Chapter 12 Jamie
Jamie
White lace. Matching. Nothing flashy, but God, the way it fits her, the way she moves––it knocks the air clean out of me. She’s soft in all the right places, all that quiet confidence she doesn’t even realize she’s got. I can’t look away.
Yeah, I’m fucked.
She’s laughing now, hair wild, cheeks flushed, running with the rest of them out the door and into the night. The porch light catches on her skin as she takes off down the lawn, and for a second I think I might follow just to keep her in sight.
But then I catch the look on Miles. He’s stone-faced, leaning back on the couch like the world owes him something. His hood’s still up, eyes dark, jaw set. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, just watches her too.
We haven’t talked since last night, and after watching him pull Leslie onto his lap, allowing her to be all over him… he does this? Sits here, watching her like she’s his to protect, like he didn’t make the same mistake he warned me about? Hypocrite.
I down the rest of my drink, the bitterness coating my throat. Screw it. I’m not doing this tonight.
Outside, the air hits cooler, sharper. The music pours out through the open windows, and laughter echoes across the quad. A blur of movement—girls sprinting in their underwear, some of the guys joining in just for the hell of it, everyone high on adrenaline and alcohol.
They look free. Stupid, but free.
Chloe’s somewhere in the middle, hair streaming behind her, giggling as she dodges a sprinkler that’s gone rogue. I can’t help smiling. She’s radiant—not trying to be sexy, not performing—just alive.
“Hey, babes,” a voice purrs behind me.
Bella.
She slides up close, perfume sweet and heady, her fingers finding my sleeve as she leans in and presses a quick kiss to my neck. “Didn’t think I’d find you hiding out here.”
“Hey,” I say, giving her a small smile, trying to sound casual.
Her eyes flick over my face, then lower. She licks her lips, clearly thinking it’s her turn to pull me back inside. “We could head upstairs for a bit. Have our own fun.” Her tone leaves zero room for interpretation.
I chuckle softly. “Not tonight.”
She pouts, a teasing whine in her voice. “Boring.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
She grins anyway, brushing her lips against my cheek. “Your loss, Jamie.” Then she kicks off her heels, lets them fall onto the grass, and takes off running toward the chaos, joining the rest of the laughing pledges.
I know she’s doing it for my attention, but my eyes aren’t on her.
They’re on Chloe.
She’s heading back now with the rest, breathless, flushed, her hair clinging to her face. There’s glitter on her shoulder, probably from one of the other girls’ tops, and it catches the porch light when she stops at the steps.
Her eyes find me.
God. Those eyes.
She freezes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and I can’t help the grin that pulls at mine.
“Hey, stranger,” she calls out, voice breathless, teasing.
“Hey, peeping Tom,” I say, pretending not to notice how my heart’s hammering.
She laughs, pushing a strand of hair from her face. “You enjoying the show?”
“Wasn’t bad,” I admit, letting my gaze flick briefly from her face down to her legs and back up. “Definitely a highlight.”
Her cheeks flush deeper, and she bites back another laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” I lean against the railing, watching her. “You warm enough?”
She shrugs, still catching her breath. “Adrenaline helps.”
I’m about to say something else when a familiar voice cuts in—rough, too loud, too close.
“Man, Jamie, come on.”
It’s Ryan—one of the forwards from the team. Big guy, wealthy enough that the library is named after his father and therefore a guy who’s used to getting what he wants just by showing up. He’s holding a tumbler in one hand, half full of amber liquid, and that grin that’s never friendly.
He claps me on the shoulder. “You already got half the cheer squad. Leave some for the rest of us, yeah?”
“Walk away, Ryan,” I say, not smiling now.
He laughs, thinking I’m joking. “I’m serious, man. You don’t need this one.” His eyes drift to Chloe. “Pretty little thing like her? She’s wasted on a gentle guy like you.”
Chloe straightens a bit, crossing her arms instinctively. Her voice is steady though. “Actually, I like gentle guys.”
Ryan smirks, taking a slow step closer. “Yeah? Bet I could change your mind.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
But he reaches anyway, the back of his knuckles brushing her arm. And before I can even move, something slams into him from the side—hard.
Ryan hits the wall with a choked grunt, his drink splattering across the siding.
Miles.
He’s got a fistful of Ryan’s shirt, eyes blazing, jaw tight. The air shifts, sharp and electric.
“She said leave her alone,” Miles snarls, voice low but deadly.
