Slow Burn Part 19

"Oh, yeah, the blonde one." Heather laughs as she flops down on my bed. "It's hard to keep all your hot guys straight."

"They're not my hot guys," I scoff, privately loving the idea of having a hot guy harem. Yeah, but like I'd know what to do with them.

"Whatever," Heather is saying, lazily kicking her sandaled feet in the air. "Admit it-you'd rather hang out with them than with a boring old lesbian like me."

I look at her sharply, gauging her expression to see if she's serious. She's not looking at me, instead playing with my phone, scrolling through something-probably my texts because she's nosy like that.

"Heather, I would love to hang out with you more often," I announce sincerely. "You're my best lesbian. But you're always hung over."

I try moderately hard to keep the judgmental tone out of my voice, but Heather rolls her eyes at me. "I'm your only lesbian," she retorts, choosing to ignore that last comment.

But I see my chance to do a segue here. "Speaking of being hung over...if you get drunk tonight, you're not spending the night here. Don't give me that look, Heather Jones-I told you I'm not covering for you again. If you get wasted, I'll drop you off on your porch with a sticky note on your forehead, reading 'Drunk girl-berate accordingly.'"

"Whatever, Mom." She tries to sound flippant, but I can tell she's annoyed by the way her feet kick faster in the air. Put her on a bicycle, and she'd be flying.

"I'm serious." I give her a stern look, hands on my hips. "You really need to stop-"

"Oh, dear G.o.d," Heather interrupts, sounding appalled. She's staring at the screen of my phone. "Why is my brother sending you flirty little texts?"

I quickly reach for my phone, but she holds it away. I'm no match for her long ape arms. "He's just joking," I say quickly. d.a.m.n it, why didn't I erase those stupid texts?

"Uh, no, he's not. OMG, what a cornball. 'Every time I close my eyes, I see you face.' What the h.e.l.l?"

"I know!" I bite my lip super hard, then blurt out, "He just started texting me after we b.u.mped into him at the mall that day. Mostly, it's been 'hi, how are you,' but every once in a while, he'll start saying random things like that. I don't know if he's drunk when he sends those texts, so I just ignore them. So weird."

"Weird? It's gross, and practically incestuous." Heather's feet kick even faster, and she suddenly cackles. "I am so going to tease him about this. Oh, wait! I gotta text him back..." Her thumbs start moving over the screen in a series of lightning fast movements. "'Robert, you dirty little freak. I want to pop you in the oven and bake you like a pot pie...'"

I don't know why, but she says this in a pa.s.sably good British accent. I'm laughing until she says, "And send!"

I lunge for her, shouting, "Nooo!" At the same time, Heather's little kicky feet send one of her sandals hurtling in my direction. It's okay, though-I catch it with my face.

"You gave me a black eye," I moan, gently prodding my puffy left eye. It's really not that bad, but I like to make a production.

"I'm so sorry," Heather says for the eleventh time, even though she's stifling a laugh. "You really need to put some ice on that."

I glance at the little carousel clock on my dresser. It's almost ten. "No time," I say, grabbing my little black purse. "They'll be here soon. Let's wait outside-I don't want my mom ha.s.sling them."

We clomp down the stairs like arthritic horses. On the way out the door, I call a goodbye to Mom, who's in the living room, falling asleep in front of the television. She mumbles something in return. I remember when she used to grill me mercilessly every time I left the house, but that was before she changed s.h.i.+fts at the hospital. Nowadays, she's too tired to even ask about school. Why was I worried she'd ha.s.sle Johnny? She'd barely notice if he stuck his tongue down my throat right in front of her.

Perfect timing. I'm locking the front door when a sleek black SUV pulls into the driveway. Mack is behind the wheel, and Dean is in the pa.s.senger seat. Johnny, Nick, Jason, and Ryan are all crammed in the back, which means- "You're going on someone's lap, Juliet," Johnny says, not bothering to hide his wicked grin. "Wouldn't you rather it be mine? Familiar territory and all."

"I hear lots of girls are familiar with your territory, Johnny," Ryan snickers obnoxiously, turning around in his seat to leer at us.

"Hit him," Johnny orders Nick, who immediately smacks Ryan in the back of his head.

