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One Year Later
Lo
“I can’t believe you haven’t met my brother,” Tobe says, his mouth open like a fool in shock while we walk toward the lunchroom. “He was at that party we went to last year.”
Closing my book to pay attention to his random statement, I mentally claw out his eyes. No one interrupts my reading time. He’s lucky to make it out alive. Books are my sanctuary, my escape. Tobe, above all, knows this. Fucker.
I refuse to recall his brother ever. Even though Tobe and I have been friends for almost a year, we only crossed paths with Jason once. I’ve been to their house, hung out at his football parties and keggers, but the only memory I have with Jason is locked away, locked like a fucking prisoner, hidden in a vault, abandoned on Alcatraz forever. No one can hear the screams, and that’s where the memory belongs.
Voiceless. Pictureless. Desolate. Never to be spoken about again.
“He is two years ahead of us, so I guess it makes sense.” He shrugs, seemingly happy at my uncaring response.
Toby doesn’t know I met him at that party last year. He doesn’t know that it changes nothing, absolutely nothing. Not after the response I got a week later.
I nod, trying to forget Jason. Any memory to replace it would do, really. Nothing comes to mind, though. I don’t want him to be memorable.
Turning to Toby, I shrug.
He still appears perplexed. “You really don’t remember him from that party last year?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” is my bored response.
The nonchalance in my voice and posture is obvious. His smile seems almost too satisfied, like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.
“Of all the times we’ve hung out, we’ve never met,” I lie, hoping he doesn’t see through the bullshit.
“You’d be a first. Everyone seems to know Jase.”
When he said Jase instead of Jason, it hits me harder than the bitterness from that party. I do know the rumors about him. Or rather about his reputation.
It’s hard to not know Jase Collins. Collins. Why not Hayes? I’ve never asked Toby about their non-shared last name.
I’ve never been a fan of Jase. He’s nothing like Tobe. He’s a man whore, and Toby is practically a saint in comparison. Jase is always so sure of himself, always thinking he’s the biggest and baddest dude out there. A cocky bastard.
But Tobe used to be.
Jase is a dirty blonde. He’s built like a man, strong and virile. He’s not a dusty brunette boy like Tobe, and he easily has twenty more pounds of pure muscle on him. He would be attractive if he wasn’t a total dick.
Lies.
“You’re so wet, Peaches.”
The memory smacks me where it hurts. He’s always been attractive.
I thought Toby was a jockstrap when I first met him, but his brother is the epitome of the word.
Dick.
Fuckface.
Man-that-confuses-women-with-a-mere-touch.
Stop. Forget him. Forget that night.
His ego has its own zip code, and no one can keep up. He’s constantly with a popular chick, always a new one on his arm every week. I’m waiting for Ellie to be his next fling. She’s always eye-raping him anyway.
He’s the douche who always has his hands up all the cheerleaders’ skirts. Believe me, I’ve seen him with those girls. Met him even before that imagery. We had our first encounter at that stupid party last year, but there’s no way he could remember. He was trashed. Plus, I’m nothing. Just another weak moment for him.
Another fling under the stars.
Abandoned like the memory.
Though, in that moment, I thought he was different. Imagined he could be something other than another high school cliché, but I was wrong. Jase proved that.
Shaking my head, I pretend I didn’t just think of that horrible night and turn back to Toby. He rubs a hand through his hair seeming absolutely shocked that I don’t know Jase.
“What about him anyway?” I ask, faking some curiosity. If I shut it entirely down, he won’t believe me. If I ask too much, I’ll seem interested. He never talks about his brother, it probably seems realistic for me to somewhat care.
“He asked about you, asked if I’d introduce you.”
That stops me in my tracks, I halt before hitting the doors to the cafeteria. My gaze scans Toby’s face, searching for clues, trying to find something, maybe a reaction, a hint of amusement, or even a lie. Yet, he stands there, nothing but normal Toby-ness reflected in his face. I want to ask—ask if he’s jealous, ask why the hell Jase cares about me, and mostly, what did Toby tell him about me?
