Nuclear Heat (Firework Girls #4) (9 page)

Thank god Nick called me. The thought of her going home with those snakes makes my blood boil. She never would’ve been even talking to guys like that if she weren’t so smashed.

I look at her, leaning back in the seat and frowning out the window. Why
is
she so smashed? My heart softens as I wonder if something horrible’s happened to push her to drink like this.

“Any reason why you’re drunk off your ass on a Monday night?” Or any night?

She lifts one foot and puts her boot on the dash, stretching out her leg. My eyes linger on her, my heart starting to pump. “This is all your fault,” she says.

“How is it my fault?”

She brings up the other leg and rests it on the dash as well. My cock responds to the sight of her lounging all over the seat and I face forward, squeezing the wheel. “I’m mad at you, Jack.”

Well, that’s helpful. I already know she’s mad at me.
Again.
Hell if I know why.

“I’m going to throw up,” she says.

I look over sharply, wondering if I have time to pull over. She’s leaning back, legs still stretched out, staring out the windshield with a somber expression. Of course it can be hard to tell, but she doesn’t look about to throw up, so I take my chances and keep driving.

There’s a minute of silence, then, “Where’s
Emily?”

I squeeze the wheel. “Home.”

“Do you love her, Jack?”

“Uh—” I say, caught off guard by her question. I’m saved having to answer though, because she goes on.

“I bet you do. What’s not to love? She’s beautiful and smart and funny and tall. How tall is she?”

“Five ten.”

“What?! Holy hell. See? You only have three inches on her. I once had sex with a guy who was six five. Remember him. What was his name?”

“Hell if I know.”

“It was odd, too, because his pecker was kinda tiny. We made it work though.”

“God, Sam.”

“Hey, how many girls have you made fall in love with you?”

I look at her sharply again. Say what? “I don’t make girls fall in love with me.”
If I could, I wouldn’t fucking be in this mess.

“Let’s see, there was Trisha,” she says, counting off on her fingers, “and, uh, that blonde one. What the hell was her name?” She puts up another finger. “And Sharice.” Three fingers. “Remember that girl? She had the great big hair.” She holds her hands out from her head to indicate.

When she brings her hand back in front of her, she’s not holding up her fingers anymore. She frowns. “Wait, how many was that?”

“Do you have a point over there?”

“Yeah. You totally shouldn’t make girls fall in love with you. It’s kinda crappy. I mean, what if someone doesn’t
want
to be in love with you?”

“Well, no one
has
to fall in love with me. Geez, Sam.”

“Ha!” she says loudly, pointing at me. I stare at her. What the hell? She falls back against the seat and takes to looking out the windshield. “Shows what you know.”

I go back to staring at the road. “You’re so fucking drunk,” I mumble.

“Meh. I’m really mad at you, Jack.”

“Yeah, well, I’m mad at you, too.”

“What did
I
do?”

I don’t answer and she doesn’t talk any more either.

By the time I get her home and am helping her into her bedroom, she’s mellowed and so have I. I’d let her just pass out on her bed fully dressed, but she’s got these long, freaking boots on.

I sit her on the edge of the bed and kneel in front of her, looking for the end to those laces that zig zag all the way up the front. I’m trying really hard not to look at the base of her short skirt and the dark triangle of shadow there. She’s a bit unsteady, even sitting, and has a hand on each of my shoulders. I imagine her putting her hands on the back of my head and pressing me in closer to that dark triangle—I can’t help it—and my cock throbs in response. Fuck.

“Ugh,” I say, giving up on the damned boots. “How the hell do you get these things off?”

“There’s a thing,” she says pointing. She lifts the top of a black suede flap that runs down the length of the boot. “A thing,” she says again, then I see it.

“Oh, a zipper.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s clever.” Thank god, because I’m in no mood to deal with all that lacing. I pull down the zipper and start to question the wisdom of this plan. As the boot opens up to reveal more and more of Sam’s bare leg, the crotch of my jeans starts getting uncomfortably tight.

As I start to pull off the first boot, she tries standing to help make things easier. Even though her hands are still on my shoulders, she wobbles again. I grab her by the hips to keep her from falling, then gently set her back down. “God, Sam,” I say softly. “Why’d you drink so much?”

One hand absently caresses my shoulder and runs down my bicep. Holy hell.

“I fucked up,” she says quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”

I sigh. I’m unzipping the other boot and looking at that soft skin and telling myself under absolutely no circumstances can I caress her leg. Or do any of the other naughty things I’m dying to do to her.

“I didn’t mean to,” she says again.

“Okay, honey,” I say. “You’re all right. You’ll have a fun time working this one off, though.” I grab the boots and lean away a bit so I can toss them near the closet.

