Fall: A Seaside Novel (The Seaside Series) (16 page)

“Are you okay?” Pris took a tentative step toward me, her hand reaching out, making a beeline for my arm.

Her fingers grazed my skin.

I jerked back. “Uh, yeah.” Laughing, I grabbed an extra cup. “I just couldn’t fall asleep so I thought I’d make some tea.”

“Tea?” Her eyebrows rose. “How very proper.”

“That’s me,” I said dryly. “All…” My eyes raked over her muscular legs. “…proper.”

Clearing her throat, she stepped around me and grabbed the tea that I’d been holding onto like a lifeline. The way I figured, was if I was keeping my hands occupied then I wouldn’t be touching her. I wouldn’t be forcing myself on her, right? If I was touching tea I wouldn’t be touching tits.

Aw, shit.

I think I just made it worse.

Because my eyes naturally went to her chest, then snapped away like I was a fifth grader with his very first crush.

“So…” Pris ignored my jerky movements. She probably thought I was about ready to piss my pants or something.
Ants in the pants, ants in the pants!
Yes. I was officially reverting back to my childhood.

Trauma does that to a person.

So does delirium.

Insanity.

That’s what I was experiencing, because, dear God, she had vanilla-scented skin. I leaned toward her, my head turning into her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Checking.” I cleared my throat and stepped away.

“For?”

“Bed bugs.”

Yes. I’d just said bed bugs. I just officially ruined the mood and gave men everywhere a bad name.

“Eww!” She jumped into the air. “You have bed bugs?”

“No!” I yelled. “Of course not! But one should always be careful when one is staying…” I waved my hand into the air. “…abroad.”

“Stop saying one,” she snapped.

“Sorry.”

Shaking her head, she put a tea bag in each mug. The kettle whistled, prompting her to fill the mugs with the steaming water. I let her do it. My mind had left me and I knew my body was next to go — next in the very long line of betrayal. I figured if I touched the kettle I’d somehow find a way to burn my nether parts off. Because really, that’s just the type of night I was having.

“Here.” Pris thrust the mug into my hand, setting hers on the counter to cool, then jumped up and sat so she was at eye level with me. “I’m sorry you can’t sleep. Is there anything I can do?”

Yeah. She could stop — just stop — breathing so effing close to me.

Wait, did that mean I wanted her to die?

Shit. I was turning into a serial killer.

“No,” I croaked. “It happens sometimes.” I blew across the mug. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t.” She picked up her mug and lifted it to her lips pausing before taking a sip. “I fell asleep right away, and then, I don’t know, I guess my body wasn’t ready to go to bed yet. I woke up and heard you rummaging around in the kitchen.”

I winced. “Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”

“Jamie Jaymeson being quiet. You let me know when you discover you have that particular talent.”

With a laugh I clinked my mug to hers. “Cheers.”

Pris took a sip then jerked the cup back. “Ouch.”

“What?” I set my mug down and reached for hers, setting it next to mine.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “It’s not a big deal I think I just burnt my lip.”

“Let me see.” I stood in between her legs and braced either side of her face with my hands.

In hindsight… that was where I went wrong.

I knew I was struggling — I should have never touched her. I should have left her alone. I should have taken a step away instead of forward.

“Your lips look…”
Incredible. Delicious. Plump
. “Unharmed.” I inwardly groaned.

“Good.” Her answer was low, hypnotic, her tongue reached out and licked her lower lip.

And my body took the bait.

With a moan I crushed my mouth against hers and lifted her body against mine.

Her arms went around my neck as I devoured her lips — they tasted so sweet. Her body was hot, it slid against mine. My reaction was so violent I almost dropped her onto the floor.

Pris’s tongue pushed into my mouth. Damn, the girl was aggressive. I loved it. Smiling against her mouth I bit down on her lip and let her taste me, let her explore as my hands moved to her hips, setting her feet on the floor as I still held her body against mine.

Slowly, I slid my hands underneath her shirt, and lifted, the friction of my hands against her skin made me dizzy. Pris wasn’t just my obsession — she was my damn downfall. She made me feel weak, like I was drowning but I didn’t want to be saved. For the first time, I wanted to pull someone else down with me. And stay there.

