Page 9 of Jack Frost
“I like it when you push your cock up against me.”
“Very good,” he says, pulling against me and erasing the distance between us. “Very, very good.”
I glance over at the party raging just in the other room and try to spot Sammy. She and her punk rocker have their tongues jammed deep down each other’s throats, hands gliding everywhere and flashes of skin meeting my eyes through the darkness.
“She’ll be okay,” Jack says, loosening his grip on my neck, stroking my hair and smoothing it down my back. “You know I was looking at your yearbook picture today.”
“Ugh,” I say, covering my face. I reach over to the counter to grab my beer, and disconnect from Jack. Strangely, I can feel his absence on me. “That was not a flattering picture. Like, not flattering at all.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He throws back the last of his beer and tosses his empty into his recycling bin, walking over to the fridge to grab two more. The way he pops the metal caps off the bottles makes him look so fucking cool. “You were gorgeous back then. I’ll admit that you could have covered yourself up a little less, but I saw you. I noticed you.”
My face grows hot as I take the bottle from him and our fingers touch.
“You knew who I was,” I say skeptically, but my heart is leaping for joy. “You actually knew who I was back then.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You were the emo chick in the corner with the books and the poems and all that. You were fucking hot, but no one could touch you. I mean, I’m sure someone did. Not me. To my dissatisfaction.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I say, swallowing my beer quickly. This feeling is the one I was afraid of. Like I’m about to lose control. He’s so fucking hot, and here he is telling me he thinks I’ve been hot for years. And it doesn’t even seem like he doing it to butter me up to get into my pants. He could have any girl here. He doesn’t need to be messing with me. He doesn’t need to be talking to me.
I look up and see a depth of sincerity in his eyes. Like he really sees me, whatever the hell that means.
“No, doll. I’m not kidding.” He steps toward me and calmly takes my bottle from me, placing it on the counter and weaving his fingers through mine. “Come with me”
