Chapter 16 Shane
SHANE
We don’t talk as we tap our IDs at the gate, and my nerves come back in full force the moment the house disappears from sight.
“Do you think they suspect anything?” I ask in a weird whisper-hiss as we walk toward Hamilton House.
The path is empty, and there’s no one around, but that doesn’t help calm my fears or the anxiety rising inside me.
“Doubt it. They wouldn’t have let us leave if they did,” he says, and his confidence helps quell some of my fear.
“Are you sure?” I ask as excitement replaces more of my fear.
“I’m sure.”
“What if they figure out what we did?” I ask as my nerves once again mix with the buzzing excitement.
“They won’t. But if by some miracle they do, then we’ll deal with them.”
“Why do you have to have layers?” I say before I can stop myself.
He shoots me a surprised look. “What do you mean?”
“Like, why do you have to have layers?” I’m babbling again, but I’m too hyped up on adrenaline and the lingering afterglow of my orgasm to care.
“For almost three years, I thought you were nothing but a one-dimensional stereotype whose sole mission in life was to be as annoying as possible, but you’re not.
You have layers, and you’re interesting, and I don’t like it. ”
“You don’t like that I’m interesting, or you don’t like that you’re interested in me?”
“I never said I was interested in you, just that you’re interesting.”
“And you don’t like that I’m interesting?”
“No, because now I can’t just blindly hate you like I did before.”
“You never hated me,” he says as we round a corner and our dorm comes into view.
I’m not surprised to see that the courtyard is dead and most of the lights are off. With the new curfew in place, not a lot of guys are sticking around on the weekends anymore.
“Pretty sure I did,” I tell him.
“Did you really?”
“Yes?”
He shoots me a little grin. “Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”
“Only because my brain is going a million miles an hour and I feel like I just downed a half dozen energy drinks.” I put my hand on my chest as we log our entry onto the grounds at the gate. “Can you have a heart attack at twenty-one from getting too excited?”
He laughs and tucks his ID back in his pocket. “I’m sure it’s possible, but highly unlikely in this situation.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” I tell him. “And I’m gonna come back as a ghost and haunt your ass if you’re wrong and I drop dead.”
“Fair enough. Come on.” He waves for me to follow him around to the side of the house.
“Why?”
“So I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t drop dead.”
A part of me wants to tell him to fuck off and go the other way just because, but the bigger part of me doesn’t want to be alone right now.
So instead of saying anything, I follow him to the side door.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re bossy and overbearing?” I ask him as he unlocks the door with his ID.
“Nope.”
“Really? I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re you.”
He tosses me a grin as we climb the stairs together. “And you think I’m bossy and overbearing?”
“Obviously.”
“What if I’m only like this with you?”
“Then I wonder what terrible things I did in a past life to deserve this special treatment.”
He laughs as I pull open the door to the second floor and wait for him to walk through first.
We fall silent as we walk down the hall, and I’m hyperaware of everything around me as I unlock my door and usher him inside.
He walks over to my bed like he owns the place and sits on the foot of it. I kind of run out of steam and pause a few feet from the bed as everything hits me at once.
We just pulled off something that should have been impossible, and a rush of that nervous/excited energy hits again as my mind spins with what-ifs and I start picturing all the things that could still go wrong.
“Shane,” Jace’s quiet voice cuts through the noise, and I lift my eyes from the floor to look at him. “You’re okay.”
“I don’t feel okay.” I put my hand on my chest as my heart starts pounding again. “This doesn’t feel okay.”
“You’re okay,” he repeats. “It’s just the adrenaline.”
“Are you sure? Because it feels like my heart is trying to escape through my chest.”
He pulls a silver cigarette case out of his pocket. “Will this help?”
I shake my head. “I only smoke when I’m drinking.”
He pops the case open, and I see what looks like a set of lockpicks, and two joints. “How about these? Will they help?”
“Fuck yeah. Are those from the party?”
He nods and pulls one out of the case. “It’s a hybrid strain I like.” He pops the paper filter in his mouth and snaps the case closed.
I watch as he presses on the case. A little flap pops up, and a bright arc appears between the two metal nubs under it. I can’t look away as he lights the end of the joint with the arc and draws in a long breath to get it started.
He lowers the joint and blows out a stream of smoke as he extends it to me.
