7. Penelope
SEVEN
I shovedthe back door open and tucked away my cell while scaling the three steps from where the porch led to our yard. My boots sunk into the wet grass, still glistening from the water that had been on earlier.
Miles mowed it, preferring to keep it short, and Mom was always out here ensuring it remained green. As the years passed, the two of them seemed to fall into a bit of a partnership that I hadn’t expected.
Jameson was right, Miles was good to us. He never looked at me in any other way than an extra mouth to feed. He avoided me most the time, but when he was around, he was nice enough. He seemed to like my mother. He lit up when she walked into a room, and I’d had to purchase ear plugs because our rooms shared a wall.
It was weird that we’d finally seemed to find a place to stay, but I was still too nervous to voice any of my thoughts, so I had continued the tradition of finding wildflowers and pressing them into my journal with a wish.
Please let us stay.
Please let us be happy.
Tonight, there was supposed to be a big bonfire happening at the old distillery. Mom knew I was going, but out of respect for Miles and his early bedtime rule, I exited through the back instead of the front.
I heard the loud music from the Chaos Kings clubhouse, just a few driveways down and pushed on in the opposite direction.
Recently I craved space from the club, or more specifically, the two boys who seemed to constantly draw me into bullshit trouble I never wanted to be in to begin with. Stealing cars no one could prove they’d stolen. Taking apart the principal’s car and putting it back together in the school gymnasium, while planting evidence that it was the football team who’d done it.
Chaos.
One day Luke had kidnapped the assistance principal’s dog, brought it to school and let it loose in the hallways. While the teachers were busy trying to run after it, Luke and Jamie had snuck into the science wing and stolen several chemicals that had arrived overnight. I was always the one on lookout, and I hated it. Mostly because I didn’t like the risk of getting in trouble. They had the protection of the club and their fathers. Jameson’s dad, being the president of the club, and Luke’s the vice president. They’d get a gentle slap on the wrist if anything, but I’d get expelled. No one from the club had my back, not even Miles.
Not if it would pit him against his club in any way.
Then there was the confusion over Luke and Jamie’s friendship. They worked independently, almost as if they both had roles to play and each one knew exactly what was expected of them. They didn’t joke or laugh together. They didn’t act like friends.
It was an enigma to me, but also a relationship I couldn’t invest time into caring about.
Jameson had left me confused too many times to count. When I wasn’t paying attention, he’d toy with my hair, even going so far as wrapping a curl around his finger. Other times, I’d find him watching me, that easy smile on his face that conveyed he was merely interested in creating havoc.
So, tonight I was going to the bonfire and spending time with friends from school. My hands were tucked into my jacket as I walked down the dirt road, the moon heavy and bright overhead. I only had a two-mile walk, which wouldn’t take long, but I hustled faster to get past the dark patch of road where the dirt became asphalt and the street lamps arrived.
I was roughly fifty feet from the main road when I heard gravel crunching behind me.
My feet faltered for a moment as I slowed to turn around, but a crisp voice stopped me.
“You shouldn’t be walking alone in the dark.”
Jameson.
Panic was snared in my lungs like a trapped butterfly, my shuddery exhale had it easing away as I turned fully. Gravel crunched as the pale moon revealed the harsh lines of Jamie’s jaw. Every year it seemed as though some invisible hand had come and defined it into something wider, more masculine than the year before.
“I don’t have far to walk,” I countered, ignoring the imaginary wings that seemed to flutter and brush against the inside of my stomach.
Jameson closed the distance between us, glaring while his hands were tucked into his leather jacket. I’d seen him wear his cut a million times, but it hadn’t been cold enough for me to see the new colors and patches on his jacket. Realizing that he would be the president after his dad still struck me silent. I stared at the crooked crown sitting atop the white skull sewn into his coat.
He shouldered past me. “Then you won’t mind if I tag along.”
I fell back into step next to him, our steps the only chorus among the dark.
“No Luke tonight?” I asked, staring at the ground.