“Why?” is all I get out. There are too many options, so many possibilities and variables to this revelation, and none of them sit well with me.
“Why what, Sparkle?” he teases, a hint of jealousy flickers behind the façade of joking.
It’s not news to me that Toby has feelings for me, not news to anyone. It’s in the way he watches me, the adoration that shows in his eyes, and the way he doesn’t talk about his dates—or better yet, his fucks—to me. Almost like he’s trying to protect me or to give me the opportunity to love him.
I do.
Love him, that is.
I just don’t want to ruin this concrete relationship we’ve gained. He’s my best friend. I’m comfortable with him. With us. He’s the knight in the darkest of nights, but he’s my best friend, and he’ll stay in that category. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he’d move mountains for me. He is always here no matter what I need. Whether it’s a tampon, chocolate, or an ice cream run, he shows up. It’s how I like it. It’s how I keep him close without the risk of ever losing him.
Nearly forgetting my lack of response, I smile at him.
“Why does he care?” I prod, not knowing if I want an answer or not.
“I don’t have a clue. He asked me about you specifically, and I told him you weren’t interested,” he responds almost angrily.
His pinched expression pisses me off. No one owns me or makes decisions for me. Toby did that, made the decision without asking me. Not that it’d be a different response, but him taking that choice away from me isn’t acceptable.
“And you came to that conclusion all by yourself?” I challenge.
I’m no longer the demure girl he met a year ago. If there’s one thing this friendship has brought, it’s a huge confidence boost. He’s toughened me up, made me all around stronger, and if he thinks he can control who I talk to, he’s sorely mistaken.
“You don’t fuck and leave,” he all but bites out, the harshness bitter and resentful.
His bulldozing behavior pisses me off. I get that he’s jealous, but there’s no reason for him to be a dick. And he’s definitely being a dick.
“Yeah?” I ask condescendingly. “How would you know? I might just want a quick fuck. That’s what you do, isn’t it? I can do it just as easily.” I scowl at him, the heat flaming my neck and creeping up my cheeks, making me feel flustered and even more frustrated with this entire conversation.
In truth, I can’t have sex without a connection, and since Tobe is the only person I have that connection with... I’ll probably die a virgin.
Toby gets really close to my face, far too close for our just friends boundaries, but he doesn’t back down. His hand grips my elbow, his other trailing my cheek.
“You deserve better than that, Sparkle,” he whispers, a hint of regret laces his voice.
His scent hits my nose. He smells like solace, amber, leather, and a citrusy fragrance that’s entirely Toby. I can’t tell if his regret is from the argument or something completely different and unrelated.
His thumb traces my cheek, and it’s comforting. Our entire friendship is comfortable. He’s that warmth I need, the solidarity I crave, and the person I can depend on.
He’s my always.
But he’ll never be my forever.
I’ve become codependent with a man I keep at arm's length, a man I’ll never allow myself to love. He deserves more from this, but I can’t seem to let him go.
I can never be what he needs—what he deserves.
“Maybe I don’t,” I huff, pulling away.
I’m stubborn. He knows this. What he doesn’t realize is that this will never happen. We will never become more than friends. I refuse to risk what we have for what would end up being the end of us. Our love isn’t one that you could write down. It’s not one that you’d tell the world about. It’s confusing and comfortable. It’s simple and overwhelming. It’s good and bad and a making for an unhappy ending.
But I still love him.
After pushing through the lunchroom doors, I hurry to the salad bar. Throwing some crazy-looking concoction of salad, fruit, hot sauce, and cheese together, I make it to the counter to pay.
Toby doesn’t follow me. He’s probably going to hang out with the douchebag outcasts that his brother hangs around and leave me to stew. It’s a punishment he dishes out when he’s pissed at me. Can’t say I blame him.
“What the hell is that?” a masculine voice grounds out behind me.
Not realizing that the voice is speaking to me, I hand the salad to the counter lady, and she weighs it.
“No, really. That can’t be healthy,” the voice mocks.
