Crash (23 page)

Morrison flipped Jude a salute and turned around, as a round of laughter passed through his trio of friends in the lunch line.

“Lace curtain bastards,” Jude muttered, glaring at the back of their heads. “I hear of any of them running their mouths or their eyes over you again and I’m going to show them how we do things at the bottom feeder level.”

Shoving my way around him, I turned on him. “Does that sound like someone who’s committed to staying on the good side of the law?” I asked, shuffling a piece of pizza onto my tray. “Does that sound like someone who promised their . . .”

“Girlfriend,” he filled in the blank, winding his arms around me.

“Their
girlfriend
they wouldn’t do anything to mess this up? Because going to jail for attempted manslaughter might be considered messing up to some people.”

“Woman,” he exhaled, resting his cheek against mine, “you are busting my balls. In every way.” 

“What was that promise you were about to make me about not touching Morrison and his bunch of half breeds?” I said, paying the lunch lady who wasn’t even trying to mask the judgment in her eyes. Someone else had seen our photo.

“Fine,” he relented, steering me towards the courtyard. He’d either read my mind or felt the same way I did: tired of the looks and sick of dodging questions. “I won’t touch the Jerk-off Jockeys.” Grabbing the door handle, he swung it open for me. “But I can’t promise I won’t pay someone else to touch them,” he added as I passed by.

I jabbed him in the stomach.

“I found your earring,” he said, pulling my silver hoop from his pocket.

“Where was it?” I asked, taking it and sliding it back into place.

“Tucked inside my boxers.”

“How the hell did it wind up there?” I asked, going all soft thinking about his boxers.

“Don’t know,” he said as we walked about the mostly empty courtyard, “but let’s just say I was close to becoming pierced. Down there.”

I laughed, giving the missing earring a pat. She’d had a better morning than I had. No one glanced up at us as we walked across the grass and settled onto an empty table. It was a cool day, the kind where you wished you packed a sweater, but as Jude hung his arm around me, I found myself hoping I’d never have to pack a sweater another day in my life.

“Girlfriend, huh?” I said, setting the pizza in front of him.

“Girlfriend,” he stated. “No question mark.”

I smiled into my tray. “What number does that make me?”

He sighed. “One. And only. I told you before, Luce. You’re my first and, God willing I don’t screw this up, my last.”

It was a good thing I hadn’t just sunk my teeth into the apple in my hand because I would have choked on it. It should have freaked me out beyond repair, my boyfriend who’d been to jail three times as many times as we’d been on dates, tossing forever into normal conversation, but it didn’t. He wasn’t saying marriage tomorrow and a baby the day after; he was saying someday, maybe. And someday, maybe sounded appealing to me in ways a seventeen year old girl with dreams of a bright future shouldn’t.

“How many girls have you been with, Jude?” I said, asking the positively worst question a girl should ask a guy like Jude. I was hoping for a number less than fifty.

He lowered the slice of pizza before taking a bite. “Enough to know when something special comes along.”

“And if you were to quantify
enough,
that number would be . . .” I dropped my apple too. With this kind of conversation circling about, decreased appetites were an expected side-effect.

“Luce, I don’t want to talk about my past anymore. I don’t want to hash out over and over again how many times I’ve screwed things up,” he said, his hands clenching into fists. “I know you girls have some sick fascination with knowing the name, time, and how we screwed the girls before you, but I’m not giving that to you. It was a lot, probably even a lot more than the number you’ve got in your head,”—my stomach clenched-—“but I didn’t love a single one of them and not a single one of them loved me either.”

“Sounds romantic,” I muttered, shoving my tray away.

“You’re the one that wanted to know,” he said, straddling the bench to face me. “Listen, with a guy like me, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to, Luce, because I’m going to do my damndest to be honest with you. Don’t delve into my past unless you want to come out on the other side wishing you hadn’t.”

