Hopelessly Yours (2 page)

"There's nothing quite like the buzz of bringing an asshole to his knees, kid."

I played those words in my head like a mantra every time someone slammed me into the lockers or purposefully hurled a football at my head in gym. And then one day, I snapped and brought one of them to their knees. Broke his nose, too. Sure, it got me sent to juvie, then an alternative school, but Uncle Tommy had been right.

There was nothing like it.

As soon as I was old enough, I went to Macone. Said I wanted to do what my uncle did. A year later, I'd lost count of how many guys had bloodied my knuckles.

But I could feel something in me on the verge of snapping. A twig splintering inside. Was it my conscience that made me pity this man? Worry that I was the bully now?

I shoved that rationale away. Mark was up against the door, panic flitting across his face. If he was truly desperate, he could run out of said door screaming bloody murder. He just planted himself in place, tears streaming down his face. He wasn't stupid. If he tried to involve others, or worse, the police, his next visit would be from the cleaner and he'd turn a couple of punches into a picnic. With me, at least he'd get to live and actually have a chance to get his finances straight. The cleaner would make all of that a moot point.

Mark did me a favor and closed his eyes. The first blow landed on his side, my fist crunching against the soft flesh. He gasped and doubled over. I grabbed his chin and the second made a sickening crack as my knuckles collided with his jaw. The uppercut sent blood gushing from his nose, coating my fist. It was sticky and warm. Just like that day when I finally stood up for myself. I pretended Mark was Joshua Grayson, sneering as he called me a homo for the last time. I didn't stop hitting until my arm felt like it weighed a million pounds and Mark was a motionless heap at my feet.

I stepped over him, washing my hands in the kitchen sink, ignoring my trembling fingers. I flung the water off, spritzing the granite countertop. I purposefully avoided the fridge when I saw a flash of construction paper. Silent, I pulled my cell from my pocket and sent the handler a two-word text.

Daddy's asleep.

I walked back to where Mark was groaning. I was glad he was on his face so I couldn't see what I'd done. "Macone trusts that you know what will happen if you tell anybody about tonight." I took his gurgle as confirmation. I didn't move like a guy that had just committed felony assault. I took my time and put on a front like the world had never been as beautiful as it was tonight. I pretended the smell of grass and suburbia didn’t turn my stomach. I might look like I belonged there, but the ache in my knuckles said otherwise. Even if I made enough to put a down payment on a house and greased the right palms to get a mortgage, I wouldn't get my happily ever after. Not after all the shit I'd done.

I pulled my SUV down the street for one last look, the Benton's house lit up like Christmas and buzzing with activity. His wife must have found him.

Maybe his kid.

His kid...

The ache throbbed, but it wasn't in my hand. It was in my chest.

I knew the one thing that would make it go away. Beer and shots until I couldn't see straight. Some nameless girl beneath me, warm and moaning.

I called up just the guy to give me both. Someone I knew from my juvie days.

"Hey Carlos. Any parties tonight?"

H
e had eyes the color of the night sky and when our hands brushed, they twinkled.

We'd been partners for two weeks, ever since Mr. Melton split our class into pairs and saddled us with the task of picking an important event during the Civil War to present to the class. Two weeks and we still hadn't picked our topic. I was starting to think it had less to do with honing in on something that would ensure I got an A and more to do with the fact that I couldn't even form sentences when Jace Murrow looked at me.

At the moment, I had a reprieve because he was glaring at the textbook. It gave me a chance to trace his outline with my eyes. He was thin, but he had strong, sure hands. I knew he could more than handle himself. As he angrily flipped the page, I eyed his thick fingers. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I imagined what it would be like if our hands brushed and he didn't move away; if he lingered instead, stroking—

The bell sounded and ripped me from my fantasy. He glanced up at me, his mouth twisted in frustration.

"Sorry. You're probably regretting being stuck with me." He raked angry fingers through his shoulder-length ebony hair. Anyone else would have looked ridiculous with long hair. Like the blond-haired man on the front of my grandmother’s Harlequins. But not Jace—it made him look older. More mature. Dangerous.

I bit my lip as an image of one other guy who could rock long hair came to mind. Fictional or not, Taylor Lautner was hot in the first two Twilight movies before they got a hold of the shears.