Are you fucking kidding me? People need to mind their damn business. A girl’s gotta eat, and it’s not like I’m sad about my ass and tits. I’m blessed to have my extra weight there.
Handing the lady the amount she calls out, I turn and see the face behind the voice. It’s him. Jason Collins.
“It’s just fine, dick,” I grumble under my breath, but he apparently heard me.
“Tobe said you were feisty, but now witnessing it firsthand, I actually believe him.” He laughs, shaking his head in amusement.
So, he really doesn’t recognize me?
“Go fuck yourself,” I respond, heading to the table with Gunner, Gerome, Lia, and Cierra. Peace and...
“Hey! Wait up!” Jason calls out, slowly jogging after me.
What is it with them thinking I want to be in their presence? First Toby, now Jase.
Get a clue, boys. Women aren’t here for your pleasure or amusement.
“I’m not going to be your next lay, Jason. You can drop the nice guy act.” My voice comes out more menacing than I intended.
He narrows his eyes at me, calculating, challenging me, and then he smirks. Cocky asshole.
“Call me Jase,” he finally responds.
As soon as the words leave his lips, the smirk is gone, the cocky demeanor suddenly nonexistent. Did he mysteriously decide to shut off his douchebagginess? Or is he playing me? Most likely the latter.
I nod. “Sure.” When he turns his face to the other kids, I roll my eyes.
We make it to the table, silence surrounding us the entire time. They’re all chatting about random events—the Spring Fling dance, the Alice play coming up, and my favorite, the cookout right before summer break. I love food. And I’m so entering that. My chili is to die for.
Jase turns to me after sitting down. “Loren, is it?” he asks demurely, almost shy, like he’s suddenly nervous that his tricks won’t work on me.
I did call him out on his shit. I’m glad it made him question his immaturity. Does he really not remember this entire conversation we had at the party? Did I magically dream it all up? We did meet, right?
“Yup,” I respond instead of questioning him.
When I finally look back at him, I notice his eyes are full of turmoil. They say so much when the rest of his face is impassive. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time because I sure as hell never noticed him before.
I’ve seen Jason around school. He’s the big fish, the macho man, and the guy every chick has been with. But at this moment, when he’s sitting next to me, his knee brushing mine, he’s different. He’s not Jason Collins, the meathead. He’s Jase, the cool and collected cucumber. The one I met at that party. The one who took the air from my lungs with his lips.
My gaze meets his again, and heat pools in my belly as I remember that night. He’s extremely handsome. I can see myself with him, and the thought doesn’t disgust me.
But Toby.
My best friend.
He wouldn’t be accepting. And Jase is a tool. Or at least, can be.
He has these lips that are kissable, almost sweet enough to lick and bite and nibble. How would they feel against mine again? Before, they tasted of whiskey and heartache. Now, with that goddamn smirk and soda, would he taste different?
Almost as if hearing my thoughts, he licks his lips, leaning in closer.
He doesn’t say anything but makes me shiver all the same. His hand brushes my bare thigh, and I curse myself for wearing a skirt. His hand is hot, scorching almost, and I feel entirely too naked underneath that palm. Turning away to gain some semblance of composure, I squeak when he grips my thigh tightly.
Scooting ever so slightly, I resume my earlier eating. Shoveling my hot sauce and salad concoction, I forget him momentarily. My moan in contentment of the flavors bursting through my mouth has all eyes on me.
“I can’t tell if I should be turned on or disgusted,” Jase muses beside me, smiling widely.
Swallowing my chewed food, I point my finger at him. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, perv,” I challenge, grabbing my fork and forcing it into his hand. “Eat, you big baby.”
He visibly swallows, his face appearing nervous, but he won’t back down. “I’ll eat it if you go to the football game tonight and watch me play.”
No freaking way.
I prepare to shake my head then think better of it. I already promised Toby I’d go and watch him, so I nod a little too enthusiastically. He probably thinks he’s won and that I’m a sucker. Well, he’s sorely mistaken.
“Really?” he questions. His eyebrows are nearly touching his hairline, disbelieving and curious all at once. “The school nerd at a big ol’ sweat fest with ball throwing?”
