Hit the Spot

“Jamie—”

I slammed my mouth down on hers and kissed her then, hard and hurried, shoving my tongue inside and expecting protests, her hands pushing away or her head turning, body twisting out of my arms, but getting none of that.

And when Tori started kissing me back, which happened a whole two seconds after I let her suck the taste of her pussy off my tongue, I ripped it away from her.

I jerked back and stepped away, leaving her panting against the lockers, half dressed, her shorts and panties around one ankle, her pussy bared and glistening from my mouth, blue eyes blazing hot and still spilling tears. Her face wet, her lips parted and trembling, and her hands pressing flat to her stomach.

She looked worked up again and on the verge of collapsing. She looked like she wanted me to catch her.

I would. She just needed to ask.

And knowing Tori wasn’t there yet, reading that shit on her face like I’d been reading it, knowing her, fuck it, I turned and walked to the door, slid the lock over, and walked out.

Chapter Fifteen

TORI

In my opinion, there were two types of girls.

The ones who acted first and thought later, going after what they wanted, getting it, and then taking a moment to pause after the fact, wondering if they had made the right decision and risking regret because they didn’t wonder this sooner. These were the girls who did things on impulse, like dying their hair a radical color without having a consultation first with their stylist or getting a tattoo of a boy’s name somewhere on their body, or even just getting a tattoo in general after liking butterflies a whole five seconds.

That was the first type.

And then there were the ones who think and overthink and then rethink what they were originally thinking, knowing what they want but then convincing themselves maybe they don’t know what they want, getting confused, second-guessing their own hearts or not trusting them enough to follow. The girls who could talk their way out of any decision. Who hesitated committing to a nonpermanent hair color without sitting down with a professional first. The temporary tattoo wearers. The ones who whispered words to boys who were asleep so they couldn’t hear them: Please don’t hurt me and Please be real and I like you so, so much.

The girls who watched love pull back and walk away. Who stayed silent against the lockers until they were left alone and then spoke behind their hand between heartache. Who finished out their shifts under a cloud instead of chasing after the sun.

I was that girl. Wanting something and knowing where it was but going in the opposite direction. Wanting something, but wait, maybe I didn’t or I shouldn’t or I couldn’t.

I drove home because I was the girl who went home. I sat on my couch after washing off the best smell in the world and pretended I didn’t miss it. I doodled the same name over and over and told myself I wouldn’t think about him when he was the only thing I could think about.

The other girl was fearless and I was afraid. The other girl let Jamie catch her and I stood on the edge, worried he wouldn’t because I didn’t know which boy held out his arms: the one I met that first day who laughed at love or the one who could promise it.

I didn’t know what to do. Every time I let myself move toward Jamie, I would find a reason to stop. Even getting as far as my car, I still hesitated and wondered if I was doing the right thing, and now I sat in my driveway, keys in the ignition but not turned on. Not getting that far before I started second-guessing.

I ran out of my house knowing where I wanted to go and who I wanted to be with, and now I wasn’t sure.

“Come on,” I groaned, eyes closing and head dropping back against the seat. I felt the beginnings of tears prick behind my lids.

I should’ve talked to Syd earlier. Maybe if I would’ve instead of lying to my best girl, telling her I was fine so I wouldn’t have to reveal why I wasn’t, I’d be able to make a damn decision. Go to him or don’t. One or the other.

“Claim me, babe.”

God, I wanted to. And in the same breath, I was terrified.

Was Jamie McCade even claimable?

My phone started ringing.

Opening my eyes and turning my head, I looked down at my passenger seat and read the name of the caller flashing on the screen.

Shit. I completely forgot. I promised my mom I would get on my dad about going to the doctor’s again. She was probably calling to remind me of that.

I hit Answer and pressed the phone to my ear.

“I am so, so sorry. I forgot to call him,” I said as a greeting, expecting my mother.

“Princess, it’s your father.”

“Oh.” I blinked. That was unexpected. “Hi, Daddy. How are you feeling?” I asked, wiping away smudged mascara from underneath my eyes.

“Expected something like this from your mother, Tori. Not from you,” he replied, voice hard-edged and angry. “Told you I was fine and you can’t trust me to handle things if and when I feel it’s necessary.”

“It wasn’t heartburn, John! And now we know!” my mother hollered out in the background. “Thank God we didn’t wait for you to handle things!”

I felt my brow tighten.

What in the world?

“Doc said what I was feeling mimicked the sensations of heartburn, Dee,” my father argued away from the phone. “Wasn’t like I was that off base.”

“You were completely off base!” she argued back.

“What are you both talking about?” I probed, wondering why I was in the middle of a conversation the two of them seemed to be having. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">