A. Jackson: When We Met

I reddened at his blatant innuendo, chewing a hole in my lip as I turned back to watch him work.

“Ah, there we go,” he mumbled to himself as he seemed to find whatever the problem was. He twisted a couple of wires.

I took a stumbling step back when he suddenly stood, his towering presence too much for me to handle up close like he was. Delight danced all over his face as he wrapped his hand around the handle, his lithe body rippling as he leaned down and cranked it to life. The engine roared.

And we just stood there staring at each other, both of us grinning, me feeling all self-conscious and shy while Darryn was so obviously proud, the air filled with the deafening rumble of the mower and the buildup of the energy sizzling between us.

“Thank you,” I said, the sincere words swallowed up by the loud churn of the mower, though I knew Darryn understood what I’d said.

Slowly he nodded as he seemed to get twisted up in the same tension pounding through my system.

A breeze blew in, stirring through my hair, whipping the thick locks around my face. Tentatively Darryn reached out. His hand hovered in indecision, before he gave in and gathered a thick curl to rub between the pads of his fingers, like he needed to feel the texture and weight of it. All the while, he never looked away from me. And this time . . . this time the softness in his expression, the same look I’d witnessed at the coffee shop, didn’t evaporate in a flash. It wasn’t just a flicker of good that scattered fast to reveal a boy who was so obviously bad.

He shook his head as if he were trying to make sense of something, before he averted his eyes from mine to watch himself tuck the loose strand behind my ear. I shivered when he let his fingertips flutter down the side of my neck, just barely brushing my sensitive skin. He released a ragged exhale when he trailed them lower, across my collarbone to the center of my hammering chest. Fire singed me through with the vibration of his gentle touch.

And was he? Obviously bad? For a second I wanted to suspend it, to disbelieve it, to reject the idea because something about him made me want and ache, made me want what I’d sworn to avoid.

Indy was right.

I was crushing hard on the boy next door.

He stilled with his fingers just grazing my exposed skin, and those hazel eyes latched on to mine. Endless moments passed in a blur as my gaze got all tangled with his.

Something wistful played around his mouth, something like regret and longing that melded with the gentle curve of lips. “Beautiful,” he whispered, the sound swallowed by the ceaseless drone of the mower, but so overtly clear as I swallowed the word down. My wounded heart wanted to believe that someone would truly see me that way, and not like the sick joke I saw when I looked in the mirror in the morning.

Creases wrinkled at the sides of his eyes, making him appear both younger and older, different. Making me feel different, still scared and unsure—but there was no mistaking the flicker of hope that lit somewhere inside me.

Again he reached up to touch the trembling edge of my mouth. Though this time it wasn’t a taunt, not a tease, not something meant to twist me up with confusion and fear.

It was just sweet.

Simple as that.

He dropped his hand and took a step back, seeming almost as confused and flustered as I was, before he turned and jogged across the yard. He scaled the fence in one stride, his feet landing on the top of the wooden planks, sending him sailing over to the other side.

Darryn

A stream of sun bled through the slit running down the middle of my bedroom curtains, a slash of bright light blaring directly into my face. I squeezed my eyes tight against it. Flopping to my stomach, I yanked a pillow over my head, making a valiant attempt at shutting it out, begging for more sleep. Just one more minute, and I’d be fine.

But it was no use.

The light had already roused me from sleep.

All right, so the problem was clear. I was aroused .

Big difference. Bigger problem.

Groaning, I threw the pillow to the floor and flopped over onto my back, taking up a staring contest with the pitted ceiling above.

My dick was throbbing, standing at full attention, all too interested in the lingering images that I couldn’t shake from my mind.

I flung my arm over my eyes. As if that would help.

Maybe the problem was the fact that I’d been dreaming about porcelain skin and inky hair, about the feel of her touch and the light in her smile.

Maybe the problem was the girl next door.

Maybe the problem was Misha.

Goddamn, this girl had done me in, burrowed herself like a tiny, nagging burr that had gotten just under the surface of my skin until she’d flamed into an all-out itch. Gotten to me. I couldn’t get that beautiful face out of my mind and there was nothing in hell I could do to purge the sweet sound of her voice from my ears. It flooded through me like warmth, all this lust and need mixed up with some kind of twisted infatuation.

But that wasn’t just it.

Yeah, I wanted to get lost in that body, make her scream and moan my name. My chest tightened. Shit, I couldn’t wait to hear the way it’d sound slipping from her lips.

But none of that was really a problem.

The problem was I’d be content just to take up a little bit of her space.

I’d started to make excuses to be out front when I knew she’d be leaving or coming home, excuses to talk to her and make her blush and cause her to fumble all over herself the way she always did.

It was the fucking cutest thing I’d ever seen, the way she got all nervous and stuttered, how the red would come stampeding in the second she did.

I crammed the heel of my hand in my eye. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Realization slowly took hold.

I liked her.

Pressure throbbed at my ribs.

Fuck me, I liked her.

It was killing me to know where she wandered off to in the afternoon, heading in the opposite direction from campus, when she’d come home nearly giddy, smiling this unending smile that I’d come to crave. Hounding her didn’t work, and neither did flattering her with all these little compliments that made her squirm. She remained tight-lipped, which only made me want to know more.

God, but more than all of that? I wanted to erase the pain I’d catch lingering in her eyes. I knew it now, what it was, what flared in those searing pools of the deepest black when she was speared with an errant thought like an arrow, like I could somehow feel it when it pierced her, too.

Shame.

It killed me that she felt that way, and I was dying to wipe away that look of distrust with my touch. Show her there was nothing for her to be ashamed of. I wanted her to know she was beautiful and good and anyone who made her feel anything less than that was nothing but a fool.

Images flashed, and I grunted as I was slammed with a vision of Misha straddling me on this bed. The soft slope of her neck was all exposed as she threw her head back, thick curls cascading down in waves that brushed along my thighs, her body all stretched out as she drove me right to the edge. Pleasure rocked through every hardened inch of my body, ecstasy hitting me somewhere deep.

But then she looked down at me. And those eyes were no longer hollow, they weren’t edged with sadness or creased in confusion, and not for a second did they flash with fear. They glowed with affection as she stared down at me.

Guilt gripped me by the throat, and I squeezed my eyes shut, choking on it, trying to purge the fantasy from my mind. It made me feel like an asshole, like some kind of perverted voyeur, picturing her this way.

But I didn’t know how to stop.