If there was a bad way of describing a sport, he just did that.
“Yup. Now, eat up, buttercup.”
He grimaces, and I smile wider. He’s in for a treat. I have special taste buds and can build something disgusting in appearance that tastes like a gourmet meal.
Opening his perfectly plump lips, he forks a huge amount into his mouth. I watch the way he licks the remaining hot sauce off his lips. Watching someone eat has never felt sensual until this moment. He swipes his mouth one last time, and with the glint in his eye, it’s proof how intentional the move is. He’s begging to be kissed, and that thought alone makes me cringe.
Jase chews enthusiastically like he can’t imagine how something so strange could taste this good. Believe me. I know.
“That’s one damn good salad,” he approves, his mouth still full.
“Don’t be a pig. Swallow first, buddy,” I chastise.
“Not much of a swallower,” he jokes, sending heat to my core and making me blush ten shades of garnet.
I try to fix my face and make it not as obvious that I’m embarrassed, but I can’t.
“You’re disgusting,” I bite back halfheartedly.
Taking my plate of food back, I start eating. Avoiding his intense eyes, I try to catch up to the conversations around me. I continue ignoring the extremely attractive brute sitting beside me, the one whose hand won’t leave my flushed skin.
“Can you believe that?” Cierra, one of the groupies, questions, her finger pointing to the back of her throat, pretending to gag. She’s not the worst of the snobs, but tends to insert herself in all the drama around campus just the same.
“What did I miss?”
They all look at me as if realizing I was here for the first time. As I’ve said, I’m not popular, and I’m only here because the boys are.
“Uh...” Gunner, the second-string tight-end pauses, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. He’s the adorable grunt of the group. He’s tall, bulky, and one helluva looker. But he’s also shy and dorky and just... him. Out of all the tablemates Toby has me around, he’s the nicest and the least harassing. It’s refreshing.
What the hell did I miss? My stomach churns, and it must not be good because they all look at me guiltily.
“Spit it out,” I growl, not knowing why her friends are being dingleberries. If Ellie were here, she’d kick their asses into next Tuesday. She hates people who beat around the bush instead of spitting what they know out. It would be based on her own agenda rather than defending me, but I wouldn’t feel like a chicken with its head cut off either.
“Toby,” Gerome starts before Gunner smacks the back of his head. He makes a cutting motion at his throat, warning him to shut up. Gerome is as honest as the day is long. Well, as honest as you can get from this bunch. He’s not the guy every girl wants—not because of his looks, but because of the sake of his mouth. Whether it’s what you want or not, he’s as transparent as a ghost. He’s as harsh as he is factual. When it hurts, it hurts.
“Toby is tongue-fucking some girl over there,” Lia answers bitterly, giving the boys an admonishing look. Lia. She’s my favorite. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t hide her distaste for the guys and their lies. It could even be her way of sticking up for me when the other girls are bitches. Who knows? All I know is that she’s tolerable. It’s hard to find bearable females nowadays.
My gaze lands on my best friend. The anger I feel isn’t jealousy as much as annoyance. He can do whatever the fuck he likes, but the way he stares back at me, not really into the kiss with the bimbo, makes me want to chop off his nuts, especially since he’s being aggressive with her to mask the anger meant for me.
He’s not my boyfriend.
He has no hold over me.
Toby Hayes can go fuck himself.
I flip him the bird, take my garbage, and, before leaving the cafeteria, toss it in the trash.
Soon after stomping through the double doors, someone tugs my arm, effectively turning me around.
“What?” I shout, huffing out a breath.
“Are you jealous?” Jason asks, appearing amused at this revelation.
“No, just pissed that he’s using some skank to get to me.”
I’m not jealous. Nope.
Maybe.
Even if so, anyone willing to use me isn’t worth my anger or admiration.
“Liar,” he scolds, trying to ease some tension.
“Go fuck yourself too, Jason. I don’t need you or your prick of a brother in my life.”
Without another word or a backward glance, I turn and leave.