Chapter 187: Chapter Twenty-Five

Jaymeson

I laid down in one of the six guest bedrooms and stared up at the ceiling. No chance in hell was I actually going to sleep.

Had I known a few months ago that I'd actually choose to undress a girl and then leave her alone in my bed without doing anything — even kissing her? I would have laughed my ass off.

My old self was gone.

I don't even know how it happened.

Every time I tried to put the wall up or conjure up the desire to sleep around or drown myself in another girl…

I saw her face.

I felt raw, exposed, weak. Dammit! I flipped the pillow over and stared at the window as moonlight trickled in.

Licking my lips, I tried to concentrate on the wall. Right. That's how far I'd fallen. I was staring at a wall and actually contemplating if counting sheep was a good way to fall asleep?

“One, two, three…” My whisper sounded so lame. I decided to count donkeys, because in my mind that seemed more badass — pun intended — than counting something fluffy.

“Four, five, sex…” Bloody hell.

With a grunt, I threw off the covers and walked out of the room and down the hall into the kitchen.

Tea.

Tea was the answer. I was British after all. Right? Right. You know you're losing it when you're actually asking yourself questions and hoping that your self will answer in the affirmative.

I tried to be quiet as I set the kettle on the stove and searched for a mug.

My hand hovered over the mug.

Since when did I start referring to her as an angel?

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the cabinet.

“Are you alright?” A voice jolted me out of my hell.

“Shit!” The cup tipped off the table; I barely caught it with my left hand. Heart racing, I glared at Pris. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Mugs don't kill. Guns do.” She grinned.

“Cute, you should put that on a t-shirt,” I mumbled.

“Maybe I will.” Her voice was light, teasing. Why the hell wasn't she in bed?

Bed. Bed. Bed. Sex. Shit. Bloody. Freaking. Hell.

My eyes scanned her half-naked body. She was wearing my boxers. Mine. Something that had once been against my skin was now touching hers.

“Are you okay?” Pris took a tentative step toward me, her hand reaching out, making a beeline for my arm.

Her fingers grazed my skin.

I jerked back. “Uh, yeah.” Laughing, I grabbed an extra cup. “I just couldn't fall asleep, so I thought I'd make some tea.”

“Tea?” Her eyebrows rose. “How very proper.”

“That's me,” I said dryly. “All…” My eyes raked over her muscular legs. ”…proper.”

Clearing her throat, she stepped around me and grabbed the tea that I'd been holding onto like a lifeline. The way I figured, was if I was keeping my hands occupied, then I wouldn't be touching her.

I wouldn't be forcing myself on her, right? If I was touching tea, I wouldn't be touching tits.

Aw, shit.

I think I just made it worse.

Because my eyes naturally went to her chest, then snapped away like I was a fifth grader with his very first crush.

“So…” Pris ignored my jerky movements. She probably thought I was about ready to piss my pants or something. Ants in the pants, ants in the pants! Yes.

Trauma does that to a person.

So does delirium.

Insanity.

That's what I was experiencing, because, dear God, she had vanilla-scented skin. I leaned toward her, my head turning into her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Checking.” I cleared my throat and stepped away.

“For?”

“Bed bugs.”

Yes. I'd just said bed bugs. I just officially ruined the mood and gave men everywhere a bad name.

“Eww!” She jumped into the air. “You have bed bugs?”

“No!” I yelled. “Of course not! But one should always be careful when one is staying…” I waved my hand into the air. ”…abroad.”

“Stop saying one,” she snapped.

“Sorry.”

Shaking her head, she put a tea bag in each mug. The kettle whistled, prompting her to fill the mugs with the steaming water. I let her do it.

My mind had left me and I knew my body was next to go — next in the very long line of betrayal. I figured if I touched the kettle, I'd somehow find a way to burn my nether parts off.

“Here.” Pris thrust the mug into my hand, setting hers on the counter to cool, then jumped up and sat so she was at eye level with me. “I'm sorry you can't sleep. Is there anything I can do?”

Yeah. She could stop — just stop — breathing so effing close to me.

Wait, did that mean I wanted her to die?

Shit. I was turning into a serial killer.

“No,” I croaked. “It happens sometimes.” I blew across the mug. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn't.” She picked up her mug and lifted it to her lips, pausing before taking a sip. “I fell asleep right away, and then, I don't know, I guess my body wasn't ready to go to bed yet.

I winced. “Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”

“Jamie Jaymeson being quiet. You let me know when you discover you have that particular talent.”

With a laugh I clinked my mug to hers. “Cheers.”