"Ow!" he howls, still cackling.

I exchange looks with Heather. She grins and gives a little shrug before squeezing into the s.p.a.ce between Johnny and Nick-but not before giving Johnny a meaningful glare. He gives her his most charming repentant look in return. It makes me want to bite him. What a weird urge.

Sighing, I climb in and settle carefully into my ex-boyfriend's lap. Had I known about the seating arrangement, I would have never work such a short dress. It's awkward, familiar, and exciting all at once.

I try to perch myself delicately over Johnny's knees, but he grunts and wraps an arm around my waist, and settles me firmly against him. I try to hold myself absolutely still, resisting the urge to snuggle back against his warm hard chest.

"Relax, Teeny," he whispers in my ear, squeezing my bare leg.

It takes forty-five minutes to get to Bayside. The guys up front start talking football, and Heather and Nick get into an animated discussion about their favorite movies. Together in relative privacy, Johnny and I are stiff and strangely silent. I can feel his racing heartbeat where my arm is pressed against his chest. My own heart is clubbing so hard against my ribs, I'm afraid it might actually break through and escape my body, cartoon style.

If we were still together, Johnny wouldn't hesitate to put his hands all over me, even in a car full of his friends. But now...I know he's restraining himself, trying to behave since I had asked him to give me s.p.a.ce. I know this because it's kind of hard not to notice how much he likes having me on his lap.

But then I get angry all over again, thinking about him with Laundry Room Girl. It p.i.s.ses me off, and turns me on at the same time. Why am I like that? The more I hate him, the more I want him. I don't understand it, and it makes me feel ashamed of myself. I've always been disgusted when girls I know took their cheating boyfriends back so quickly, then acted like they were more in love than ever. I always swore to myself I would never be that weak and gullible, but look at me now. I let Johnny control me, consume me-then I tell him to back off, and get mad when he listens. But it's hard to hold onto that anger when all I want to do right now is straddle his lap and kiss the h.e.l.l out of him.

I suddenly wish Heather could hear my thoughts, so she could give me a good slap across the face. I need it-and a cold shower. I need to stop inhaling the s.e.xy familiar scent of my ex-boyfriend's cologne-the one I bought for him, actually. I need to stop subtly wiggling against him because his breath becomes more and more ragged at each movement.

"Don't move," he warns me in a harsh whisper.

I s.h.i.+ft against him in response, causing him to stifle a quiet groan. I can't contain the wicked smile that breaks onto my face.

"s.h.i.+t," Johnny breathes in my ear. "You're killing me, Teeny."

"Good," I murmur, not mentioning that I'm also torturing myself.

In response, he grips my hips tightly, holding me still. Ignoring him, I lean over and join Heather and Nick's conversation about the scariest movies they've seen.

It's a long, long ride.

Mark Wilten's house is a huge steel and gla.s.s nightmare on a private stretch of beach. Cars are parked in roped off sections in the front of the house and in the empty lot besides it. There are several men in dark windbreakers who seem to be directing incoming cars where to go. Mack nearly runs one down when the guy gets in front of his SUV.

Heather holds my hand tightly in hers as we follow the guys down a path along the side of the house. Nerves and excitement turn her fingers ice cold. I know it's not anxiety over the party-you could drop Heather off anywhere in the world, and she'd make friends. No, I think her nerves have to do with her possibly seeing Sloane again. I've never seen her like this before, and it's kind of freaking me out. I squeeze her hand so hard she yelps.

We follow the walkway to the beach directly behind the ugly house. It's cooler here, with a breeze coming in over the cras.h.i.+ng waves of the ocean. I wish I had thought to bring a jacket. There are three big bonfires blazing away on the beach, and groups of people are camped around them. Music and laughter drift over to us in the sea-scented air.

I expected some kind of spring break orgy, but this party seems much more mellow than the one at Johnny and Dean's house. Kids are just kind of hanging out, sitting on fold out chairs, or sprawled on blankets in the sand. There are coolers everywhere, and mostly everyone is holding a plastic red cup.

I quickly take note of what the other girls are wearing. Quite a few of them have on skimpy bikini tops and shorts skirts; some girls are dressed like me-none of them are wearing jeans, except for Heather. She doesn't seem to notice.