I’m perfectly capable of lighting my own joint, but something about the move feels almost intimate, and I don’t hate it as I go to take it from him.
He grins and grabs my wrist with his other hand as he pulls the joint back and lifts it to his lips again. I don’t fight his hold on me as he takes another draw off it, and I let him tug me closer.
Not thinking about what I’m doing, I lean in until my lips are hovering over his, so close I can feel the heat from them against my skin. His lips part, and he breathes out at the same time I breathe in.
Hot, slightly musty smoke rolls over my tongue and fills my lungs, and little tingles dance over my skin. I lean back so I can see his expression as I slowly blow it out of the corner of my mouth so I’m not blowing it in his face.
Not taking his eyes off me, he hands me the case.
I take it from him, but instead of opening it to get the second joint, I toss it on the bed next to him.
He gives me a surprised look, but that quickly melts into a heated smirk as I take the joint from him and pull a long draw off it.
I hold the smoke in my lungs for a few beats, then twist my fingers in his long hair and grip it tight so I can tip his head back. He lets me, and I step between his spread knees as I let my lips hover over his and breathe out.
He takes the smoke from me, and after another beat, I let go of his hair so he can turn his head to the side and blow it out.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks in a husky voice.
I nod and take a quick puff off the joint, then put the filter to his lips. He takes a drag off it, and a flutter of tingles and good feels ripples through me as I watch him blow out another thin stream of smoke.
I take another hit off the joint. “I still can’t believe we pulled it off,” I say as I blow out the smoke and flick the filter to get the ash off the cherry.
“Believe it, because we did.” He takes it from me, and I watch as he takes another draw. My lips tingle with something that has nothing to do with the weed.
I want to kiss him. I want to feel his lips on mine, want to feel him own me with his mouth the way he so easily does in every other way.
A weird feeling moves through me. It’s not longing, not really. It’s more wistful—sad, even.
We just had sex, and I just had one of the best orgasms of my life, but I’m sad that we didn’t kiss when that’s not what we do?
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks in that husky voice that hits me in all the right places.
Instead of answering, I take another hit off the joint and pass it back to him.
His eyes never leave mine as he takes a hit, and little zings of electricity dance over my skin as our fingers brush when I take it back from him.
There are only a few hits left on the joint now, and I swallow to try and wet my arid throat, then take another long draw off it.
I pass it to him, and this time, when he leans in, I meet him halfway, stopping just as our lips brush.
It’s not a kiss by any stretch of the imagination, but the gentle contact still rocks me to my very core.
He slowly breathes out, and I inhale deeply, like I’m not just trying to get all the smoke, but I’m somehow trying to breathe him in too.
“This is good shit,” I say stupidly as the world goes fuzzy around the edges.
“It is.” He flips the joint around and holds it for me. “Last draw.”
I breathe in deep, then tilt my head to the side as he uses his fingers to pinch off the cherry and put the joint out.
A smile ghosts across his lips as he leans close, and I can’t stop the moan that falls from my lips when he threads his fingers in my hair and holds me in place as we pass the last of the smoke between us.
“How’re you feeling now?” he asks, and his lips brush against mine with every word.
“Good,” I say, my voice hoarse and rough. “Tingly.”
He grins and sits back. “Tingly is good.”
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“Good. Also tingly.”
“You fucked me,” I blurt out.
His grin goes dark. “I did.”
I shake my head. “How strong is this stuff? I can usually handle more than half a joint before the truth bombs start dropping and I lose control of my mouth.”
“Pretty strong, almost forty percent.”
“Yeah, that would do it.” I let out a weird giggle as it feels like bubbles rise up and fill my head. “Shit. It’s a good thing we didn’t spark up that second one. I’m a lightweight tonight.”
“And what would happen if we sparked it up?” he asks with a grin.
There’s something about his smile. It’s softer, like the weed has softened him around the edges, and I’m seeing his real smile for maybe the first time.
“I’d lose control of my mouth and start spilling all sorts of tea.
” I shake my head ruefully as more little bubbles seem to fill my head like champagne bubbles in a glass.
“This shit is like a truth serum for me. Booze? No problem, I’m a vault.
Molly or MDMA? Bring on the waterboarding because I ain’t spilling shit.
A single strong joint and fuck, it’s game over. ”
He laughs and pats the bed next to him.