Jameson didn’t answer right away, but once our feet hit the asphalt, he finally replied.
“Not sure what he’s doing, last I saw he was smoking with a few prospects.”
That sounded like Luke.
“You don’t smoke with them?”
Jamie lifted a shoulder, still watching our feet. “I might on my own, but I don’t like hanging with prospects. They’re trying to solidify a place in the club…and no matter how hard they try, it won’t ever be as high of a rank that Luke or I hold. Makes the dynamic weird.”
That made sense. It was why I felt so weird with them from time to time. They were princes of the club, while I had absolutely no place in it.
“Where are you even going tonight?” Jamie nudged my shoulder.
I lifted my head, staring at the approaching town.
“Bonfire.”
Jamie let out a small scoff. “Why are you going?”
“To have fun.” I lifted my hands then let them drop. “Why does anyone go?”
“Well, it’s just…” He stalled, as if he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to. “They fuck at those things. It’s usually the entire point.”
Well, shit. I didn’t realize that. I wouldn’t tell him that though, regardless that heat seemed to wrap around my neck and choke me.
“Well maybe I want to fuck,” I said, keeping my face up, my eyes forward. Faking the bravado I tried to instill into my tone.
Jameson’s face swung over, and I knew his eyes were on me.
“You serious?”
Flames danced under my cheeks, and I was so grateful for the cool air brushing against my skin to help relieve it.
“Why not?”
Jameson stopped and gently tugged my elbow so I’d slow with him.
“Well for starters, you haven’t even been kissed yet.”
My body was going to erupt into a heaping pile of ash from how embarrassed I was.
I pulled my arm away and snapped, “Yes I have…why would you even assume that?”
His eyes looked like two pieces of caramel under the streetlights. I watched how his gaze moved around my face, as if he were searching for any hints of that fire that I had tried to kill.
“Because I watch you. You stare at people who kiss like you wonder what it would be like…you always get this tiny pink flare under your freckles, and then you dip your head like you’re embarrassed just thinking about it. People who have been kissed, don’t stare the way you do.”
I was going to die from mortification.
He’d noticed me staring at people kissing. Ohmyfreakinggod.
The earth could swallow me at any moment.
His thumb was pushing against my chin as my face fell, my hair shielding my burning face.
“I hate when you do this.”
My eyes were back on him. “Do what?”
He stepped closer, his thumb still against my chin, but now his fingers were spread out against my jaw. “Lower your face as if you don’t belong to stay in the moment…as if you need to separate yourself from what’s going on. You do it a lot in the club.”
I stared up into his eyes, letting his hand remain against my jaw.
“I don’t belong there.”
His thumb traced my bottom lip. “You do. You’re the only thing there that feels like home.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with that, but my heart seemed to falter under the weight of each word.
“I’ll go with you to the bonfire, Penny. I’ll watch over you, and you can kiss or fuck, do whatever you want but first, you’ll have this.”
He stepped so close our faces were merely an inch apart, now both his hands cradled my face. My breathing had become shallow, so not to break this moment or scare him away.
“Have what?” I whispered, my eyes still clinging to his.
A tiny spark of fire slid against my bottom lip as he moved the pad of his thumb over it again.
“Me,” he rasped, just a singular second before leaning in and pressing his lips to mine. His mouth was soft, his lips surprisingly warm and then his tongue traced the path his thumb had just outlined for him, as if he was following some invisible map he’d drawn. The hands on my face felt tighter as I lifted mine to grip his wrists, my head tilting to take him deeper.
There, on a cold October night, Jameson King stole my first kiss in the middle of the street.
I wish he hadn’t.
Because my heart seemed to grow talons, slicing through my breast and demanding entry in a place I knew wasn’t available. I wanted Jameson to want me. I wanted him to want my heart.
I wanted him to crave me the way I did him.
Still, I knew he wouldn’t.
That moment, stolen in time, would become a wildflower pressed into my journal.
A wish and a whispered prayer for someone I knew I could never have for myself.