Page 42 of Unleashing Chaos

“That’s me,” I say, opening the ice cream and digging in. “Is this your favorite? You keep saying we haven’t made it to your favorite movie yet.”

I pull the blanket out from behind me and spread it over my legs, lifting it up and wordlessly asking if he would like to share it with me. Surprisingly, he takes it and drapes it over his legs as he speaks.

“It’s top three but Return of the Jedi is my favorite. I should give some deep explanation, but if I’m being honest, it’s for one stupid reason.” He pops a chip in his mouth and stares at the screen.

Is he serious? He can’t leave me hanging like that. I told him the biggest secret of my life, the one that could get me in serious trouble with my dad, and he can’t share why a movie is his favorite? No. That will not do. The man owes me this at least.

I gesture for him to continue. “And that would be?”

His cheeks turn pink, and he grabs his glass of soda. Bringing it to his lips, he quickly says, “I may have had my sexual awakening because of that movie.”

My eyebrows hit my hairline as I think about the dinosaur-looking creature, the gold metal man, and the one creepy guy with the red and black face. “Wait, what? With who? Jar Jar Binks?”

“What? No!” He sits up straight and tips his head toward the television. “Princess Leia.”

“Oh,” I say with a nod. “I see. Was it the space buns or the white robe that did it for ya?”

His eyes take on this dreamy glaze like he’s picturing her in his head. “No. There’s this one costume she wears that always took center stage in every wet dream I had from fourteen until, well . . . whatever age it stopped being acceptable to have wet dreams because that’s definitely when I stopped.”

I’m silent for a moment until laughter bursts out of me and I bend over, clutching my stomach. “Jace, stop,” I say through my tears. “You had wet dreams over a Star Wars character?”

“Damn right I did. You don’t understand, Desi. You haven’t seen that costume. It’s the epitome of sexy. It’s the costume that puts every sexy nurse and French maid outfit to shame. I’d rather have a woman walk into my bedroom in that costume than any skimpy lingerie.”

I stare at him wide eyed with my mouth open. “You are passionate about this subject.”

“I’m passionate about many things. That costume just happens to sit high on the list.”

“Fair enough,” I say, leaning back against the arm of the couch. This is the perfect opportunity to bring up the other night. I take a deep breath and sit forward, placing the ice cream on the coffee table and replacing the lid. “Jace, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me.”

He pauses the movie and tilts his head to the side as he looks at me. “Of course. When have I ever not told you the truth?”

I ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach and decide to be as blunt as possible. “The other night. After the charity dinner. Did you . . . I mean, did we —”

His eyelids drop slightly, making his gaze dark and hooded as he says, “Did we what, Desideria? Say what you need to say.”

“Did we touch ourselves while watching each other through our bedroom windows? And tell each other when to come? Or did I imagine that, and it was just a one-way street? In which case I look really foolish right now, and I’d like to crawl in a hole and disappear,” I ramble, wringing my hands in my lap. My heart is racing, my blood throbbing in my veins, and I have to press my thighs together the moment I ask the question.

“Does it matter what happened that night? I think it’s safe to say we’ve moved on.”

In what way does he think we’ve moved on? Asking the question is proof that it still lingers in my head. I can have the smuttiest book in my hand or be folding clothes and the image of him watching me with his dick in his hand creeps in. I haven’t moved on from that night at all.

I hold back the derisive laughter that’s threatening to bubble up. “Yes, it does matter. It matters to me. And no, it’s not ‘safe to say we’ve moved on.’ How can we move on if I wasn’t even sure it had actually happened until just now? I need to talk about it, Jace. Please,” I murmur, hating the way the word sounds on my tongue, so desperate and needy.

But I am, I guess. I need to talk about it. I want to talk about it.

He removes his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Okay, let’s talk about it. I’m not sure what you want me to say. You saw it happen.”

I clench my jaw and turn to face him, crossing my legs underneath me. My knees rest on his thigh and I don’t bother to move. “I want you to tell me why it happened. Why that happened and somehow the idea of kissing me is just too disgusting to consider!” I blurt, my face heating and chest rising with the frustration building inside me.

Jace springs up from the couch and his glasses hit the coffee table with a clank that makes me jump. “Where did you get that I find the idea of kissing you disgusting? When did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to, Jace!” I exclaim, getting to my feet so we are closer to being eye to eye. “I all but offered myself to you on a silver platter, and you turned me down! Then you pushed me to make out with Cannon. Why else would you do that when you knew I’d gladly have made out with you? You can’t have any desire to kiss me, or you wouldn’t have done either of those things.”

He points a finger at me. “Fuck that. I’m not talking to you about this.”

“Why not?”

“Because what you and Cannon do is your business. I was just trying to help you both out. But I see I shouldn’t have gotten involved. You guys would have figured it out.”

---