark intensity in his gaze and how his eyes are burning with focused intent, heavy with promises.
He gestures for the bag in my hands, and I give it to him almost reluctantly, struck by sudden apprehension. “What are we doing, Jay?” I ask, laboring hard with each breath I’m forcing in and out of my lungs.
“Get down on your hands and knees.”
“Excuse me?” I splutter.
Flinging the toy packet down on the makeshift bed, he cuts the small distance between us and inches his fingers into the waistband on my panties.
“You heard me,” he murmurs, sliding my underwear down until it loosens enough to fall the rest of the way on its own.
Limbs quaking, I lower myself to the comforter. Going down on all fours. Obeying him. Resting there like that, waiting and vulnerable, bared and open to him. Sensing him kneeling behind me, I tense up in anticipation.
Palms covering my ass cheeks, his thumbs dig into the plump, pliable flesh as he pulls them apart. My breath hitches. Ohmygod, what is he doing? What is he—
A shock goes through me as his tongue starts tasting me there. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, my God. It’s a whole new sensation—a warm, wet, and firm pressure that sends electric jolts to my nerve endings. My gulps for air sound like sobs.
“Shh,” Jay says in a harsh whisper, and I let out an even louder moan that grows into a growl because he stopped what he was doing, and that’s so not okay.
He gives the little knot of skin one last stroke with his tongue, digging his teeth into my butt cheek before letting go of me.
And then comes the creaky squeak of the sex toy bag and the slide of the zipper as he opens it. But that’s not the only sound I hear. The front door slamming shut reverberates from downstairs, followed by a low hum of voices.
Shit.
A jolt rips through me as Jay suddenly rubs a cold and sticky liquid on me, and a startled whimper erupts from my throat.
“Shh,” he hisses out again.
“Screw you,” I whisper back at him. “It’s not my fault.”
“Be quiet or we’re done.”
Yeah, right. If he thinks I’m going to let him stop now—
I suck in my breath and hold it. Something smooth and hard is probing the entrance to my ass. It penetrates me only a fraction of an inch at first. Then, slowly and cautiously, it goes deeper with each stroke.
It’s the dildo from the toy kit. It’s big, and as it strains me, a faint stab of pain shoots up into my spine.
“Jay…” I choke out, but I don’t know what to say next. Stop? Slow down?
“Relax,” he says, a quiet and gentle command. He stops moving the toy so that it’s just a still, solid pressure inside me.
Okay. Inhaling and exhaling deeply and deliberately, I focus on loosening my muscles, letting go. It’s difficult and seems to take forever, an eternity in which I hear only our heavy breathing—my own and Jay’s, behind and above me. I’m listening for other sounds from whoever just came home, but in the rest of the house there’s only silence, not even the slightest creak on the stairs.
When I’m ready, I let him know by pushing backward, gasping as the dildo slides farther in, deeper and deeper. Any hint of pain is gone. Only raw, razor-sharp sensation remains. It tears through me with each slow, slippery thrust, and it’s awakening every nerve and pleasure point in my body.
But it’s not enough. I’m feeling filled and stretched but still empty. I want Jay inside me, too. Want him to stop being selfless, to lose that self-restraint, and stop trying to please only me.
“Now, Jay,” I pant out, glancing back at him over my shoulder.
He’s looking down at me with a lazy and almost smug gaze. Still moving the dildo slowly and carefully back and forth in my ass. “Now, what?”
Damn it. Resisting the urge to snarl at him, I clench my jaws. “Aren’t you fulfilling my dirtiest fantasy?”
One corner of Jay’s mouth dimples as he smirks. “I don’t know. What was it again? I forget.”
Half twisting my body, I reach behind me to hook my fingers on the elastic of his boxer briefs. I pull them down as far as I can, and his erection springs free. Keeping my voice in a hush, I say, “Your cock. Inside me. Now.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, but he doesn’t sound concerned—only playful. And breathless.
“Jesus.” I turn back to face forward again. The slip and slide of the silicone dick in my ass feels so good I know if I let myself, I’ll come just from that. But I don’t want to.
“Just fuck me, Jay,” I say with a whimper. “Please.”
