Fall (Seaside #4)(34)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Pris’s tongue pushed into my mouth. Damn, the girl was aggressive. I loved it. Smiling against her mouth I bit down on her lip and let her taste me, let her explore as my hands moved to her hips, setting her feet on the floor as I still held her body against mine.

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. You’re the only real friend I’ve had.” Other than the guys, but they were more like family, she had to know that.

“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. My heart — bloody thing that it was — slammed against my chest in madness as if it was so upset with what I was saying that it was getting ready to burst from my chest and find the words that I couldn’t.

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. You say friends, you act like—” She held out her hands, palms up… and shook her head helplessly.

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. I want to murder 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? Maybe Smith will help me experience some of those things — even if it’s heartache, apparently it would still make you happier than you are now.”

“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.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Priscilla

I made it as far as the bedroom door before I fell onto the bed and burst into tears. What was wrong with me? Was I that terrible of a prospect that we only ever got as far as the abrupt first kiss and I was pushed away?

Again.

A girl can only take so much rejection before her heart starts to wilt. Mine was dead. It felt dead. I hated that he did the right thing. Jamie Jaymeson, whore of the year, was trying to protect my virtue. Imagine that.

He had no idea how my body responded to him. With Smith it was like getting a nice hug from a family member. Ugh. I hated that I felt that way.

With Jaymeson? It was like touching a hot stove — and liking it.

My body burned everywhere he touched. I didn’t even understand the feelings that were racing around my head, around my heart, just everywhere.

I sniffled as a few escaped tears hit the pillow, and pretended to sleep when I heard the door crack open.

Light filtered into the room.

I froze.

And then muscular arms wrapped around my body, and Jaymeson whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry, love.”

I hated that having him near calmed me immediately, almost as much as I hated how clueless he must be about how I felt. Because the last thing I needed to be reminded of was how it felt to be in his arms — when he was pushing me into someone else’s.