“Mhm.”
“You went upstairs. Jesse said you’d be a while.”
“Whatever’s got you upset wouldn’t have anything to do with why Jess has been stomping around, slamming every door in the house, would it?”
I shake my head, not wanting to outright lie.
“You’re a shit liar,” she says. “But I’ll let you keep your secrets for now.”
Once Lo lets me off the hook, the rest of my shift goes quickly. It’s just Grumpy Pete and me closing and naturally, I get full control of the song selection, so the day isn’t all bad. By the time I get home, Dare and Lo are upstairs watching a movie, and Jesse is nowhere to be seen. After a quick shower, I don’t bother putting on more than underwear and an old Metallica shirt that’s five sizes too big. It’s probably older than I am, and it’s faded from black to a dingy gray color, but the material is soft and it’s my favorite thing to wear to sleep. I crawl into bed, too tired to bother with my headphones tonight.
I don’t know what time it is or what wakes me, but it’s still dark when I tiptoe down the stairs to get some water. My bare feet pad across the cold wood floor as I head for the kitchen. Grabbing a black cup with a neon pink heart with the words Bad Intentions through it, I turn for the fridge, using the dispenser to fill it up. Faint laughter hits my ears half a second before the back door to my left slides open, scaring the shit out of me.
Three girls in barely-there bathing suits clumsily barrel inside, dripping wet and drunk, if their incessant giggling and shushing is anything to go by. “I told you they weren’t together,” the one girl I do recognize says, her voice sounding smug. Sierra. I tiptoe backwards into the hall, a sick feeling rolling through me. Are they talking about me?
“How do you know?” another girl asks.
“The fact that he was practically dry humping me in the hot tub was my first clue,” Sierra says dryly.
I’m not with Jesse. The last thing I want is a relationship—with anyone. Why should I care about who he’s hooking up with? I have no claim to him. So why are my eyes burning with unshed tears, and why does my stomach feel like it’s suddenly full of lead? I take a step backwards, not wanting to hear any more, when I bump into something. Or someone. A hand comes around my mouth, muffling my yelp.
“S
hh,” Jesse says. I fight against his hold, not wanting his hands anywhere near me, but his arms band around me in a vise grip.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” another voice chimes in, and I stop my struggling, if only to avoid drawing their attention. “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the monogamous type.”
“I don’t really give a shit, to be honest,” the devil in the form of a Victoria’s Secret model says flippantly. “As long as he gives me that big, fat—”
Having heard more than enough, I bite down on Jesse’s fingers, causing him to hiss, but he doesn’t pull away. He pushes me forward, my chest pressed against the wall. I attempt to kick him in the balls, but it’s a fail from this angle, and he simply arches out of the way. “Stop and listen,” he growls into my ear. I blow a piece of hair out of my face.
“Why?” I whisper. Why the hell does he want me to hear this? “I fucking get it, okay?”
“I wonder if he’s good in bed,” one of them muses. “Just because he has the equipment doesn’t mean he knows how to use it.”
“Please.” Sierra scoffs. “Of course he does.”
I jerk against his hold once more as hurt morphs into anger. Anger is good. Much better than feeling sad. Jesse tightens his hold, bringing his lips close to my ear. “Just listen,” he says, his voice soft, almost apologetic. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me by making me hear this shit.
“And Jesse doesn’t care that you’re going for his friend?” This is from another voice I don’t recognize.
I freeze in Jesse’s hold, realization setting in. They’re not talking about him. When he senses me soften, I feel Jesse’s smile against my neck. The stretched-out collar of my oversized shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, and he skims his lips back and forth on my exposed skin.
“Once he sees someone else playing with his toy, he’ll want it back.” She laughs.
“No, he won’t,” Jesse argues low in my ear. His hand leaves my mouth, trailing down toward the hem of my shirt. I stiffen, but don’t object as he reaches under, softly stroking my thigh before cupping me between my legs. “I have exactly what I want in the palm of my hand.”
“Where is he, anyway?” one of them asks.
“I don’t know. He said he was going to make a drink, but he never came back out.”
“He found something better to do,” Jesse says while a single finger traces me through my underwear. I gasp, my head falling back onto his shoulder. The sound of “Bad Guy” from Billie Eilish floats in from the back door that they neglected to close as he continues his ministrations. Soft, teasing strokes, enough to drive me crazy, but not enough to get me off.
“He’s probably hooking up with that girl upstairs,” one girl jokes. She has no idea how close to the truth she is.
“Ew, Allison? Please. That frigid bitch couldn’t handle him—”
“She feels nice and warm to me,” Jess counters, slipping his fingers beneath my underwear. I gasp at his touch. “Wet, too.” His voice grows thick. “So fucking wet.”