Her hands grip my shoulders. “Don’t leave me, Jack.”

“I’m not. I’m just putting your boots over here.”

Then Sam slides off the bed and onto my lap, her arms around my neck and her head tucked onto my shoulder. “I don’t want to be alone.” My heart is pounding. Part of me wonders what on earth happened to her to make her act like this, and the other part of me—selfishly, like a bastard—is grateful for whatever it is because I’m holding Sam in my lap and she feels so, so good. She smells so good. She squeezes me and I squeeze her back. I rub my hand down her side and to her waist. Then I force myself to freeze, because I don’t want to stop there. I don’t want to stop there at all.

Because apparently I’m the kind of guy willing to think about taking advantage of his best friend when she’s completely smashed.

I know I have to put the brakes on things right now. “Time to get some sleep,” I say, getting to a stand with her in my arms, then laying her on her side. No fucking way am I taking off the skirt. She’ll just have to deal with it.

“Stay,” she whispers, her eyes closing as she starts to settle into the pillow.

“You’re okay now,” I say.

“Stay,” she says, taking my hand and gripping it hard. “Please, Jack. Please.”

“Alright,” I say, because I’m helpless to say anything else when she’s pleading so pitifully like that. What in the hell happened to her? When she sobers up, I’ll try to find out. “Alright,” I say again.

Eyes still closed, she sighs and rolls onto her back.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I turn her onto her side again. I don’t need this girl choking on her own vomit. God. I don’t know if she’s passed out or fallen asleep already, but her hand drops out of my hand and she starts snoring softly.

I exhale heavily and stand up, looking down at her. My blood is pumping thickly and I’m having a hard time getting my cock to settle down. I bring my hands to my face, rubbing hard. Would I be a complete ass if I jacked off in her bathroom?

Instead, I go back into the living room to lock up the house. I empty my pockets onto the kitchen counter and look for the extra charger I keep here so I can plug in my phone. I realize just how much I’ve made a home for myself here at Sam’s. I really should cut those strings. Draw firmer boundaries.

I consider sleeping on the couch, but it’s too short for comfort. I kind of want to keep an eye on Sam anyway, and my cock is finally under control. Sort of. I go back into her bedroom to see she’s rolled onto her back again, her arms and legs spread out.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

I manage not to look
too
much at the black lace panties I can see under her skirt. Good lord, is she wearing a
thong?
So much for my cock being under control. Dammit Sam. I focus on turning her onto her side again. It kind of worries me that she won’t stay put. Sam’s a wild sleeper.

I pull the covers down and tuck her under them (panties safely out of sight). Her shoulders are still showing though, and her shoulders are sexy as hell. I pull the blankets up more, covering them. Then up a bit more, covering her neck. Okay. That’s better. Kind of.

I strip down to my boxers and tee and collapse on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers. My cock is demanding some attention, but thank god my exhaustion wins over. I’m out in a heartbeat.

I keep waking up. Between worrying about her and waking to check to make sure she hasn’t choked in her sleep, and her rolling all over the place and throwing her limbs all over me, I’m not sleeping much.

It’s my own fucking fault. I should’ve just left.

I realize this keenly when, predawn, I wake to find Sam in my arms, and me in hers. We’re on our sides, facing each other, arms wrapped around one another. Her leg is thrown over my hip and she’s oh-so-slowly grinding against my hard cock. Her skirt has scrunched up in her sleep and she’s definitely, definitely wearing a thong. I know this because my hand is low on her bare ass. Half an inch lower and I’ll be fingering the gateway to heaven. She’s still sleeping, and making dreaming noises, but now I’m wide fucking awake. She’s probably dreaming about some random hookup, but I’m right here, right now.

Her breasts are pressed against my chest and she’s nuzzling her mouth into the crook of my neck. Good
lord
. My heart’s pounding against my ribs and my cock is so hard it almost hurts. I should move my hand off her ass, but I leave it there. It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to roll her on her back, tear that black lace thong right off her, and pound her into oblivion.

Fucking hell,
I think as I scramble backwards out of bed. She kind of moans but I don’t look to see if I woke her up. I will lose it if I stay here another second, and I know it. I hustle into the living room, throw on my clothes, and get the hell out.

It’s only after I’ve made it home and let off some steam in the shower that I’m clear-headed enough to realize what might be the worst thing:

I didn’t leave out of loyalty to Emily.

I left out of loyalty to Sam.

If I don’t stop having these stupid dreams about Jack, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Or, alternately, my head could just explode and put me out of my misery. God,
why
do people drink like this?

