Nuclear Heat (Firework Girls #4) (10 page)

Isabella drops me off and I enter a darkened house. It was daylight when the girls picked me up earlier, and I forgot to turn on any lights before I left. I shut the door behind me and stand there in the dark, my purse hanging loosely from my hand. I don’t move. I don’t think. I just stand there.

After a moment I reach over and flip the switch next to the door. The floor lamp in the corner comes on. I stare at the living room. The walls are taupe instead of puke green. The furniture is back where it belongs, for now. The pink shag carpet is still awaiting its fate.

I drop my purse on the floor, step out of first one heel, then the other, then walk barefoot down the darkened hall to my bedroom. Yellow light from the streetlamp outside is coming through the open blinds. I don’t bother turning on any other lights. I strip off my jeans and throw them on the floor. My shirt and bra are next.

I open a drawer, grab a cami, and slowly pull it on. I remove a pair of old sweats from the same drawer and pull those on, too. I stare at the open drawer for a minute, then leave the room without closing it.

I go down the hallway and back into the living room where I stop and stand there. Just... stand there. Something dark is starting to seep into my shoulders and chest. It soaks into me, getting stronger. Going deeper.

I’m standing still, but yet I stumble a bit. I sink to the end of the coffee table, sitting heavily.

The blackness is starting to break open and pool inside my heart.

Oh god. No.

I can’t remember what girls do when they’re brokenhearted. What am I supposed to do? What do I do with this? How do I stop it?

But whatever horrible thing has been creeping up on me isn’t creeping anymore, it’s tearing through me. Without mercy. I hunch over and press my palms to my eyes. It swells and breaks inside me and just like that I’m crying like a child.

Oh, god. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

But it goes on and on. I forgot what it was like to cry this hard and this long. Why did I do this to myself? How could I have let this happen? And with Jack. My best friend.

I don’t know how long I’m like that. Eventually, I’m lying on the coffee table, staring up at the ceiling and feeling still and lifeless.

Naturally, that’s when Jack walks in the door.

He takes one look at me and freezes, door still half way open and his hand still on the knob. I stay where I’m at. In the space of a heartbeat, I take Jack in. Tall, lean, handsome Jack. I’ve always known Jack’s good looking, but it’s one thing to see that with your eyes and another to have your entire body and soul react to it. It isn’t just how he looks though, it’s who he is and who he’s always been to me. My truest friend.

It feels like there’s a string attached to my heart, and Jack’s got a hold of the other end, and he’s pulling, pulling, pulling. Reeling me in.

“Um...” he says.

I roll my eyes. Oh my god,
what?
I guess when I texted “I’m going out with the girls” I should’ve said “I don’t want to see you tonight.”

He glances at my shoes and purse on the floor. “You haven’t been drinking again, right?”

I sigh and look at the ceiling. I think about saying,
Yes, but don’t worry. I’ve got my membership to AA all lined up.
Instead, I say, “No.”

He comes in and shuts the door. I watch him as he comes around and sits on the couch. He looks perfectly serious. So do I.

“Are you going to tell me what last night was about?” he asks.

I look back to the ceiling and sigh. I barely remember last night. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Why’d you drink so much?”

I shrug. “People do it.”

“You don’t.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first for everything.” Lucky me.

“Sam,” he says softly, pulling my eyes to him. Our eyes meet and it makes my heart give in, in spite of myself. “Come on, honey,” he says gently. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Here it is again. The heartbreak. This time, it feels like a little ball of concentrated pain, squeezing my heart and throat and making it hard to swallow. Who knew heartbreak came in so many different varieties? As I look at Jack’s face, his genuine concern for me so evident, a hot tear leaks out and skips down my cheek.

Jack watches it and frowns. “Hey,” he says, scooting to the end of the couch and leaning toward me. He’s not touching me at all, but I feel wrapped up in him like a cloud. He reaches out and wipes the tear with his thumb. His touch hums through my body, from cheek to feet.

“If I didn’t know better,” he says, giving me a gentle, teasing prod on the shoulder, “I’d think you were crying over some guy.”

My eyes widen and my reaction comes through on my face before I can stop it. He straightens sharply, blinking in shock.

Oh god.

I roll onto my side, away from him, one arm dangling off the table, my face on the edge. Yeah. We just need to stop talking now and he needs to stop looking at me and I need to stop looking at him.

He’s quiet so long, I wonder if he’s going to leave. Part of me wants him to. Part of me needs him to stay. Because being in love is a special kind of fucked up, I’m discovering.

I close my eyes. Why did he have to come now? Why did I have to fall in love with him?

I hear him get off the couch and walk around the table. It sounds like he’s sitting down right in front of me. When I open my eyes, he’s lying on the floor on his back, his body parallel to mine. His head is under mine, so I’m looking right at him.

There’s no escaping him now.

He’s wearing a pained expression I can’t interpret. “I’m sorry for teasing you,” he says. “Heartbreak sucks.”

Hot tears make another appearance, dammit. He reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek.

I give up.

My heart is aching. He’s killing me. I grab his hand, hanging onto it as he cups my cheek and neck.

“Ah, Sammy,” he says. “I know this is new for you, but it gets better.” He pauses. Again, that expression I can’t read. “Usually.”

I look at him helplessly. As much as I need and cherish his friendship, how can that ever be enough for me now? How can I pretend?

I tell myself I need to let go of his hand. But when I loosen my grip, instead of taking my hand away the way I meant to, I slide it down to his forearm and grip again, hanging on to Jack for dear life.

He follows the movement of my hand and his brows furrow slightly. He looks back to me, a question in his eyes. I’m too worn out and heartbroken to do anything but look back.