Her breath hitched as my hands reached her bra.

She pulled back, slightly.

But it was enough for my brain to function on a logical level. I wanted to give her all of myself — but I had absolutely nothing to give her.

The math didn’t make sense.

I’d give her all I had — which was nothing.

And she’d give me everything.

“Pris,” I murmured against her mouth. “I’m sorry.” I stepped back, still gripping her wrists. “That shouldn’t have happened. It’s late and—”

“—what?” She jerked away from me, rubbing one wrist with her other hand.

“No, don’t be mad. Please.” Why did I feel like getting on my knees and begging? “I wouldn’t survive it if you said you hated me right now. I know it’s what I deserve. I know I’m an ass. I’m a whore. I’m all those things, but please, please don’t say this changes anything. I can’t…”
Dammit
. “I can’t lose you, Pris. You’re the only real friend I’ve had.” Other than the guys, but they were more like family, she had to know that.

“I’m not,” she said softly, touching her fingers to her swollen lips. I’d done that to her. I’d branded her with my mouth and I didn’t feel sorry. I refused to feel sorry.

“Friends.” I reached for her hand and gripped it. “Right? Besides, you like Smith. I’d just get in the way.”
Lies, all lies
. My body responded with a violent shudder.
Her
, it said, it begged, it screamed like a bloody gladiator. “Seaside… this is your home. This is your life.” I tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m just a distraction.” I wanted to hit myself so hard. My heart — bloody thing that it was — slammed against my chest in madness as if it was so upset with what I was saying that it was getting ready to burst from my chest and find the words that I couldn’t.

No.
I told my brain, I told my damn heart. No. It would be stealing — it would be wrong. Because I knew my priorities were still me. I knew they were still movies.

I had no room for her in my life.

And until I did…

Until I was fully ready…

She’d be the one to suffer for it.

“Say something…” I whispered.

Her eyes were cold, distant. “We’ll always be friends, Jaymeson.” With a sad smile, she shrugged. “Sometimes I just wonder if that’s what you really mean. You
say
friends, you act like—” She held out her hands, palms up… and shook her head helplessly.

I knew how I acted.

Like a man obsessed.

“I know.” I tilted her chin toward my face. “Will you accept my apology for not making the line clear?”

“What if I like blurry?”

“You say that now,” I said sadly. “But in the morning, you’ll wish it was still there. You’ll wish you’d seen it before you took the leap.”

With a slow nod, she got up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek, whispering, “You make it impossible to hate you, but right now, I really want to. I want to kick you. I want to slap you. I want to murder you.”

“Because I’m an ass?” The air stilled.

“No.” She stepped back. “Because you make decisions based on your own insecurities, your own reasons, without once thinking about what the other person may want. I feel sorry for you.”

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve had enough sex, money, and fame to last a lifetime. The last thing you should feel is sorry. You know nothing, Pris. You’re eighteen, for crying out loud! You haven’t even lived!” My voice took on a desperate tone. “You haven’t suffered. You haven’t—” I smacked the counter with my hand. “You’ve lived in Seaside, Oregon for your entire life. You know nothing of the horrors of life.”

“Wow, you’ve done it,” she whispered, her voice hollow.

“What?”

“Made me hate you.” Her eyes blurred with tears. “Night, Jaymeson. It seems I have a life to experience, considering I’ve never even lived or suffered. Great advice. How about I stay in my small town with my small-town boyfriend and my sad pathetic existence? Will that make you happy? Maybe Smith will help me experience some of those things — even if it’s heartache, apparently it would still make you happier than you are now.”

“But—”

“Go to bed, Jaymeson.”

The last thing I heard was the bedroom door slamming. It may as well have slammed in my face; I swear I felt the wind from it.

Good. Let her hate me. I’d take her hate over her shattered heart any day.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Priscilla

I made it as far as the bedroom door before I fell onto the bed and burst into tears. What was wrong with me? Was I that terrible of a prospect that we only ever got as far as the abrupt first kiss and I was pushed away?

Again.