His answer is nonverbal: I can suddenly feel the head of his dick probing the slick entrance to my pussy. He starts to push inside, but with the dildo in my ass, it’s a tight fit.
“Shit,” Jay gasps as he shoves past the resistance and glides all the way in.
Oh, my God. I can’t breathe. I’m afraid to move, afraid I’ll split in half.
Bravado? That’s an understatement and a half. Me and my big mouth.
“You okay?” Jay’s voice sounds shaky.
“Mhmm,” I manage to reply, a high and squeaky noise that comes out through my nose.
And then he’s fucking me, and immediately I start to fall apart. His dick is in my pussy, the vibrator in my ass—stretching and filling and penetrating me, and with each tandem stroke, it gets more difficult to hold back my sobs of pleasure. Goose bumps ripple down my spine as my orgasm rushes over me, fast and violent, leaving me gasping and trembling.
Jay doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down to let me catch my breath. He just keeps pounding into me, rubbing my raw and tingling nerves, and the sensory overload is almost too much to handle. I want to tell him to take it easy and give me a chance to recover, but I also don’t want to, because he feels so good inside me that if he stopped right now, I would probably start crying.
Suddenly there’s a quiet knock on the door followed by my sister’s voice, muffled and tentative. “Mia?”
Oh, my God. No. No! Go away, Paige. Squeezing my eyes tight while Jay is still driving himself into me, I put my fist up to my mouth and swallow the moan that rises into my throat. Waiting, waiting, waiting for my sister to knock again. While I’m on my hands and knees on the floor and the man I’ve sworn is only a friend is kneeling behind me, screwing me.
When seconds tick by with only silence from the hallway, I release my breath with a sigh of relief. And I stop thinking. I’m just feeling. My breasts bounce with every thrust, and I push backward to meet him beat by beat. I’m seeking and straining, chasing another orgasm, my breath coming out in panting gasps.
“Touch me.” I’m forcing the words, a frantic whisper.
And Jay obliges, sliding his hand around my front and down between my legs. A shock runs through me as his fingers find my clit. He teases it, rubs it, slowly and then quickly, then slowly again. Playing with the nub while he continues to fuck me with his cock and the dildo.
“Jay,” I moan quietly as the shooting sparks of heat start building once more. “Don’t stop. I’m gonna come again.”
“Come for me, baby,” he responds in a low growl.
And I do. Shudders sweep through my entire body as I’m coming and coming, so long and so hard that I feel like fireworks are going off in my head.
“God,” I breathe out as the sensation subsides, and thankfully Jay slows down, or I might just die. But he’s still going—still stroking into me, his cock hard and hot inside me, and with a whimper, I beg, “No more, Jay. You’re killing me.”
“We’re not done,” he says, his fingers flicking my clit, which sends a stab through me that’s almost painful.
“Oh, my God,” I whine, bucking underneath him. “Just fuck me and finish. Fuck me and come inside me. Please.”
He lets out a harsh breath. My eyes bug and I let out a strangled whimper as he pulls the vibrator out. He digs his fingers into my hair, which is still in an updo, and I feel pins loosening and falling out. “Put your face on the pillow and tuck your knees up,” he orders me, and numbly, I do as he says.
The motion makes him slip out of me, but only for a moment. My ass is sticking up in the air and my pussy is open and bared to him when he pushes his dick back inside me. He feels big and thick and throbbing, and he slides in all the way to the hilt, burying himself deep.
Then he leans down, so far that I can feel the heat of him on my back. “You feel so goddamned good, Mia.”
I let out a moan as he starts pounding into me again, and pleasure-pain racks through me each time he hits the neck of my womb. His thrusts are going faster and faster until he slows with a deep groan, and he’s pulsing and surging inside me. As I feel him coming, sparks shoot up through me and into my core as I climax again, a short and sharp burst of utter bliss.
Winded and shaking, I collapse facedown on the comforter, my head turned sideways on my pillow. Jay throws himself down beside me, and he still sounds out of breath as he covers us both with the flat sheet. The soft fabric feels cool against my flushed and clammy skin.
Am I still alive? If I’m not, that means Jay just fucked me to death. And right now I honestly can’t think of a better way to go.
