Chapter 6 Jessie
Jessie
A good-looking jock face and torso leans out of the window of the passenger side of the truck. He’s all broad chest and dark hair. Smooth, stubborn jaw. The type of guy who’s used his looks to get out of trouble more than once, I’d be willing to bet.
“Lukeyyyy,” he bellows before the truck has come to a standstill.
“Pookie,” answers the driver in what sounds like a time-honored tradition, though it has to be said, he delivers his line with considerably less gusto than el jocko did.
“Jess, this is Gould.” Luke waves in the direction of the jock and then to the other one. “And that’s Chase”.
Chase has a vaguely preppy air about him.
I think it’s the combination of well-cut hair and the neat slant of his brow.
He’s wearing baggy shorts past the knee and white socks pulled up to mid-calf with a loose tank.
I don’t know him from Adam, but the clothes don’t suit the hair or the brow. I immediately pick up try-hard vibes.
I’m not a fan, but I like Gould even less.
I can tell he’s the type to keep Luke around to have someone to laugh at.
Someone to pick on to make him feel better about himself.
Not that I care. Truth be told, I’d kind of love to have a go at Luke myself.
I’d love to see that dumb, cheery mask slip.
I know it would give me a rush to see it replaced with hurt and confusion.
If I thought there was any way it would make me feel better about myself, believe me, I’d have done it by now.
Gould gets out of the truck, unfurling a stature that’s way shorter than I was expecting, and gets Luke in a headlock, ruffling his hair. Luke is giggling and making no effort to escape. Gould turns to me as if I’m an afterthought.
“You must be Jessie, right? Heard a lot about you.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m Jessie.”
“Thought you’d have an Australian accent.”
“Nah, guess not. I was almost sixteen when I moved there. I’d have had to consciously try to pick one up.”
I hate it when people move to new countries and immediately start trying to pick up the accent. It’s a pet peeve of mine, to be honest. Shows lack of character and serious pick-me tendencies.
Chase and Gould spill out of the truck and into the house. Chase barely looks up from his phone as he walks and Gould is carrying an armful of crap; sweaters, books and a couple of Tupperware containers.
“My mom said she’d skin me if I didn’t get all this back to you,” he says, dumping everything into Luke’s arms.
“Did you bring my charger?” asks Luke.
“Shit. Sorry! I knew I was forgetting something. Next time.”
“You’ve said that the last three times we’ve been here,” says Chase, punctuating the statement with a quick glance up from his phone.
“Don’t sweat it. It’s no biggie.”
Luke sets down all the crap Gould brought for him on the entry table and walks us through to the kitchen.
He starts flinging soft drinks and snacks out of the fridge and onto the kitchen island.
We all stand around and tuck in before he’s managed to open the chips or the dips and transfer them into bowls.
Conversation flows, albeit intermittently.
I feel uncomfortable as hell. It’s clear they’ve known each other forever and me being here is upsetting the status quo.
They keep having to explain things to me, not that I’m interested, but they seem to feel that they should.
To my surprise, my suspicions about the way Gould and Chase treat Luke prove unfounded.
It’s not often I’m wrong. It’s a peculiar feeling.
Can’t say I care for it.
Far from simply tolerating him or making him the place their jokes go to land, they dote on him.
They laugh riotously at everything he says.
Whether what he says is funny or not doesn’t seem to matter in the slightest. Gould is the main offender.
He looks at Luke a lot, even when Luke isn’t talking.
When he does it, one side of his mouth creeps up.
For some inexplicable reason it incites a shaking hot irritation in me.
A tight ball forms in my chest. I hate meeting new people and I can tell I’m about to become so fucking awkward it’s going to affect everyone else here negatively.
I pull the fridge door open. “Anyone want a beer?”
Luke’s eyebrows shoot up, but he quickly catches himself and allows them to settle back into their usual position.
“Hell yeah!” says Gould with a lot more enthusiasm than the question warrants.
“Driving.” Chase shakes his head.
I crack open two beers and get started on pouring one down my throat as fast as I can.
“How’s Izzy?” Luke asks. “I haven’t seen her for a while.”
Chase answers, “Your guess is as good as mine. She’s been scarce since she started working.”