I barely remember last night. I’m not sure how I got home, but the fact that I’m still dressed is a good sign. My car’s not here though. Is it down at the bar? I keep thinking Jack was there, and here, but I’m not sure if that was part of my dream or what.

I called in sick to work. In case you’re wondering, calling in sick to work due to a drinking binge is officially fucked up behavior. Dear ol’ dad would be so proud.

Fuck.

Around noon I stumble out to the kitchen to make some coffee and text Jack.

Me:
Did you bring me home last night?

Jack:
You=wasted. Me=awesome.

I groan.

Me:
Where’s my car?

Jack:
Rounders. We can get it later. Did you call into work?

Me:
What do you think?

Jack:
Are you okay?

Me:
Yeah.

Jack:
I mean really.

I groan again. No, Jack, you big, dumb, jackass I am most definitely not okay.

Me:
Yes really. Except my head is no longer attached to my body.

Jack:
You weren’t using it anyway.

“You got that right, buddy.”

I don’t want Jack to help me get my car because I don’t think I can handle being with him. I call Ashley. Then I call Isabella. Then the next thing I know, Chloe’s hauled her ass clear up to Rosebrook yet again because I’ve called an emergency meeting at Delsa’s Diner. We take my car home, then go to Delsa’s together in Isabella’s car.

We’re sitting in our spot, near the back. This was the first place we ever hung out together, way back in our Freshman year, and it hasn’t changed one bit. The floors are still white linoleum, and the booths are still cheap red leather, and the menu is exactly the same. But we’re all different. I’m different.

I didn’t think I could handle Volcano Fries, so I ordered one of Delsa’s famous cookie pies and the girls all jumped on board. We each have an individual cookie pie in front of us, with a couple scoops of ice cream on top.

I know I’m the one who called this little meeting, but now that everyone’s here, what am I supposed to say? What are they supposed to do about it? I’m stabbing my ice cream with my spoon, but I’m not eating it.

“Are you going to tell us what’s wrong, or what?” Chloe says.

“I guess. What the hell.” But I still say nothing.

Isabella snorts. “Geez, Sam.”

“I know. I’m being a pain in the ass.”

That’s part of what’s bugging me, too. I never realized it before, but part of not wanting to ever fall in love was not having to worry about being loveable. I mean, what hope does a pain in the ass like me have anyway?

“Um,” Ashley says, frowning at me. “What’s
that
look about? You look like you’re in a really dark place.”

Okay, I just have to come out with it. But as I think about telling them the truth, that I’ve gone and fallen in love with Jack when I shouldn’t have, a bubble of pain is swelling in my chest. I tilt my head up slightly, blinking back tears. Oh God. The Heartbreak. I’ve tried so hard to avoid this. I don’t want this. I don’t.

“Oh, Sam,” Isabella says softly. “What is it?”

I drop my spoon and clasp my hands together, pressing them hard against my forehead. Now I do want to spill it all and tell them everything, but I don’t think I can physically talk. I’m fighting back a sob and can only spit out, “Jack,” before I break down and start crying right here in the middle of fucking Delsa’s Diner.

“Jack?” Chloe repeats. “Is something wrong with him?”

“Yeah, he’s in love with fucking Emily, that’s what’s wrong with him,” I say, looking up. “Stupid asshole.”

Chloe and Isabella look alarmed and confused—and who can blame them—but Ashley is giving me a more compassionate look. As if she understands. I realize she’s probably understood this for some time. God, I’m such an idiot.

“Oh, Sam,” Ashley says.

“What?” Chloe asks, looking between the two of us.

I grab a napkin and furiously wipe away my tears, leaving trails of mascara on the white tissue. “I’ve gone and fallen in love with stupid Jack, that’s what,” I say.

Chloe slams both hands on the table and lowers her head, staring at me. “Whaaaat?”

Isabella’s jaw drops.

“Uuuugh,” I groan. “I know, I know. We’re supposed to be friends and he’s with Emily anyway and I’m so
sick
of hearing him swoon over that little princess.”

“I don’t know that I’d call it swooning,” Isabella mutters, shrugging, but Chloe’s still staring at me in disbelief.

“You fell in love with Jack?” she says.

“I didn’t mean to!” I say defensively.

“Okay,” Isabella says. “It’s okay.”

But Chloe’s not done. She looks at Ashley. “Did you know about this?”

“Not exactly.”

“What’s that mean?” Chloe presses.

“It means I kinda figured it out.”

Chloe is furrowing her brows at Ashley but I don’t care who knew what or who figured out what. Although, I’m a little perturbed by the notion that Ashley may have figured it out before I did.

“Okay, everybody calm down,” Isabella says. “Does Jack know?”