Ryan’s hands go up instantly. “Alright, alright, man— Jesus—”
But Miles doesn’t loosen his grip until the guy stammers an apology and stumbles off into the dark, cursing under his breath.
Chloe’s standing frozen, eyes wide, one hand over her mouth.
I can hear the tremor in her breathing.
She takes a small step toward me, and before I even think about it, my arm comes around her shoulders, pulling her in close. She fits there like it’s natural, like she belongs against me.
Miles turns, still furious, still breathing like he’s about to throw another punch, but I don’t think he hears when Chloe whispers, voice shaking—
“Jamie… please get me out of here.”
And yeah.
That’s exactly what I plan to do.
Inside, the music fades behind us, muffled by the closed door and the echo of our footsteps on the hardwood floor. The hall smells like spilled liquor and cheap perfume. Somewhere upstairs, people are still cheering. The laughter feels far away—another world.
Chloe’s breathing is uneven. Her cheeks are still flushed, hair sticking to her neck, eyes wide with leftover adrenaline. She stops halfway down the corridor, looking around.
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask quietly.
She swallows, glancing down. “I had a small bag. It’s tied to my skirt.”
I follow her gaze. The tiny crossbody is looped through a belt hole, bouncing lightly against her hip as she tugs it free and checks inside, her hands trembling a little. Keys. Phone. Lip balm. She exhales shakily, relief flickering through her features before sliding the mini skirt up her thighs.
Then she freezes. “I don’t see my shirt.”
She’s scanning the couch, the floor, the pile of discarded tops near the door. Her voice lifts slightly. “I don’t—God, I just had it.”
Before she can spiral further, I pull my shirt over my head and hand it to her. “Here.”
She blinks at me. “Jamie—”
“Just put it on.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t argue. The fabric swallows her, hem brushing her thighs, and for a second, she looks smaller. Her fingers bunch in the collar, tugging it close as she murmurs, “Thanks.”
The door creaks open.
It’s Miles.
He looks wrecked—hoodie half-zipped, a vein still pulsing in his neck, jaw clenched hard enough to break his teeth. His eyes go straight to Chloe, then to me, then back to her.
“Can we talk?” he says.
I don’t know if he means her or me, but she answers for both of us when she shakes her head. No hesitation. Just a small, tired movement.
Then she takes my hand.
“Come on,” she says, voice low.
I don’t look at him as she pulls me toward the door. I can feel Miles’s stare burning holes in the back of my skull, but I don’t turn around. Not tonight.
Outside, the air is cold. My breath comes out in clouds. The music from inside fades into a distant hum as we cross the lawn. Her hand is still in mine, small and warm.
“You cold?” she asks suddenly.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
She stops, turning to face me. Her eyes glint under the streetlight—pale and uncertain, but steady. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. I know this is all… confusing.”
Her voice cracks at the end.
“Hey.” I reach out, touch her hand again. It’s soft, trembling. I curl my fingers around it gently. “Breathe.”
She does. A shaky inhale, then a long exhale that makes her shoulders drop a little.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, then whispers, “I just want to go home.”
I nod too. “You sober enough?”
A tiny smile flickers across her lips. “The run helped.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Guess streaking has its perks.”
That earns me a small laugh. The kind that sounds like it’s half relief.
Her hair’s fallen loose around her face, and I reach up without thinking, tucking a strand behind her ear. My thumb brushes her cheek, and she doesn’t move away.
“Come on,” I murmur. “Let’s get you home.”
We walk together across the quiet campus, the wet grass soaking through my sneakers. The night smells like rain and smoke. Her Honda Civic is parked crooked at the curb, glinting under the lamplight.
I can feel my phone buzzing in my back pocket. Once. Twice. A pause, then again. Miles, probably. Could be my father. It doesn’t matter. I’m not in the mood to play cleanup for anyone tonight.
Chloe unlocks the car, then turns back to me, hesitating like she’s not sure what to do next.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“It’s all okay.” I mean it.
But then she looks up at me, and the world just—stills. The sound of the wind, the distant music, everything fades until it’s just her.
She steps closer.
Then she kisses me.
It’s not planned—not gentle, either. It’s sudden, like she’s been holding her breath all night and finally let it out. It shakes something loose in me, something I didn’t realize I’d been keeping locked up.
When she starts to pull back, I catch her waist, steadying both of us. “Are you sure?” I ask, my voice rougher than I expect.
She nods once, quick, eyes bright. “Yeah.”
So I kiss her this time.
Her fingers slide up my neck, her breath warm against my skin, and every thought, every rule, every warning dissolves into the cold night air.