Jace's dark eyes dropped to my mouth, and the first smile I’d seen on his face all week threatened to spill onto his lips.

"What?"

I hurriedly stuffed my things in my backpack, embarrassment reddening my face. "Sorry, it's not you. It's me."

He was full on smiling now...and it was doing funny things to my stomach. "You breaking up with me?"

A strange warmth pulsed between my thighs, and I bit my lip again. Hard. I wanted to say something witty, but all I could manage was ‘um’.

"Vix break up with you? Vix would never even give you the time of day." Josh Grayson's attitude was really starting to get on my nerves. Once upon a time, I thought he was nice. We went to the same church camp a couple of years in a row and we'd always sneak off and talk instead of going to bible study. Something happened when we came to high school. The social hierarchy was fluid in middle school, but in high school, you didn't cross the lines. If you weren’t popular, Josh made your life hell. I was embarrassed to admit I'd just looked away disgustedly the first few times he targeted someone, but I was sick of it. I was sick of him.

I slung my backpack strap over my shoulder, glaring at Josh. "Leave him alone."

Josh's blue eyes registered surprise, but he ironed it away with a shrug. "Whatever. It's not like you're his type anyway."

I rolled my eyes and when Josh didn't leave, I shooed him away. "I'm sure you've got places to be. I'm talking with my partner."

Josh gave Jace a final glower, then exited.

"Sorry," I said softly, my attention squarely on Jace. "He's an idiot."

Jace rose to his feet a little too quickly, nearly knocking over his desk. "I'm used to it."

It clearly bothered him more than he let on, and it made my heart ache for him. "You shouldn't have to get used to it. No one should."

He tilted his head in my direction, the smile returning to his eyes. "You're sweet."

Mr. Melton cleared his throat pointedly. A thought popped in my head and I didn't know if I was feeling bold after snapping at Josh or just stupid, but I said it anyway.

"Wanna come over to my place and work on the project?"

He gripped his tattered notebook, suspicion replacing the playfulness in his soulful eyes.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He stormed out of the room without another word.

*

I
leaned over to Rachel, my eyes never leaving the corner of the room. Never leaving him. "You're messing with me. No way is that Jace Murrow."

She roped her arm around my neck. The smell of her fruity perfume mixed with beer and created a scent that curdled my stomach. "Please. I know everybody's who's anybody, and that's Jace Murrow."

“Jace Murrow? Skinny, quiet, Jace Murrow? The one that transferred after he beat the shit out of Josh Grayson?”

Rachel made a face. “Josh Grayson. Remind me again why you didn’t talk me out of dating that douchebag? Did I tell you that he still sends me Facebook messages like, every day?”

I snapped my fingers in her face. “Focus, Rach!”

She and Josh had tried the long distance thing fall semester. She went somewhere local, and he went to school on the West Coast. I warned her about him. Josh turned into an asshole as soon as he hit puberty and as far as I could tell, he hadn’t let up.

“I was asking about the guy over there.” The life of the party. The polar opposite to the withdrawn guy I knew.

“Right. That’s Jace Murrow. Hot, right?” She squeezed me tight, her boobs dangerously close to smooshing me in the face since she decided to wear stilettos tonight, even though she was nearly six feet without them.

I extricated myself from her grip. I loved Rachel to death, but she was friendly to the max when she got drunk. I'm pretty sure I'd seen more of her breasts in the past two hours than in the 18 years that I'd known her.

I brought my Dixie cup to my lips and pretended I liked the bitter taste. The only thing beer was good at was releasing inhibitions, and that was something I was in desperate need of. Rachel had suckered some girl who barely looked old enough to drive to be our DD. Since the girl’s parents were out of town, we had already raided their liquor cabinet. I'd regretted coming out when I realized my best friend needed babysitting before we even got to the party. When the blistering music made conversation impossible, I'd started to unwind...and then I saw Jace.

The long hair was gone, replaced by short, cropped midnight strands that caught the light. His features were sharper than I remembered, in the best possible way. We were on opposite sides of the room, but I could make out the perfect cut of his jaw, the thickness of his lips. I used to have to steal smiles from him, but he gave them away freely tonight. He smiled at every scantily clad girl that strutted past him. He handed out stammer-inducing smiles to the lucky girls that were pulled into his lap.