Our group heads straight for the coolers. Along the way, kids stare as us and whisper, "Leclare's here!" in awed tones. The boys take it all in stride. They're used to a certain level of celebrity as the undefeated Roaring Tigers. Of course, the fact that they're all hot probably contributes to the legend.

We are definitely given the royal treatment from the boys manning the coolers. They immediately recognize Johnny and Dean. They ignore the girls waiting for their order to fanboy all over them.

"Dean, I hear you're headed to Ole Miss-is that true?" a husky boy with the most lush head of black hair I have ever seen says as he hands him a cup.

Dean gives a noncommittal shrug. "I've narrowed it down to a couple of places," he mutters vaguely.

Johnny hands Heather and I cups of something dark and foul-smelling. I automatically take a sip, then my mouth falls open, and the medicinal-tasting liquid spills neatly back into the cup. Heather chugs her down, and reaches for mine. Before I can warn her, she knocks it back like a hardened pro. Gross! I'm not going to say anything now.

I want to ask if they have Sprite, or something, but we are suddenly swarmed by a herd of giggling girls. Heather and I are actually knocked to the side, stumbling back and holding on to each other to keep our balance.

I shake the sand out of my sandals, and watch with burning intensity as a very pretty dark haired girl strides boldly up to Johnny. She stands close enough that her bikini-clad chest brushes up against him.

"Hey, stranger!" she greets him intimately, standing on her bare tip toes to shout in his ear.

"Hi, Chas," Johnny replies easily, after shooting me a quick look. He turns away from her, and starts a conversation with an enormous guy in a red kilt.

I can tell by the girl's expression that she's hurt by his abrupt dismissal. I can also tell that she likes Johnny-a lot, judging from the way her eyes crawl over his tanned muscled body, and handsome face.

More girls come up to him, and even though he's nice, he doesn't really pay them much attention. I can't tell if it's because I'm there, or what. When we were together, he never looked at anyone else. I start to wonder how well Johnny knew any of these girls when he was with me, until I hear one girl mutter to her friend that he must still have a girlfriend.

Heather nudges me in the side. "You okay, Jujubee?" she asks, using her old nickname for me.

"Peachy," I growl, deliberately looking away from the pretty girls vying for Johnny's interest.

I watch a squealing girl make a beeline for Dean, who notices her right before she launches herself at him. He catches her just in time, one hand on her back and the other under her bare thigh. The look on his face is priceless.

Ben, Arianna, and Sloane join our group, having just arrived. I try to introduce Ben and his witch to Heather, but she is absolutely fixated on Sloane, who looks like a G.o.ddess in a s.e.xy white dress. Her gorgeous hair is loose and flowing over her shoulders.

"Looking good, Juliet," Ben says reaching out to tug on a lock of my hair. Next to him, Arianna snarls, and shoots me a glare full of death.

I narrow my eyes at Ben. "You did that on purpose," I accuse him. He flashes me a devilish wink before he lets Arianna drag him away.

I notice Sloane drop something from her bag while she's looking through it, and since I'm standing the closest to her, I start forward to pick it up for her. Out of nowhere, Heather appears, shoving me out of the way so she can rush forward to help. I fall to my knees and watch my best friend fawn all over her latest crush.

Suddenly, Johnny is in front of me, easily lifting me to my feet. "What's that all about?" He nods in a giggling Heather's direction.

"You don't want to know," I mutter, dusting sand off my knees.

Johnny watches Heather and Sloane for a few seconds, then his eyes widen. He starts chuckling. "You mean...?"

"Yeah. Do you think-does Sloane even swing that way?"

He looks thoughtful, rubbing the golden stubble on his chin. "I don't know," he says finally. "I haven't really seen her with anyone. I guess it's possible."

Well, she's at least looking directly at Heather, which is more than I can say she ever did for me. Wow, she really is beautiful. I guess I don't blame Heather for being so star struck.

"Have you ever slept with Sloane?" my mouth asks before my brain can process the thought.

Johnny gives me a sideways look. A corner of his mouth twitches up in amus.e.m.e.nt. "No."

"What about Kara?" I blurt out before I can bite my lip. G.o.d, do I really want to know the answer to that one?