A girl can only take so much rejection before her heart starts to wilt. Mine was dead. It felt dead. I hated that he did the right thing. Jamie Jaymeson, whore of the year, was trying to protect my virtue. Imagine that.

He had no idea how my body responded to him. With Smith it was like getting a nice hug from a family member. Ugh. I hated that I felt that way.

With Jaymeson? It was like touching a hot stove — and liking it.

My body burned everywhere he touched. I didn’t even understand the feelings that were racing around my head, around my heart, just everywhere.

I sniffled as a few escaped tears hit the pillow, and pretended to sleep when I heard the door crack open.

Light filtered into the room.

I froze.

And then muscular arms wrapped around my body, and Jaymeson whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry, love.”

I hated that having him near calmed me immediately, almost as much as I hated how clueless he must be about how I felt. Because the last thing I needed to be reminded of was how it felt to be in his arms — when he was pushing me into someone else’s.

****

“Are you sure you’re okay taking over the last few boxes?” Stella asked, filing her polished pointer finger. Today the color was red; tomorrow it would probably be orange. She claimed she hated keeping up with clothes trends — so she used polish as a way to express herself.

“Yeah.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “I’ve only got four more boxes and then I’ll go grab us some lunch. How does that sound?”

“Great.” She beamed, setting down her nail file and opening her desk, “Here’s a twenty.”

“Stella—”

“Take it or I won’t eat.” She dangled the money in front of my face.

I snatched it and rolled my eyes.

“And don’t roll your eyes at the elderly.”

“You’re seventy-two, that’s hardly elderly.”

It was Stella’s turn to roll her eyes. “Hurry back, sweetie.”

“Will do!” I waved goodbye and walked outside to my car. It was my first day working without Jaymeson.

This morning he’d acted like nothing happened, while I had stared at the countertop and almost erupted into flames.

His hands had been all over me.

His mouth too.

In that same kitchen.

How could he eat? I’d barely choked down the eggs he cooked before making up some lame excuse about showering and drying my hair.

And he’d let me leave. No hug, no nothing. The only highlight of my day had been that Jamie Hudson had been constantly messaging me. He’d even told me some funny stories about on-set catastrophes. I liked him. He made me laugh. He reminded me a lot of Jaymeson, and it wasn’t just the same first name. They both called me
love
.

When I asked him about it, he said that’s what his grandma used to call him, so it just stuck.

Made sense.

The drive to The Goodwill took three minutes. I got out of the car and rang the bell on the back door.

No one came. Grinding my teeth, I marched over to the front doors and walked in. The bell chimed but I still didn’t see anyone.

“Hello?”

I walked around to the front counter, just as a figure with a pirate patch popped up and held out a sword.

“Holy crap!” I shouted.

“Ahoy matey, where be yur bootey?”

“Jaymeson?” I croaked.

“It’s Captain Jack Sparrow, and I be wantin’ me treasure!”

Leave it to Jaymeson to make a Goodwill costume look so hot I wanted to launch myself over the counter and attack him.

“You’re sure working hard.” I pushed his sword away and leaned on the counter. “Playing pretend, are we?”

“Pirates don’t play. We plunder,” he said in his normally accented voice, his eyes darkened a bit before he cleared his throat and looked away. “So how’s your day been?”

“Awesome. I won the lottery.”

“You should buy an island.”

“So you can bury your treasure?” I asked.

He laughed. “Aye.”

“I’ll get you, Captain!” another male voice shouted across the store. “I’m going to cook your parrot and eat it!”

I burst out laughing as Evan appeared in his own pirate garb. He didn’t pull it off as well. His patch kept falling off his face, and his sword was plastic instead of wood like Jaymeson’s.

“Evan…” I sighed. “Always good to see you making the world a better place, one sword fight at a time.”

He immediately pulled off his patch and threw his sword behind one of the rows. “We were bored.”

“Right.” I nodded. “I do that too. Resort to swordplay when I’m bored. I have at least ten costumes at home ranging from cop to Batgirl.”

“Really?” His interest seemed piqued.

“I think she’s joking.” Jaymeson rolled his eyes and then said under his breath. “You are joking, right? Because a Batgirl costume would be badass. Don’t tease if you can’t follow through.”