I’d learned that a while ago, but how could you have a relationship with someone you didn’t know on a past, present, and future tense level? “So if you didn’t care for any of them and none of them cared for you, why did you . . .” every term bouncing to mind was just wrong, “
do
it?”

“You want to know this?” he asked, challenging me with his eyes. “You really want to know this kind of stuff?”

I nodded once because I was a stupid girl.

Jude’s nod echoed mine. “For me, it was an escape. A way to forget my life was an abyss of shit for a little while. And for the girls,” he said, lifting his shoulders, “they were looking to piss off their mayor and physician parents when they discovered their precious daughters were screwing the quintessential bad boy. That, or they just were really hot for me and wanted to know what I was like in the sack.” His smile curled up on one side which I put to a quick end as my elbow connected with his stomach.

“This isn’t funny,” I scolded, scowling at the picnic table because it was impossible to scowl into his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed, rubbing my arms. “Sometimes the only way I can get through reminiscing about my shitty life is through humor,” he said, turning my face upward. “But the humorless, honest truth is that I didn’t care about them, and they didn’t care about me.” He stared hard into my eyes, and he couldn’t look at me the way he was now and not be honest.

“Okay,” I said, relieved this topic was officially off the books now.

“And if it helps you to know, the sex was unfulfilling and unsatisfactory.”

“It doesn’t help, but thanks for the foot note,” I said, snatching my apple back up.

“You know, it seems like you and me are either kissing the shit out of each other or discussing topics that are better kept in the graves they were buried in,” he said, chewing off a bite of pizza. “Why can’t we just have normal, everyday conversation?”

I chewed this over while I chewed my apple. “You’re right,” I said. “How can you be my boyfriend if I don’t know your political views, or what you think about the weather, or what you thought of the last movie you saw at the theater.”

“Point taken,” he laughed, chugging an entire can of pop in five seconds flat. “Screw the everyday crap. And the rotting corpse topics too. Just keep kissing me, or whatever else you might have in mind,” he said, wagging his brows, “until you’ve stockpiled enough crazy on my brain shelf I can’t talk straight anymore.”

“That sounds like a fulfilling relationship,” I said, turning and straddling the bench to face him. He was right about one thing; I was done with the whole talking thing this lunch hour.

The pizza slipped from his hands and hit the ground. “I’ll show you fulfilling,” he said, staring at my mouth.

His mouth was so close to touching mine I could already taste it when a backpack slammed down on the table across from us.

“Hey, Lucy.”

“Lord help me.”

Jude and Sawyer’s sentences overlapped each other as they both turned to each other.

“Ryder,” Sawyer said, sticking out his hand. It hung there a while before Sawyer stuck it in his pocket. “How’s it going?”

“It was going fantastically.”

I nudged his leg with mine in warning. So far, Sawyer was playing fair.

“Of course,” Sawyer said, looking between the two of us. “Sorry for interrupting you two. I just wanted to say something and then I’ll leave you to it.”

“Well,” Jude said, tying his arms around me. So territorial. “Say something.”

Sawyer smiled. “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea if you heard about me taking Lucy home after Homecoming. I saw a friend who needed help and I helped her. I know she’s your girl, Jude.”

“So does that mean you’ll stop staring at her every time you see her in the hall?” Jude asked, staring at Sawyer.

“I’ll try,” he said, stretching his neck. “She’s a beautiful girl, Ryder. You’re a lucky man.”

“Don’t tell me what I have like I don’t know it,” Jude said, his arms stiffening.

“Jude,” I warned.

“Wow, easy, big guy,” Sawyer said, lifting his hands and walking backwards. “I didn’t mean to offend you, just wanted to say my piece and get to lunch.” Looking at me, his smile tipped higher. “See you in fifth period, Lucy.”

I shot him a wave as he turned and shoved through the door.

“I didn’t think I could hate that shithead more, but I should’ve known a dick of that degree has no hate limit.” Jude glared at the door Sawyer had walked through.