“Did you really have sex dreams about me?” comes Jay’s subdued voice from next to me in the semi-dark.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I take my time answering. Should’ve known he wouldn’t let that go. “Yeah,” I admit, because it’s the truth, though not one I’ve ever been proud of.
We’re still on the comforter on the floor, and I’m lying on my stomach, watching him with my arms folded under my pillow. From the soft glow of the moon, I can see his silhouette—the strong and well-defined profile of his face, the chiseled outline of his torso. My hands are itching to reach out and touch him.
Out in the hallway, the bathroom door clicks shut.
Shit. Paige. I grimace, dread slicing through me. There will be a reckoning. It’s unavoidable. I love my sister, but she’s probably the only person who kind of scares me.
Except for the person lying next to me right now. But he’s frightening in an entirely different way.
His silence lasts a half dozen heartbeats. “What happened in those dreams?”
Letting out an exasperated huff, I roll over onto my back. I’m regretting telling him about this now, because it’s not something I want to talk about.
Then again, he just made me come four times. Suppose I should play nice. He’s earned it.
“I don’t remember exactly,” I tell him, “but I know at least once I had an orgasm while still asleep.”
He goes so quiet that I’m pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. “Like, a real one?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wow,” he says after a short pause. “I didn’t know that happened to women.”
A snort-laugh bursts from my chest. “Yes, Dr. Bradshaw, that happens to women. And it’s a lot less messy than when it happens to guys.”
“Huh,” is his only reply.
Learn something new every day, I guess?
Seconds tick by, and I brace myself for his next question, but it doesn’t come. I know what it would be if our roles were reversed, and I can ask it of myself.
Does that kind of mean you cheated on Fuckface before he cheated on you?
The answer, of course, is no. You can’t control your dreams. And they don’t really mean anything. Yeah, your emotional state can impact what kind of dreams you have—stress can cause nightmares—but the actual content of your dreams? It has no significance. Dreams are essentially meaningless.
I read that on the Internet, and therefore it’s true.
Never mind that I thought Jay was hot from the moment I first met him. Which, again, didn’t really mean anything. I was crazy about Matt, and Jay was my boyfriend’s attractive roommate. Thinking he was cute was a dispassionate observation, similar to the way I’d admire a nice car or beautiful scenery.
Exactly when that changed, I’m not sure.
God, the things he did to me tonight. I’m still feeling numb and dazed, and that’s only partially due to the alcohol I consumed at the party still flowing through my veins.
Mostly it’s him. I’m drunk on Jay.
I don’t want to lie here beside him right now, with this space between us that’s at once tangible and impalpable. I want to be in his arms. Our legs tangled, absently caressing—touching each other just because. It’s been almost a month since the first time we had sex, and that need has only grown stronger since.
Running bone-deep, it’s a desire that I can’t explain or rationalize. I’m not a needy person. I’ve slept with guys without feeling bereft of intimacy afterwards, without experiencing that loss of connection like a severed limb.
Matt never gave me the chance to feel like this. He was always touching me. Holding hands wherever we went—walking down the street, driving a car, in the movie theater. I loved how he couldn’t keep his hands off me.
I loved him.
And just like that, I know. It hits me like a kick in the gut. Like a punch in the face. Like being held underwater while fighting, clawing, scrambling desperately to break free and make it back up to the surface.
I know—I fucking realize—that I’m never going to feel like that again. Matt was my first love, and that only happens once. I’m never going to be that young again. Never going to be so simply and blissfully in love. Will never love someone with blinders on again.
Which means I’ll never be that happy again.
It’s a bleak and depressing thought.
And the messed up thing is, I still want Jay to hold me. Want it more, in fact.
“Are you waiting for it to get quiet out there?” he asks drowsily beside me.
I swallow hard against the knot in my throat. Take calming breaths in and out through my nose. “Yeah,” I say when I’m confident my voice will hold, “I’m pretty sure if I run into Paige she’s going to yell at me.”
Jay acknowledges that with a sleepy grunt, and then he falls silent.
The bathroom door squeaks. A few seconds later I hear the soft click of Paige’s bedroom door.
Closing my eyes, I wait a while longer just to be safe. Until I decide the coast has to be clear for going to the bathroom without running into anyone—and my need to pee starts to get urgent.
