Chapter 4 – Jael #2
His face is priceless—somewhere between horrified and convinced this is some kind of elaborate prank.
But it’s not. I need his help. I know I could Google it or crack open one of those dusty biology books at school.
Hell, I could have asked my friend Molly who lived next door, but she’s gone now.
Skipped town on a bus to who knows where and hasn’t been in touch with anyone from here since.
But I want the real scoop. Straight from the source. A guy who knows what feels good, how things work, and what I should avoid so I don’t embarrass myself.
Plus, I’m on a deadline.
Now that I’ve told Owen I want him to take my virginity after our graduation, the thought of fumbling through it like some clueless amateur makes me want to dig a hole and never come out.
What if I suck?
What if he tosses me to the side after the first time because I don’t know what I’m doing? Not to be dramatic, but I don’t think I could live with myself and there are plenty of other girls in town just waiting for their chance with him.
“So, what do you say?” I press, hands on my hips hoping I look intimidating. “Can you help a girl out?”
Rhett sighs like I’m his annoying little sister. Over the top, totally dramatic, punctuated by an eye roll and a loud huff. “Fine. What do you want to know, Jael?”
“Kissing. I want to be better at kissing,” I say, figuring it’s a safe place to start before I launch into asking him the burning questions that have been lingering in my mind. Like what to do during oral and penetrative sex. And what’s up with anal? How does that even work?
Rhett’s eyes narrow as he watches me closely. “And you’re saying that Owen and you broke up?”
I nod my head, my fingers crossed behind my back like a child knowing that we have not broken up.
For whatever reason, Rhett seems to hate Owen, and I know for a fact that he would never agree to help me if he knew what this research was really for.
He and Owen have never been friends and on more than one occasion he’s referred to him as 'the biggest douche bag and most overrated cornerback in the history of our high school’s existence. '
Rhett steps back, slamming the hood of his truck before tentatively tugging me to him with one of his oil covered hands. Our faces are just inches apart now, his tall frame towering over mine, reminding me just how tall he’s grown since I first moved here from Charlotte four years ago.
“You’re not going to make this weird, are you?” he asks gently. Gone is his teasing tone. His light brown brows bunch as he studies my face closely.
I shake my head no. “This is for learning purposes only,” I say in a voice that feels convincing.
Rhett nods once, then bends, lowering himself until we’re eye to eye. And then, slow, deliberate, almost reverent, he presses his mouth to mine.
It’s the softest kiss, so feather-light it steals the air right out of my lungs.
For a second, I freeze, stunned. I hadn’t exactly spent my life imagining what it would be like to kiss Rhett.
Why would I? He’s always been the infuriating boy-next-door who thrived on getting under my skin, the one who made his disdain for being stuck with me crystal clear. But this? This isn’t disdain.
The world shrinks to nothing but the brush of his lips over mine—warm, steady, devastating in its tenderness.
It feels like standing outside on the first real summer night, when the air hums with heat, the fireflies blink, and there’s excitement humming through your veins at a summer of possibility that’s awaiting you.
And it’s not just his lips that are touching me now. His hand finds the back of my neck, fingers pressing gently, possessively, like he’s claiming this moment even as he softens it. He squeezes my neck a little harder, causing my pulse to race.
It’s not my first kiss. Not even close. But it’s the first one that feels like this. Like it’s cracking something open in me I didn’t even realize was locked shut. And I have absolutely no idea what to do with that.
When Owen kisses me, it’s usually more aggressive, like he’s trying to prove something and assert his dominance. I open my mouth slightly, and he jams his tongue in hard. It’s as if he’s trying to remind me who’s in control in the relationship. Now that I needed that reminder.
Not that I’m saying Owen’s kisses are bad, they’re just…
not whatever this is. Rhett’s lips are shaped differently, fuller, and somehow their touch feels like an entirely new language that I’m desperate to learn but know that I shouldn’t.
Because kissing Rhett, even if this is supposed to be just practice, feels like something that will end in me getting hurt.
Eager to show him I’m no amateur in the kissing department, I slide my hands up to his neck, pulling him closer to my face as I press my lips more firmly against his.
Then, with a boldness fueled by the need to match his intensity, I push my tongue between his lips aggressively, and bite down on his lower lip.
“Whoa, what the hell?” he shouts, jumping away from me like I just shocked him with an electric prod
I shrug. “What? I thought that was how you kissed?”
His face says differently as he looks at me with the most bewildered and appalled expression and then dramatically lifts the back of his hand to his mouth and drags it across his lips as if to wipe off my touch.
“Um, okay, rude.”
He shakes his head. “Is that how that asshole Owen used to kiss you? You just ate my face, and I’m pretty sure my tongue is bleeding.”
My eyes narrow as I glare at him. “Don’t call Owen an asshole.”
He raises one brow. “Why do you care what I call him? I thought you guys broke up.”
“We did,” I lie again but much less convincing this time.
His eyes narrow in on me, reading right through my face as he chuckles darkly. “Lesson over, Jael. I’m not teaching you something your ex-boyfriend should have already shown you how to do properly. He made this mess; you can learn from him how to undo your shitty skills.”
He turns his back to me and starts walking back to his trailer.
“Rhett, please help me!” I shout out at his back, but he’s already halfway across his mom’s yard, completing ignoring me.
◆◆◆
A sound behind me yanks me out of my trip down memory lane. The creak of my childhood bedroom doorway reminding me where I am.
My whole-body jolts, adrenaline surging as I shoot to my feet with a strangled scream, clutching the yearbook I was looking at to my chest like it’s some kind of shield.
For a split second, I’m convinced it’s a stranger—a townie breaking into my mom’s trailer looking for money or drugs, waiting to pounce.
But no.
Not a townie with bad intentions.
Nope.
Rhett Miller which is even worse.
Because he’s always been lethal to my heart.