“Are you fucking crazy?” I say.

“I was
just
asking
,” she says, raising her hands.

I groan and drop my head in my hands. “Sorry, Bella.” She sighs and starts rubbing my back. “I don’t know what to do,” I say, my head still in my hands. “This is so, so, so bad.”

“Well,” Ashley says slowly, “maybe Jack feels the same way?”

I look at her wryly. Typical, female wishful thinking. And dammit if I don’t start up with it, too. I’ve thought of that night plenty. But I’m still giving her a look. She holds her ground. “He might.”

I glance at the other two. They’re giving Ashley thoughtful looks.

“He’s with
Emily
,” I say, determined to be logical about this. “The first girl he’s never cringed about when someone brings up the topic of
marriage.
”

Chloe cringes herself. Everyone exchanges uncomfortable looks. Because I’m
right.

“Uggggh,” I say again, sliding down and resting my head on the back of the seat. “This just.... ugh... I can’t stand this! How can you people stand this?”

Chloe laughs a little.

“It’s so not fucking funny,” I say flatly, pinching my eyes closed.

It’s silent at our table for a moment. There’s a song playing on the jukebox: “I Will Always Love You,” by Whitney Houston. Nice. Whatever.

“How long have you felt like this?” Isabella asks.

I shrug, like a petulant teenager.

“Sam?” she presses.

I sigh and sit back up. “I don’t know. Not long. I don’t think. It just... all kind of hit me. I had a...dream about him.” I feel my cheeks blushing, and let me tell you, it’s been
years
since I’ve been embarrassed about anything sexual.

Chloe’s eyebrows raise and I point at her. “Don’t say anything,” I say. She widens her eyes and raises her hands, pretending she wasn’t going to.

“And then...” I continue, “I think, I don’t know, maybe because Emily came on the scene? I don’t know. I don’t know where all this came from.”

“Honestly,” Isabella says gently, “I never understood why you two weren’t an item to start with.”

Well, great. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

“Has Jack ever given you any sign that he might feel the same way?” Isabella asks.

And here I go again. I think back to that night weeks ago. Movie night. Fingers on my neck and goosebumps on my arms night. The way he looked at me. Remembering makes my heart hurt.

“It was nothing,” I say aloud.

They all straighten and lean in. “What’s this?” Chloe says.

“Nothing,” I say, irritated now. “No. There has not been anything and Jack is not hiding secret feelings for me.” I’m not going to be one of those women who analyzes every little thing a guy does so she can convince herself he’s in love with her.

“Sam,” Ashley says firmly, “I’m sorry, but you don’t
know that. You have all these feelings for Jack now, right? Have you ever done anything to show it? Does
he
have anything he could look at and say, Gee, I think Sam likes me?”

Okay, that gets me thinking, I’ll admit. It’s a fair point. Maybe.

“You need to talk to him,” she says.

My eyes widen and I give my head two sharp shakes no. Uh-uh. No way. I’m panicking just at the thought of it.

“You
need
to,” Ashley says.

“Maybe she’s right,” Isabella pipes in.

Fuck. “No,” I say. “No, I can’t.” That panicked feeling is growing. “I can’t lose him.” I mean his friendship, but I don’t clarify.

“Hey,” Ashley says gently, as I take a deep breath. This conversation is freaking me out. “Even if Jack doesn’t feel the same way, he’s not going to stop being your friend. You know he won’t.”

“I’ll make it weird. It’ll ruin it. That’s what happens.”

“You and Jack are different,” Isabella says. “You’ll work through it.”

I throw my hands up. “Well, what’s the point? Why do I want to give him something to work through?” I just need to fucking get over it. And I’m not going to be one of those women who thinks she’s the exception. I’m not, or else he... he wouldn’t be with Emily the way he is. My heart clenches in pain as I think about Emily. The girl he loves. Not me. Her. And as much as I hate to admit it, she deserves him more than I do. She’s smart and beautiful and has her shit together and probably isn’t a miserable fuck-up in the love department like I am.

“Sam—” Isabella starts to press.

I cut her off. “Anyway, who says I want him?”

They all stare at me.

“You don’t want him?” Chloe asks.

“I don’t... want to want him.”

“That’s just stupid,” Isabella says, taking a bite of her cookie.

“No, it’s not.” Some help they’re being.

“You want him,” Isabella says. “You’re just scared he doesn’t want you.”

“Or scared he does,” Ashley says.

I look at Ashley sharply. My heart’s pounding. I take a few steadying breaths, then say quietly, “That’s enough.” I look at each one of them. “That’s enough. I’m done talking about it.”

For better or for worse, no one says another word.