“I guess she’s busy. I’ll call her tomorrow and try to arrange a time for us to hang out,” says Luke.
“Personally, I think she has a thing for one of the chefs at Joe’s. Some douche named Phillipe. She mentioned him twice last time I saw her. I mean, who gives a shit that the guy can cook? It’s not like it’s hard. Chop, chop, throw it in a pan, and you’re done, right?”
In my humble opinion, cooking is slightly more involved than that. I deliberate for a second but decide it might be more fun in the long run to leave Chase uneducated on the matter.
Gould has moved so he’s standing beside Luke.
He drapes an arm loosely around his shoulder, taking a long swig of his beer as he does it.
Luke is almost my height and Gould is a lot shorter than him, making the embrace look uncomfortable.
After he’s swallowed, he holds the beer out to Luke.
Luke gives a small shake of his head. Instead of picking up the cue, Gould offers again, this time he holds the bottle an inch or less from Luke’s mouth.
Luke twists his face away but doesn’t move out of Gould’s grip.
“Leave him alone,” I say without meaning to.
Gould looks up, taken aback by the coldness of my tone. He eyes me beadily and then cracks into a well-practiced smile. It’s the kind of smile that looks friendly but isn’t. “Protective of your brother, huh? That’s sweet.”
“He’s not my brother.”
Fortunately, the visit doesn’t drag on for too long as Chase has to pick his mom up from work.
Still, by the time they leave, I’ve had two beers in quick succession.
Rachel and my dad notice the bottles on the counter the second they walk in.
Rachel’s mouth forms a small, tight circle.
My dad’s eyes dart to her, looking for guidance.
She fixes him with an adoring gaze that says something along the lines of I trust you to handle this situation, Honey.
In my defense, I didn’t realize my actions were giving rise to a situation.
I’ve been drinking legally since I was eighteen in Australia.
I forgot you have to be twenty-one to drink in the States.
My dad pulls me aside. He has this intense I’m about to flex my parenting skills look about him.
The corners of his eyes are creased, and his jaw is tighter than usual.
It makes me feel faint with rage. I gear myself up for a meltdown of epic proportions.
Truth be told, I’m looking forward to the release.
It doesn’t come.
My dad and I have a long talk during which we agree to a don’t ask don’t tell kind of arrangement.
I’m allowed to drink at home within reason, as long as I don’t supply minors and obviously don’t drink and drive.
I can tell my dad is concerned about how he’s handled things when we head back into the living room.
He’s worried he’s been too soft on me. He’s probably worried I’m going to corrupt their precious Luke.
He relaxes when Rachel gives him a tiny nod and a reassuring smile that says I knew you’d do the right thing, Sweetie.
I’m still feeling tense and half-disappointed I didn’t get to explode, so after dinner I help myself to another beer and start drinking it on the way back to the guest house. Luke tags along, chattering as always.
“So what did you think of Chase and Gould? D’you see what I mean about Gould? He’s a bit of a shock, but once it wears off, he’s pretty great, huh?”
“Mm.”
I sit on the sofa and start flicking through channels. Luke offers me some cheese and crackers and once he’s assembled the platter, he flops down on the sofa beside me. Right beside me. Touching me. Leaning against me with an arm around the back of my shoulder.
Why the fuck does he have to sit so close?
“D’you mind?”
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Habit.”
Thankfully, he takes the hint and gives me some space.
He moves to the opposite side of the sofa and lies down on his side, pummeling a throw pillow until it’s just how he likes it.
I’m about to put my feet up and settle in for a proper chill session when I feel his bare foot on my thigh.
I fully intend to slap it away, but for some reason I don’t.
Instead, I take a careful sip of my beer and try not to move the rest of my body.
I can feel the ball of his foot and his toes pressed against me.
They infuse my leg with a strange, fizzy heat.
I know I should move, but I don’t. The alcohol must have taken hold because that’s not the only stupid thing I do.
Far from it. I get chatty and start asking questions. Dumb questions.
Questions like, “So, Luke, what’s the big plan then?”
“Big plan for what?”
“Getting your V-card punched.”
“Told you. I have options.” He doesn’t look in my direction, but I see a glint of blue light from the TV reflect on his teeth.