The furrow in his brows deepen. “Who,” he asks slowly, “is this guy?”

I press my lips together, the tears running fresh again. I can’t look away from him. I can’t hide it. Maybe this is what Ashley knew, and why she said to talk to him about it. I can’t hide this from him anyway.

A pained look crosses his face: confusion and disbelief. “Sam?” He chokes out my name, his voice a whisper.

It’s you. It’s you.

And I’m just one more woman he didn’t mean to make fall in love with him.

I give a weak shrug and find my voice at last. “Sorry,” I whisper. I didn’t mean to fall in love with Jack. I really didn’t.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise and dawning realization. Now he knows the truth, surely.

It’s only inevitable now: his “we’ll always be friends” speech, or “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea” speech, or “I’m in love with Emily” speech. Part of me is cringing against the horrible words I know are coming. Part of me is willing to beg.
Beg.

Part of me doesn’t want to go one second past this moment, because there’s not one single thing Jack can do that won’t terrify me.

He has that deer-caught-in-headlights look. He’s still processing what I’ve revealed and he has no idea what to do next. No good can come from this. God, why did I have to put the both of us in this awkward fucking position?

This time, I do move, only half an inch, intending to get off the table and away, but his hand suddenly tightens against my face, keeping me here.

He’s looking at me differently now. Am I just imagining it? Am I reading too much into an expression like those ridiculous love-sick girls are so prone to do? There’s no denying I’m officially a ridiculous love-sick girl myself. But he’s looking at me almost the way he has in my dreams, like he wants me, too. But it’s even more than that. He looks hungry for me. I thought I knew every way Jack’s face could look, but I never could have imagined him looking at me like this.

My heart is pounding against the table and every inch of my skin is on alert. There’s that string again, drawing me in whether I want it to or not.

My breathing is sharp and shallow. I now realize, so is his.
Oh my god.

He looks like he wants to come to me and I want him to. I’m beyond terrified, but God help me, I want him to so badly.

Still holding my cheek, eyes locked on mine, he lifts his head an inch toward me. I match his move. I didn’t mean to. We both freeze.

He’s not moving or hardly breathing but he’s reeling me in and I’m sunk. I can’t fight this.

I lean down to him half an inch more, asking. Begging. If he pulls back I know it will tear my heart open, but what’s the difference? I’m already bleeding.

But he doesn’t pull away. He swoops up, coming to me until our lips press together. My heart does, in fact, break open. I am broken everywhere and completely lost in him.

Jack. Jack.

It’s just a kiss, but it consumes me. I smell him. I hear his jagged breathing, matching mine. My lips are on his, but even though a kiss is what I wanted, it is instantly not enough. I part my lips slightly, needing to taste him. He pulls away, just enough to look at me. He may as well have pulled my heart out of my chest too.

I’m terrified I’ll see regret in his eyes. Or the look of a friend who’s only kissed me out of pity.

Instead I see that look of longing. I’ve seen it a hundred times on the faces of a hundred different men. It feels so different coming from Jack.

He takes my face into both hands then and kisses me firmly, pressing hard against my mouth. A whimper escapes me. I tighten my grip on his arm, kissing him hard back. Our mouths open eagerly, our tongues desperately tasting each other.

Oh god, oh my god.

He suddenly hooks his arm around my back and slides me off the table on top of him. Our mouths and tongues work together with a kind of desperation I’ve never experienced. Our arms close around each other like a vise. I’m lightheaded. My heart feels ready to burst, unable to hold this thing in me that is so big and terrible and divine.
Oh god.
I give a little whimper. Then another.

He moans and grips the back of my head with his hand, pulling me even harder against his mouth. My heart is pounding fiercely and I’m literally dizzy. He rolls us over so he’s pressed on top of me and I’m so drunk with him I can only hang on.

Our kissing grows more impassioned and my hands are all over him. All I know are his kisses and his body and everything in me reaching for him.

I can’t get him close enough to me. I want him inside me. I mean, I want his entire body inside my entire body and I never knew it was possible to want such a thing. To want a person this way. To want
him.
All of him.
Jack
.

I feel his desire for me hard against my inner thigh. My body responds instantly. Suddenly I’m on fire everywhere, my crotch aching for him. This is more familiar territory, to be sure, and I feel slightly more sure-footed for a brief moment.

Then that moment goes up in flames.

Even wanting him sexually is different from anything I’ve experienced before. I can’t stop running my hands over his back, feeling the firm muscles under his lightweight t-shirt. But I’m more than touching him, and he’s more than touching me. He’s tearing through me. Jack is a tsunami of sensation that lights up my skin and sets a blaze deep inside me, reaching deeper into my soul than anyone’s ever done before. Even him.

I want him inside me. I
need
him inside me. He presses himself against me and I wrap my legs around him, angling my hips to press against him. The hard cock under his jeans grinds into me. His tongue dives deeper into me as he holds my face like he can’t kiss me hard enough. And I can’t either. God, I need him so much.

I run my hand under his shirt onto bare skin. Touching his skin lights me up even more. Suddenly I’m afraid to push it any further. I’m afraid it’s all a dream, and that if I’m not careful the magic bubble will pop and it’ll be over. He’ll change his mind. It’ll all stop. As I wrap myself around him and our tongues dive frantically into each other, I’m almost panicked, trying to push down that fear that Jack will suddenly leave me and I won’t know how to make him stay.

He abruptly lifts off and away.

“Jack!” I gasp, reaching for him. Then I see he was only lifting up so he could remove his shirt. He already had it half way up his chest when he froze, startled by my cry for him.