Chapter 5
five
Shea
I hate the party.
I want to leave the moment we arrive and Emma deserts me. To be fair, she warned me she’d be occupied with a guy tonight and ordered me to mingle.
But apparently that’s not the kind of order I enjoy following.
Everyone is crammed into the filthy frat house seems hell bent on their own destruction—and I know that makes me sound hypocritical, since I actively tried to seduce my roommate’s father.
But the music is loud, everyone is shouting at the top of their lungs.
People are having conversations, but no one is looking each other in the eye.
They’re always scanning the room. Keeping an eye out for a better option.
We’ve been there for fifteen minutes when I am handed a beer by a boy. He looks baffled by the sweatshirt I’m wearing, which reaches all the way past my knees, but smiles nonetheless and starts asking me questions. Where am I from? Who is in my friend group? Who do I know?
I respond as best I can, when I’m yelling to be heard, but I’m really just counting the seconds until he leaves me alone.
There is only one man I’m thinking about and he’s intense, succinct, real.
And he has about a hundred and fifty pounds of muscle on this boy who is edging closer to me, asking me if I have a boyfriend.
“I’m…interested in someone,” I say in response. That’s not a lie.
Just because I can’t have Jason doesn’t mean I’m not interested in him.
Like what he’s doing right now. If he ate his leftovers.
“Oh no. I’m too late?” says the boy. “Is he here?”
That paints a laughable image. Jason would look like a pro wrestler at a children’s birthday party if he was to walk into this room. “No, he’s not here.”
Eyebrow waggle. “I guess we don’t have to worry about him then, right?”
I give a half-hearted laugh. Emma gives me a thumbs up from across the room where she’s dancing with a guy I vaguely recognize. Must be the dude she’s talking to.
The boy in front of me tugs up the hem of my sweatshirt, exposing one of my thighs, before I yank it back down. “Aren’t you hot in this thing? Why don’t we take it off?”
“No, thanks,” I say firmly. “I’m leaving it on.”
I don’t want to break Jason’s rule. I’m determined to keep it. I want to.
It’s all he can give me.
“You’re gorgeous. Don’t you want to show off that body a little?”
I’m starting to feel kind of queasy. And not just from the warm beer.
“I think I see a friend…excuse me,” I say, sidling past the handsy guy.
Weaving through students who eye my oversized sweatshirt curiously.
A girl from one of my classes stops me, demanding I take a shot of something clear, and I do it, just to see if the alcohol will help me enjoy the noise and chaos more.
But everything just seems to grow tinnier, blurrier. Louder.
I close my eyes and picture myself in Jason’s living room.
In front of that roaring fire.
His big hands stroking my hips. My belly. Like he did earlier tonight.
And I loved it. My nerve endings are still humming like charged ions.
“Hey,” says another boy, sliding into view. This one is wearing a 49ers jersey and a less creepy smile than the last guy, but I don’t feel like pretending I’m interested in small talk again. “You’re Emma’s friend, right? What’s with the sweatsh—”
“I’m not feeling well,” I blurt, cutting him off. “I need to get some air. Sorry.”
I cut through the wall-to-wall people, ignoring boys who try to stop me, engage me in conversation.
Finally, I’m out the front door into the slightly chilly night.
I glance back into the house at Emma, who is now actively making out with her crush.
I shoot her a text message and watch her read it through the window of the house, her features pinched with annoyance over the interruption.
Me: Alas, the party life is not for me. Do you mind if I go?
Emma: Back to my dad’s? By yourself?
Me: Where else can I go?
Emma: Right. As long as you don’t feel awkward about it.
Me: I don’t. But will you be okay?
Emma: Yeah. I’ve got some friends here. I won’t be alone.
Me: Okay, good.
Emma: Don’t wait up for me. Headed to pound town.
Me: Congrats!
Through the grimy window, I watch Emma get back into her makeout session and I sigh, considering my options.
The bus is probably not a good idea alone this time of night, and I’m not even sure where the bus stops near Jason’s house.
I could call an Uber, but the account is still connected to my dad’s credit card and finances are tight.
He doesn’t mind me using Uber occasionally, but it would be the second one tonight.
Plus, I have no idea how I’m going to replace everything that probably got damaged in my apartment.
Apart from walking, Uber is my only option.
I call the cheapest ride available, using Jason’s address as my destination, which is still programmed from earlier.
The Uber arrives within minutes and after checking the license plate, I take the ride.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull up in front of the blue jewel of a house.
The crickets chirping in the yard and the gentle rush of wind are music to my ears after the raging party.
I’m not surprised that all the windows are dark.
It’s nearly midnight and Jason has probably been asleep for hours, right? I’m assuming he works in the morning.
Using the spare key that Jason gave me, I let myself in as quietly as possible, closing the door and locking it without a sound. I tiptoe through the entry hallway—
And draw to a halt at the mouth of the living room.
Jason is sitting on the couch, in front of the crackling fire.
Secretary is playing on the television.
On the screen, Maggie Gyllenhaal is bent over a desk in a pencil skirt and polka dot blouse, getting the bejeezus spanked out of her by James Spader.
It’s my favorite scene. I’ve rewound it a hundred times.
The surprise on her face. The way he watches so closely for her reactions.
She’s being awakened in real time.
I gravitate closer to the television.
Jason must sense my approach because he looks back at me over his shoulder and stands up, his hand clenched tightly around the remote control. The fire rages behind him, outlining his strong, towering body in an orange glow.
“Where is Emma?” he asks.
“Still at the party,” I respond. “She’s with friends.”
Emma’s father nods once, pauses the scene on the television.
For several moments, neither one of us says anything.
“Is that what you want?” he asks me in a low voice.
But I don’t get to respond. Maybe I don’t have to, because my restless expression says it all.
I envision Jason’s enormous hand lifting in the air and slapping down onto my bare bottom.
Heat suffuses every inch of my skin in response.
“I can’t give that to you. This…”—he saws a hand between us—“has already gone too far.”
Disappointment lances me through the middle, but I firm my chin. “I know. It’s okay.”
I’m starting to feel like an idiot for making this thirty-six-year-old man, my friend’s father, watch a movie that has portrayed my secret desires so clearly.
What did I expect to happen? I should be relieved that he’s turning me down.
Just because he’s the only male who has ever excited my body doesn’t change who he is. How forbidden this would be.
“Good night,” I say quickly, hurrying toward the guest room.
Jason’s hand shoots out over the back of the couch and catches my arm before I can make it three steps. His eyes are shut tight, his sides expanding, releasing.
“Just this once,” he rasps.