Chapter Sixteen
I struggle to concentrate, but his voice is ringing in my ears. “What did you say?”
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
Yeah? Well, too late. I shouldn’t be surprised he figured out who I was talking about. I all but told him. “Doesn’t matter.”
His jaw clenches. “Mia?—”
I try to tell myself to move on, but the memories of that night rush back. All the things I thought, wished, and felt swarms me as if I were reliving that night all over again. He has no idea how much his words hurt me. No idea how they’ve affected me since.
“Why were you and your friends even talking about me like that in the first place?”
“Jonathan and I had this friend who brought you up in our conversation. We didn’t know you were listening in. You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Who talks shit about someone at their own birthday party?”
He looks at me confused. “I wasn’t talking shit about you. I was expressing an opinion.”
“Yeah. A hurtful one.”
“What do you mean?” He looks so infuriatingly confused.
Why should I tell him the reason? He didn’t like me the way I liked him.
The way I maybe still do.
“What did you mean by ‘it wasn’t for the reason you think’?”
He pauses. “You deserve to hear the truth when you have a clear mind.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear what he’s saying. And he’s right. I appreciate his point. I deserve to hear the truth when I’m thinking clearly. But right now, I’m just pissed off.
“Why are you avoiding the question?”
“Why were you listening to the conversation in the first place?”
I sit there in silence. I have a chance to tell him the truth. It’s so close; it’s on the tip of my tongue. Then again, what’s the point? He didn’t see me as more than Jonathan’s sister—and he never will.
“Why are you mad about that night? I didn’t think I was being offensive,” he adds.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I would if you’d tell me.”
I’ve had enough of this crap. All we’re doing is running in conversational circles. “I don’t appreciate the personal questions. I’m going to bed.”
When I stand and start down the hall, he rushes to my side, grabbing my arm firmly and pulling me close. “Mia, did I say something to offend you?”
“Trust me, you’ve said plenty.” He’s pushed me beyond my comfort zone. On top of that, he’s reminded me of the reality of our relationship. “Thanks for dinner, and your little ‘game.’ I needed the reminder of where I stood with you.”
Where I still stand.
“What are you talking about?” Wow, he really has no clue. Of course he doesn’t. How could he have known a silly kid like me had such a huge crush on him?
The least I can do is tell him about it. “I had…a stupid teenage crush on you back then. And hearing you say you didn’t feel the same way hurt my feelings.” There. The truth is out. And the way he’s looking at me in shock makes me wish I could take it back.
“You had a crush on me?”
I nod, avoiding eye contact with him. “It was stupid and ridiculous. But don’t worry, I’m over it now.”
Of all the ways he could have reacted to my confession, I never expected him to start laughing. What the fuck? Now all I feel now is insecure. I’m desperate to run away and bury myself in a hole.
“Yeah, my adolescent feelings for you are pretty damn funny,” I say with sarcasm. “Go ahead, laugh for as long as you want.” Nice to know I was right about him not feeling the same for me—then or now.
Breaking free from his grasp, I walk hustle to my room and slam the door behind me. I don’t need any more humiliation than what I already feel.
I sit on my bed, contemplating whether to cry or not, when I hear a soft knock. “Mia? Mia, I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you.”
“Really, because it seemed clear to me you were.”
“Please don’t shut me out. Let me explain. I’m sorry, baby girl. Let’s talk about this.”
“Fuck you,” I yell, throwing a pillow at the closed door. The fluffy down hits the door with a small thud before it falls to the floor.
“Mia.” His voice sobers as I try to bury my head in my other pillow, wishing I was somewhere else. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”
“Good night, Jake.” I turn onto my side, away from him. All I hear from the hall is silence, until the telltale squeaking of the hinges tells me he’s opening the door.
I whip around, ready to rip him a new one, only to find Jake standing over me. I don’t know whether to feel infuriated, intimidated, or turned on. “What is your problem?”
He says nothing. Silence hangs between us. All he’s doing is staring at me intently, wearing some expression I can’t quite figure out.
“Look, if you’re here just to laugh at me some more, you?—”
Before I know what’s happening, Jake tugs me off the bed and pulls me into his arms, cradles my face with one of his large hands, and melds his lips to mine.
Am I dreaming? Is this happening right now? Are his lips actually devouring mine? I should pull away, but all I want to do is melt in his embrace.
Like New Year’s Eve, I’m caught by surprise. But this kiss feels different. It feels intentional, genuine, and definitely passionate. Heat creeps through me until my body burns all over.
I cling to him as if he were my only lifeline. Hell, he might as well be. The more I hold tight to him, the deeper he takes our kiss. Oh, god, is this what a kiss should be? If that’s the case, I’m in for a roller-coaster.
Suddenly, the world around me is gone. All that’s there to hold me together is Jake. I should be worried, but my logic seems to be out of commission.
No one has ever made me feel this way about a kiss.
He pushes his tongue in my mouth. I accept his invasion with zero hesitation. Oh, god, this feels so good. So right. I want more of him. I just can’t get enough. Will I ever?
Wrapping my leg around his, I try to pull him impossibly closer. I want more. I need more. As though his body were the only way for me to survive.
He must be understanding what I need, because Jake pulls my leg up to his thigh. I feel something long and hard press close to my pussy, which I have no doubt has soaked my panties. I want him. I need him. Caution recedes. Shame doesn’t exist. I’m dying for whatever is about to happen between us—now.
I start trying to peel off my shirt when Jake pulls from the kiss and gently lowers my arms to my sides. “Mia… No. Not tonight. You deserve something better. More intimate. When you’re sober.”
“I don’t want to wait.” I pout.
He grabs my face in both hands, giving me one last deep, passionate kiss. “But we should. And we will. You deserve a whole explanation. And I’ll give you one tomorrow. After that…well, we’ll see what happens.”
I understand what he’s saying, but my libido doesn’t give a fuck. All it knows is that I’ve waited years for him, and he won’t be in my bed tonight.
“Goodnight, Mia.” His sultry voice has me desperately clinging to his arm as he kisses my forehead and leaves my room, closing the door behind him.
He’s left me gasping, wanting, and aroused. Did that just really happen? Yes. And what the hell am I going to do about it?