Even from over here, I knew his lap was the place to be. The thin, aquiline guy I knew in high school was switched out, and a towering body of toned muscle was in his place.

I took another sip, feeling very aware of my lack of tipsiness. I ran shaky hands down my shirt. I scoffed at my stupidity, picking this plain black tube top and jean skirt. All the girls crowded around him were dressed like they were headed to the club, glittering and statuesque.

What was I doing here anyway?
I'm pretty sure this was the kind of neighborhood my mother got me the mace for. It reeked of alcohol, sweat, and lust. And I wasn't nearly drunk enough for coming face to face with the first guy I'd ever...

A rush of cold liquid streamed over me. My body went into shock as it coated my skin with its icy touch. I screamed, leaping away from the spray a few seconds too late. I looked down at my light wash jeans. They were now amber colored and frothy. A glazed-eyed guy was a few feet away, holding a Dixie cup and a dopey look.

"Aw shit. My bad." He drank me in and came forward with his hands out. "Let me help you clean that up."

"Don't touch her, Gio!" Rachel leapt into action, pulling me to the side. The tables had turned and she was
my
babysitter; my protector—because the Gio guy was armed and ready to make things a million times worse by copping a feel in the name of ‘helping’.

Rachel futilely patted me down with paper towels. I pulled at the wet material with a groan. My shirt was soaked. My bra felt squishy and gross. And I reeked of beer.

"What am I supposed to do now?" I said shrilly, throwing up my hands in exasperation.

"You could always take off your shirt."

That voice.

I'd know that voice anywhere.

My heart dropped to my ankles as I pivoted on my heels and faced him.

Jace's dark brown eyes twinkled. "Hi."

C
arlos Rodriguez was the kind of guy I wouldn't be caught dead with during the day. He represented everything I hated. He was from a well off family, got a four-year scholarship to a school he halfheartedly attended, and he was always fucking high. How his white bread parents never noticed that he reeked of weed was beyond me.

Or maybe things really were different on the other side of the tracks, parents too busy with board meetings and out of town trips to notice their kids. That, or maybe they were so oblivious that they thought his overwhelming, herby stench was some new brand of Axe.

He lived a charmed life, like most of the people here. 80 percent were at the Shore for the summer, slumming it because they wanted a break from the club scene. They pretended they were down, but I could easily spot the differences between them and us. They wore slinky outfits that weren't lived in, sometimes with the tag coyly tucked in so they could return it in the morning. The girls in my neighborhood would have been run out of those stores as soon as they got their foot in the door. And if by luck they managed to front however much some overpriced dress cost, returning it would have drawn a deep inspection. Every thread would be accounted for, every wrinkle analyzed.

The guys were just as transparent as the girls of summer. A little too loud, too cocky to be dangerous, and dressed in button downs and t-shirts with Greek letters.

I brought my cup to my lips and downed my beer. Carlos raised his Dixie cup to me, leaning closer to a girl I'd seen around the neighborhood. He told her something that made her giggle and she pushed him away—then she slid a little closer.

I took stock of the girls that crowded around me, huddled up in tiny dresses and shirts that didn't constrain their breasts. The music thundered in my veins and I snaked my arms around two waists and pulled them into my lap. They smelled like fruit and dirty sex.

Say what you want about these rich motherfuckers, but they knew how to throw a party. Something just loud and dirty enough that it drowned out my aching knuckles and washed away my sins. Somewhere I could just be 19 and pretend I was carefree.

I was deciding which girl I was taking upstairs when a screech cut through my buzz. Girls had been squealing all night; when their favorite song came on, when their asses were slapped, or when a kiss was stolen. But there was something about this one that made me scan the room. There was a dark-haired girl whose eyes were shooting daggers in the direction of one of the frat boys. Considering she kept pulling at her tube top and the guy was holding his Dixie cup precariously, I had a feeling he'd just dumped his beer on her. One of the girls who were sprawled in my lap leaned in, her lips brushing my earlobe. Whatever she said came out as static. I was much more interested in the confrontation at the other side of the room.