“Has anyone ever mentioned you might have anger issues?” I said, looking up at him. From the look of hatred in Jude’s eyes, you would have thought he’d never loathed anyone more.

Jude’s face softened just barely. “Only a few dozen times a year since puberty.”

Curling my fingers through his, I took another bite of apple. “What has Sawyer Diamond done to make you that pissed every time you see him?” I said, crunching apple bits. “Because, other than him having an overinflated sense of self and a smile so white it doesn’t register on the color palette, he doesn’t seem like that bad of a guy to me.”

Jude spun on me, his eyes bleeding to black. “Sawyer Diamond is what happens when god turns his head for one second. A guy like that doesn’t deserve second chances, or mercy, or understanding, especially from a girl like you, Luce, because he will twist that into something he can use to manipulate you.” His hands braced around my arms, holding me tight. “I want you to stay away from him, Luce. Don’t talk to him, or look at him, or acknowledge him in any way. You got me? Because he can deny it all he wants and pretends he’s a cheerleader for you and me, but he wants you so damn bad he’s probably off in the guy’s room jacking off right now.”

“Ew, Jude,” I said, making a face. “Gross.”

“Just stay away from him, Luce,” he said. “I’ve known that dick for ten years now and I can tell when he’s up to something. And he’s up to something.”

The lunch bell rang. We both groaned, tossing our half eaten lunches into the garbage. “I have three classes with the guy, how am I supposed to stay away from him?” I asked, while Jude wrangled up our bags and slung them over his back.

“I want you to kick him in the nuts every time you see him,” he said, not a trace of teasing in his voice, “and after a few of those, he’ll stay away from you.”

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” I said, thumping the palm of my hand against my forehead.

“Because you’re sweet and innocent and don’t know about sinister things like deflecting dirtbags,” he said, opening the courtyard door for me. “Leave the dirty work to me, Luce. You stay your sweet self.”

“And nut kicking isn’t considered dirty work in your world?”

“If it’s Sawyer Diamond’s balls we’re talking about kicking,” he said, grinning to himself, “that’s just plain fun.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A few weeks passed, and the picture worked its way to the bottom of the drama pile as the talk of the town shifted to Southpointe High’s newest quarterback.

Jude had singlehandedly turned a historically cursed team into the top ranked team in the conference. We were at four and one, and the one loss happened during the first game of the season before I forced Jude into joining.

I told him I expected half of his earnings when he was a big time NFL quarterback. He said I could have it all. The ironic thing was that the day after I’d said that, Coach A was given the head’s up that a crap load of scouts would be at Friday’s upcoming game. All the guys on the team were bragging about it, suggesting to their girlfriends and parents that a full ride to the PAC 10 was in the works, but everyone knew the only reason a dozen scouts would be in attendance at a Southpointe game was due to one Jude Ryder.

“Aren’t you a vision in gold sequins and crimson spandex,” a voice I’d been avoiding for weeks said from behind me.

I exhaled, looking for Jude. He towered over a huddle of seemingly tiny high school boys, completely in the moment.

So I replied, “Hi, Sawyer.” I could’ve sounded more enthused, but I’d avoided him for a reason. If Jude said he was someone to steer clear of, that meant he was someone to steer clear of.

“What?” he said, sliding up to me. “Was that an actual verbal response? Couldn’t be.”

“You’re reminding me why I’ve been verbally absent around you,” I said, stretching my dance top lower. Like most high school dance teams, Southpointe’s ascribed to the less is more motto of dance wear and, up until Sawyer’s eyes slid down me, I hadn’t minded the lack of cover.

“Sorry,” he said, shouldering up to me. I took a step to the side. “Humor is my ego’s default when it’s hurt.” He crossed his arms, looking on the field as the teams lined up. I took another step to the side in case Jude looked up before the hike. I knew he’d march right off the field mid-play if he saw Sawyer sidled up against me. “How’s Jude?” he asked tightly.