Moving carefully so as not to disturb Jay, I push myself up to my feet. Fumbling around in the dark, I somehow manage to find my panties on the floor. Search for my suitcase and discover it by stubbing my toe on it, letting out a choked squeak at the pain. Kneeling down, I have to feel my way around to find the tank top and pajama pants I packed. It’d be really great if I had my phone to use as a flashlight.
Oh, crap. My phone. My clutch. Both must still be downstairs by the front door along with my shoes. Guess I’ll have to go down and fetch them. Pretty sure it’s embarrassingly obvious why I left them there.
After pulling the clothes on, I pad to the door, opening it slowly so it’ll be quiet.
And almost stumble over my shoes and my purse, which are sitting right outside the door. The shoes are placed neatly side by side, the clutch resting on top of them.
Paige.
That’s why she knocked. A rush of warmth spreads in my chest. My big sister, always watching out for me. Which, to be honest, is more frequently nice than it is annoying.
Plucking my phone out, I toss the clutch and the shoes into my bedroom, shutting the door. I tap the power button on my phone as I head to the bathroom, the way there illuminated by the recessed lights on the ceiling.
There’s a text message from my mom. Unease twisting in my stomach, I type in my passcode to read it.
Grandma’s not upset. We’ll talk tomorrow.
Well. That’s both comforting and ominous, isn’t it? Ugh.
Still tapping around on my phone, I grasp the bathroom door handle. Immediately it’s snatched out of my grasp as the door opens, swinging inward.
“Oh, my God!” I breathe out with a squeak, involuntarily jumping back a step.
Paige stands in the doorway.
Placing my free hand on my chest, I feel my heart pounding under my palm. “You startled me. I thought you were in bed already.”
Paige is still wearing her simple, black, empire-waisted cocktail dress, but she’s tied her hair up in a messy bun and removed her makeup. Arching her eyebrows, she says, “I thought you were, too.”
“Um…” I have no idea how to respond to that. I was in bed…kind of? But not really. Heat floods my cheeks. Shit. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
My only hope is to play it cool.
“You done?” I ask, gesturing past her at the bathroom.
Saying nothing, Paige takes a step back, opening the door wider. Inviting me in.
Oh-kay. I brush past her into the bathroom. And once I’m there, it’s like my brain sends a signal to my bladder that a toilet is nearby, because my urge to pee goes from somewhat pressing to seriously urgent. Clenching my pelvic muscles, I glance back at my sister, who’s still standing by the open door, staring at me.
“Can I have some privacy?” I ask politely.
Wordlessly, she shuts the door. With herself still in the room.
Seriously? Well, fuck it. This will probably be more awkward for her than me, anyway. Between the two of us, I’m not the bashful one.
Setting my phone down on the marble vanity, I cut across the small room to the porcelain bowl. After lifting the lid, I shove down my pants and underwear and sit down on the toilet seat, holding Paige’s gaze the whole time. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or look away. When my bladder is empty, I break eye contact with her to yank several sheets off the toilet paper roll.
“Why did you lie?”
I look back up at my sister. Her tone is calm, but I know her. I can hear the edge under that calm, the anger she’s bridling.
“About what?” I widen my eyes at her as I reach down to wipe myself. And then I can’t stop my grimace as I forget to be gentle, because things are more than a little bit…tender down there.
With narrowed eyes, Paige replies in a high-pitched and mocking voice. “Oh, Jay and I can share a bed. No, it’s not weird. We’re just friends. Nothing is going on.”
Even though I knew that was coming, I’m still squirming inside. Looking away from her, I pull my clothes back up as I stand up. Then I pull the lid down and flush the toilet.
Drawing in a fortifying breath, I move over to the sink, and while squirting soap into my hand, I say, “We are just friends.”
Paige lets out a snort. Turning on the faucet, I notice from the corner of my eye as she crosses her arms over her chest.
“I saw you,” she hisses out. “I saw you on the dance floor. And then you just leave the party without a word? Are you going to lie and say you weren’t screwing him in your bedroom just now?”
Whoa. Scrubbing my sudsy hands under the warm water, I throw her a look. My sister never uses crude words unless she’s really pissed off. My heart starts beating harder, and it’s a struggle to sound lighthearted as I click my tongue and say, “Language, Paige.”