“Oh yeah, like who?” I spread my legs, butting my thigh against his foot in a way I’m not entirely sure is an accident.
I’m willing to bet this sunny momma’s boy has never come within a hundred feet of a situation that could have resulted in him getting laid. And even if he has, there’s no way he’d have recognized the situation for what it was.
“There’s this guy Jake from my homeroom class. He’s nice and he flirts with me but he’s not really my type. Or there’s this older guy I met online, DaddyXXX. He seems super sweet and he says he has lots of experience breaking guys in.”
“Are you fucking insane?” My voice booms against every solid surface in the room and my blood runs cold in my veins. “An old guy you met online. Do you have any idea how stupid that is?”
He turns to me and laughs from his belly. The little fucker is having me on. “I’m a virgin, Jessie, not an idiot with a death wish.”
“So, what you’re really saying is that you have no options.” I laugh, too. The sound bubbles out of me. Oxygen floods my lungs and I feel a crazy sense of relief at the thought of Luke staying a virgin forever.
“Well, there’s always Gould, I guess.”
“Gould?” The relief from before turns sour, leaving a foul taste in my mouth.
“Yeah, he’s offered a few times.”
“Gould likes guys?”
“Gould likes everyone.”
“And you? D’you only like guys, or girls, too?”
“I like girls a lot. I love them. I think they’re beautiful and I might get on better with them than I get on with guys, but I don’t like them like that.”
“Do you wish you did?”
“Nah, I’m happy with who I am.” He makes it sound so fucking simple. So fucking easy.
He curls his toes against my outer thigh. The friction makes the hairs on my leg stand on end. I don’t move. It takes me a second to work out whether he meant to do it or not. I think maybe he did.
“What about you?” he asks.
“I guess Gould and I have something in common after all.”
He looks over at me, giving me an easy smile and a little nod, before turning his head back to face the TV. He has no way of knowing how momentous this moment is for me. No way of knowing it’s something about me I’ve known for a long time, but it’s something I’ve never said out loud before.
I turn off the light and lie back in bed.
I feel restless. Too hot with the covers on and too cold with them off.
I try in vain to lie still and will myself to fall asleep.
I feel under pressure to do so. I need to drift off.
Now. I need to go to sleep now, before Luke settles in for the night and kicks off his nightly self-abuse ritual.
The last beer I had went to my head. I could feel it when I was sitting on the sofa, and I felt it more when I stood up; a warm muffled embrace that cocooned common sense, wrapping it up and discarding it, leaving recklessness in its place.
I know I’m impaired and I feel a sense of dread about it.
A sense of urgency. I need to go to sleep or I’m going to do something stupid.
I don’t know what, but I know myself and history has taught me that when I feel like this, I more than deliver on the stupid stakes.
I shut my eyes tightly and take long, even breaths through my nose.
The soft hiss of water comes to a sudden stop.
The bathroom door opens. Bare feet pad past my door and into Luke’s room.
He moves around a bit, but not for too long.
I hear the squeak of mattress springs and a soft, contented sigh.
My ears have been peeled since he got to his room.
I haven’t heard his wardrobe door creak.
Is he naked in bed?
I start feeling warm again, so I push the covers down to my waist, letting cool air waft over my chest. It helps, but not for long. Timber scrapes against timber next door, as he slides his desk drawer open and rummages around.
Fuck.
A plastic lid flicks open. It’s like a red rag to a bull. I’m livid. Boiling. I rip the covers off me completely and get to my knees, pressing the side of my face against the wall to cool down. I hear the slick sound of dick fucking a fist.
Is he thinking of Gould?
I can’t believe the fucking nerve of Gould, making an offer like that. “He’s offered a few times.”
A few times? A few?
How many times is a few?
I’m going to kill that guy. I didn’t like him on sight and boy was I right about him.
I don’t need him sniffing around here and clearly, neither does Luke.
The last thing he needs is a friend like that.
I think of the way Gould looked at him. Big brown puppy dog eyes, alight with amusement and fondness.
And hope. Hope that he’ll be the first one to have Luke.
The first one to touch him. The first one to take him. The first one to make him come apart.
Bile burns the back of my throat. My hand moves of its own accord. It tightens into a fist and pounds the wall between us.
“Luke! I know what you’re doing in there.”