She moved above me, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, the silky tips brushing my chin, her blouse and bra sliding away with strokes of my appreciative fingers. I shoved my reservations to the side for these surrendered, short-lived moments, worshipping her with murmured supplications and whisper-soft caresses. I felt certain my skin’s nerve endings had multiplied in the prior week, because every place she touched me with her mouth or fingertips, I burned.
Since I had no plan to push past Jacqueline’s former point of resistance, the hours we spent in my bed were hotter than I’d ever imagined making out could be, and kissing her was a luxurious, sensory indulgence all its own. As my body accepted this, I lingered over every stroke of my tongue, coaxing her along with my mouth alone and pinning her hands flat to the mattress so she couldn’t touch me. She arched and twisted beneath me, winding her legs round mine, telling me with every whimper and hum that her body was the instrument I knew how to play, and play well.
When I finally released her hands, she shoved her fingers into my hair as I kissed down her chest and across her belly, swirling my tongue into her navel while gripping her tightly between her waist and hips, as if debating whether to remove her jeans. She scraped her nails across my shoulders, and I knew if I touched the button just below my chin, she would tell me yes. Every provocative touch of her fingertips, her lips, her tongue, and every sound she made built both my craving and my contentment – which made no logical sense, but I didn’t care.
I slipped back to her lips, slowly, pressing my weight into her, attending to every part of her body that demanded my notice on the way up. She trembled and held on to me when I pulled us to our sides. ‘I should get you back.’
Tucked to my chest, her fingers were entwined with mine, and though she nodded, she tightened her grip on my hand and didn’t move an inch from her position in my arms for several minutes. I felt a compelling desire to preserve the moment, as if final grains of sand were streaming through the neck of an hourglass, and all I wanted to do was tip it on to its side for a few more precious seconds.
We dressed without speaking, and I buttoned up her blouse, lingering deliberately over each button, and then leaned to kiss her one last time.
I was about to bring the Harley to life when Charles emerged from the back of the house with a kitchen trash bag. I couldn’t move, my eyes tracing his steps from the door to the bin, and back to the door. I willed him to go inside without turning round, but I knew he wouldn’t. His hand on the doorknob, he turned and looked straight at me. Straight at Jacqueline.
‘Landon? Jacqueline?’ he asked, as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. Or just wished to God he was wrong. He sighed and told me to meet him in the kitchen when I returned. I nodded once, and he went inside.
Jacqueline said nothing at all. I didn’t know if she’d been shocked into silence or if she’d sensed this impending finale, as I had. The ten-minute journey to her dorm seemed like ten seconds, but it was long enough for me to realize one clarifying truth about my dual persona and Jacqueline: she already knew.
19
Landon
After spring break, my truancy scaled new levels of don’t-give-a-fuck. Mr Quinn was disappointed in me – he’d told me so every time he handed back a failing or near-failing test or sent me to detention for skipping. But there were some days I just wasn’t going to sit across a table from Melody Dover.
Ditching class eventually results in in-school suspension, because in public school, a body present and accounted for means money from the state. Exiled to a secluded room, you’re given a shit ton of work that no one can make you do. A front-office secretary babysits you. You’re allowed to sleep all day, though they occasionally jostle your shoulder and tell you not to sleep. All of this, of course, is for your own good.
The last time she sentenced me to ISS, Ingram informed me that one more unexcused absence would result in my expulsion, and even an excused absence would result in my being held back a year instead of being promoted to the next grade. No f**king way I wanted to be stuck there for an extra year. In the last month of school, I had to attend every class, which blew. I passed by the skin of my teeth, Grandpa would have said.
I worked for my dad on the boat, but he handed me cash that didn’t amount to minimum wage, so I supplemented with a second job. Rick Thompson had become one of the most sought-after guys in town. His popularity was due to two things: drugs, and girls he called party favours – who brought in business and were paid in drugs. Thanks to frat guys, teen guys looking for something non-family to do on their family vacations, and grown men who were stupid enough to be lured by high-school girls, Thompson made serious bank.
He began allowing for lines of credit from locals. Now and then, somebody either got in too deep or resold in his territory without giving him a cut.
That’s where Boyce and I came in.
Boyce had mostly quit picking on girls and smaller kids, though that had little to do with becoming more perceptive. The first got him laid more often – obvious incentive, and the second was due solely to the fact that I didn’t like it. His prior bully reputation preceded him, though, and after my Hulk-out during the fight with Richards, the added benefit of mental instability made me almost as menacing as my best friend. Luckily, Thompson didn’t have many problems, so most of the time, we were just there to make sure people did what he wanted them to do – pay him.
In return, he paid us. Sometimes in drugs, sometimes in money. All we had to do to be on his payroll was be intimidating and beat the shit out of the occasional dumbass. Boyce, bigger than me, typically handled the first. I handled the second – and I enjoyed it.