She glares at me, her lips pinched.
Heaving a sigh, I turn off the faucet and reach for the hand towel. “So I’m having sex with Jay. It’s not a big deal. And it’s nobody else’s business.”
Paige stays silent while I dry my hands. The apple-scented soap teases my nose. My mom spends a lot of money on stuff that smells good.
“Having sex,” my sister echoes in a monotone. “With Jay.”
“Yeah. Like, friends with benefits? Not really something I wanted to discuss with Mom.” Plucking my toiletry bag from where I put it in the cabinet under the sink earlier, I unzip it and rummage around until I find my flosser. After digging it out, I turn back to face my sister as I lean back against the sink and start flossing my teeth.
And discover that Paige is eyeing me with a look of naked disgust and disbelief. It’s an expression I might deserve if I’d just told her I’m taking a year off work to go on a trip around the world, which I’ve financed by taking out a massive loan at a cutthroat interest rate.
Or if I said that I’d had a drunken hookup with a stranger and married him the next day.
But the thing is, she’d give me that same death stare if I confessed to forgetting to pay a parking ticket. My sister has no sense of proportion when it comes to her moral superiority. Wrong is wrong, and Paige is always right.
“Wha?” I challenge her with the flosser in my mouth. She’s going to say what she wants to say regardless. No reason for me to pause my tooth-cleaning routine.
With a slow shake of her head, she replies, “It just seems like a dumb decision.”
Okay. I’m officially at my limit for how much of her unsolicited opinions and judgment I can stomach in one night. Jerking open my toiletry bag and digging out my toothbrush and toothpaste, I snap at her, “How about you worry about your own love life and keep your nose out of mine?”
A long and heavy moment passes before she asks sharply, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Why don’t we talk about why Logan is sleeping in the den? Huh?” I glance at her while squeezing toothpaste onto my brush. “And don’t give me that garbage about his phone ringing and the bed being too small.”
Paige blinks at me and visibly stiffens. She says nothing, so I turn on the faucet for a second to splash water on my toothbrush, and then I start brushing. As the minty toothpaste overwhelms my taste buds, I quickly scrub the bristles across my teeth while stubbornly holding my sister’s gaze.
Her silence says too much. Jesus Christ. I was only shooting off my mouth like usual. Because that’s what I do, and because I wanted to shut her up. I wasn’t trying to hit a nail at all, and definitely not on the head.
Is my sister’s marriage in serious trouble? It’s a terrifying thought.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Mia,” she finally says, her voice subdued.
Spitting toothpaste into the sink, I take a break from brushing to ask, “Why would I be?”
It’s an honest question, and I ask it mildly.
“I just don’t want to get another phone call in the middle of the night,” she answers simply.
I flinch at the instant flashback. Me, half-drunk and heartbroken, calling my sister to tell her what Matt had done to me. Her, driving up from San Diego in the dark of night. Because she’s my big sister and I needed her.
Paige shuts her eyes for a moment, expelling a heavy breath. And then she crosses over to me and wraps me up in a hug. “Good night.”
With a quick and dry peck on my cheek, she adds, “Please be careful.”
My heart in my throat, I stand there and watch her walk away toward the door. My hand hangs at my side, clutching my toothbrush.
As Paige twists the door handle, I collect myself enough to say, “Thanks for bringing my stuff upstairs.”
Without a backward glance, she says, “Uh-huh.”
And she’s gone.
There’s a swooshing noise in my ears, and my head feels weightless. It’s the alcohol, probably. I’m still buzzed. It’s almost midnight, and I’ve been up since before sunrise. This long, crazy day is finally catching up to me.
I don’t want you to get hurt again.
All of a sudden I’m picturing a dinner plate. It’s a simple, solid-color plate, something you’d use every day. But it’s got visible lines from where it’s been glued back together after having shattered into a great many pieces. So many pieces that it seems like patching it up shouldn’t have worked, but through stubbornness and desperation, it did.
If the plate is dropped again, it’ll be beyond fixing.
That plate should be locked up, clearly. Shut away and not handled by anyone.
And that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Right?