He hesitates for a second more than is comfortable, but shakes his head. "No, I...we thought about it, but we both decided it'd be a bad idea. This was before I met you, of course."

I can't even hide my sigh of relief. "Good. I mean-it's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, I'm glad you did." He turns to face me, looking down at me with serious cerulean blue eyes flickering with the reflection from the nearby bonfire. "It means you still care."

I don't know how to reply to that. I stare down at the s.h.i.+ny black polish on my toenails. Distance. I need to start creating some distance between us.

But Johnny moves a fraction of an inch closer. The warmth radiating from his solid body makes me want to throw my arms around him, and bury my face in his chest. Resisting that connection takes all my strength and pride.

"Teeny."

Johnny's voice is husky. He tilts my chin up with two fingers, and I'm forced to look into his beautiful eyes. Slowly, he lowers his head. If he tries to kiss me...

Fortunately, I don't get to complete that thought. Mack and Nick appear next to us. Mack slaps Johnny playfully on the back, sending Johnny staggering to the side a couple of steps. I don't know if I feel disappointed or relieved. To cover up my confusion, I turn my attention to Nick, who is holding a iced beer bottle to his bleeding lip. He won't say how he was injured, but he's wearing his usual good-natured smile, so I guess it must've been a silly accident.

Ryan and Jason have long ago disappeared with some girls, and I'm not sure where Dean went off to. I don't know where Heather is, either. Probably trailing after Sloane like a lost puppy. I hang out with Johnny, Mack, and Nick. The three of them are drinking steadily, and I start to wonder if I'm going to end up driving everyone home. That would be bad for everyone.

Well, so far so good. The guys are given deferential treatment, and because I'm with them, so do I. Several girls come up to talk to me, and most of them are really nice and friendly. I have to be more careful about the guys because Johnny watches me like a hawk, even though he's involved in an intense football conversation with Nick, and a cute guy named Harrison.

Feeling restless, I touch Johnny's arm to get his attention. "I'm going to check on Heather," I tell him.

He sets his cup down on the sand, and starts to stand. "I'll go with you," he says immediately.

"No, stay." I push his shoulder down gently. "I'll be fine. I just need to stretch my legs."

"Stay close," he murmurs, his words slurring just a little.

He waves a hand in the air, and accidentally hits my shoulder. There's a weird pinging sound, and my bra loosens. I suddenly feel a lot less supported. He just broke my bra!

Johnny doesn't even notice, but Nick and Harrison sitting across from him sure do. They gape at my chest where a bra strap dangles out of the neckline of my dress. I am definitely lopsided.

"Holy s.h.i.+t," Harrison breathes, staring unabashedly. "The legends are true."

"Yes, they are," Johnny declares, not having a clue.

I quickly cross my arms over my chest, and scowl at him. "Thanks a lot, Johnny," I growl.

"You're welcome?"

I stomp away. Great, now I'll have to find somewhere secluded to inspect the damage. I quickly scan the area. There are groups of people scattered everywhere, most of them gathered around the bonfires, and some brave souls are splas.h.i.+ng around in the waves breaking on the sh.o.r.e-squeals and startled laughter indicating the coolness of the water.

I start heading down the beach, noticing some large shrubbery ahead. Along the way, I pa.s.s Mack, strumming a guitar, and singing in a clear, surprisingly melodic voice. He directs the lyrics toward me with a raised eyebrow and a wide smile, and I laughingly applaud his efforts.

It probably should have occurred to me that others seeking privacy would have the same idea as me about the bushes. And when I say others, I mean couples looking for a spot to hook up. Why would you want to do it on a beach in public? You're just asking to get caught. And the sand gets in uncomfortable places...so not s.e.xy.

So I'm walking toward this one giant bush when I notice its leaves are moving rather violently. The movements are accompanied by the kind of noises I never want to hear other people make.

I start to scurry away when m.u.f.fled sounds of protests suddenly replace the satisfied grunting and moaning.

"No, please!" a girl's voice cries, triggering my internal alarm.

I have a collapsible baton in my purse-a gift from my paranoid father. I fish it out of my purse, and with a flick of my wrist, the steel baton extends to its full length. My adrenaline pumping, I run toward the girl's sobbing pleas.