Pris took a sip then jerked the cup back. “Ouch.”

“What?” I set my mug down and reached for hers, setting it next to mine.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “It's not a big deal. I think I just burnt my lip.”

“Let me see.” I stood in between her legs and braced either side of her face with my hands.

In hindsight… that was where I went wrong.

I knew I was struggling — I should have never touched her. I should have left her alone. I should have taken a step away instead of forward.

“Your lips look…” Incredible. Delicious. Plump. “Unharmed.” I inwardly groaned.

“Good.” Her answer was low, hypnotic, her tongue reached out and licked her lower lip.

And my body took the bait.

With a moan I crushed my mouth against hers and lifted her body against mine.

Her arms went around my neck as I devoured her lips — they tasted so sweet. Her body was hot, it slid against mine. My reaction was so violent I almost dropped her onto the floor.

Pris's tongue pushed into my mouth. Damn, the girl was aggressive. I loved it.

Slowly, I slid my hands underneath her shirt, and lifted; the friction of my hands against her skin made me dizzy. Pris wasn't just my obsession — she was my damn downfall.

She made me feel weak, like I was drowning but I didn't want to be saved. For the first time, I wanted to pull someone else down with me. And stay there.

Her breath hitched as my hands reached her bra.

She pulled back, slightly.

But it was enough for my brain to function on a logical level. I wanted to give her all of myself — but I had absolutely nothing to give her.

The math didn't make sense.

I'd give her all I had — which was nothing.

And she'd give me everything.

“Pris,” I murmured against her mouth. “I'm sorry.” I stepped back, still gripping her wrists. “That shouldn't have happened. It's late and—”

“—what?” She jerked away from me, rubbing one wrist with her other hand.

“No, don't be mad. Please.” Why did I feel like getting on my knees and begging? “I wouldn't survive it if you said you hated me right now. I know it's what I deserve. I know I'm an ass.

“I'm a whore. I'm all those things, but please, please don't say this changes anything. I can't…” Dammit. “I can't lose you, Pris.

“I'm not,” she said softly, touching her fingers to her swollen lips. I'd done that to her. I'd branded her with my mouth and I didn't feel sorry. I refused to feel sorry.

“Friends.” I reached for her hand and gripped it. “Right? Besides, you like Smith. I'd just get in the way.” Lies, all lies. My body responded with a violent shudder.

Her, it said, it begged, it screamed like a bloody gladiator. “Seaside… this is your home. This is your life.” I tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I'm just a distraction.” I wanted to hit myself so hard.

No. I told my brain, I told my damn heart. No. It would be stealing — it would be wrong. Because I knew my priorities were still me. I knew they were still movies.

I had no room for her in my life.

And until I did…

Until I was fully ready…

She'd be the one to suffer for it.

“Say something…” I whispered.

Her eyes were cold, distant. “We'll always be friends, Jaymeson.” With a sad smile, she shrugged. “Sometimes I just wonder if that's what you really mean.

I knew how I acted.

Like a man obsessed.

“I know.” I tilted her chin toward my face. “Will you accept my apology for not making the line clear?”

“What if I like blurry?”

“You say that now,” I said sadly. “But in the morning, you'll wish it was still there. You'll wish you'd seen it before you took the leap.”

With a slow nod, she got up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek, whispering, “You make it impossible to hate you, but right now, I really want to. I want to kick you. I want to slap you.

“Because I'm an ass?” The air stilled.

“No.” She stepped back. “Because you make decisions based on your own insecurities, your own reasons, without once thinking about what the other person may want. I feel sorry for you.”

“Don't,” I snapped. “Don't feel sorry for me. I've had enough sex, money, and fame to last a lifetime. The last thing you should feel is sorry. You know nothing, Pris.

“You're eighteen, for crying out loud! You haven't even lived!” My voice took on a desperate tone. “You haven't suffered. You haven't—” I smacked the counter with my hand.

“You've lived in Seaside, Oregon for your entire life. You know nothing of the horrors of life.”

“Wow, you've done it,” she whispered, her voice hollow.

“What?”

“Made me hate you.” Her eyes blurred with tears. “Night, Jaymeson. It seems I have a life to experience, considering I've never even lived or suffered. Great advice.

“How about I stay in my small town with my small-town boyfriend and my sad, pathetic existence? Will that make you happy?

“But—”

“Go to bed, Jaymeson.”

The last thing I heard was the bedroom door slamming. It may as well have slammed in my face; I swear I felt the wind from it.

Good. Let her hate me. I'd take her hate over her shattered heart any day.