Page 8 of Jig's Last Dance

I’m being unfair. Jig never said anything on the subject, at least that I could hear, but fuck, way to make a girl feel less than. And for it to be Bastion who said it stings, considering we’ve known each other since diapers, or so it seems. I guess he’s made his position clear on our friendship—or lack thereof.

I mean, I knew we weren’t besties when he stopped talking to me after my parents died, but I didn’t think it was because he hated me. Whatever.

There’s a long, painful as fuck pause after my rant before Jig clears his throat. “Baby, all a guy needs is a hole.”

My eyes fly to his, and I growl. “You’re fucking unreal.”

His lips stretch into a smile, but his eyes are cool when he brushes a stray hair out of my face. “You’re just a ball of sunshine this morning.”

“Fuck off,” I say, pushing his hand away. He smiles, and I hiss before searching for my phone. I find it on the nightstand with, unsurprisingly, several missed calls from Ben.

But I’m worried about Shawn, so I shoot off a text, delaying the inevitable lecture a little longer.

You okay?

Shawn:I feel like death warmed over

Alice:Me too

Shawn:Never again

Alice:Agreed

Shawn:Where you at? Ben keeps texting me

Alice:Shit. Don’t worry. I’m calling him

Shawn:That doesn’t answer my question

Wincing, I ignore the shuffle of Jig as he gets out of bed, but I can’t resist a peek from the corner of my eye. He’s got a beautiful ass. I can confirm because he’s buck naked.

Does he tan in the nude?

His butt flexes deliciously as he crosses the room, and once he’s through the door to what I presume is the bathroom, I fan my warm cheeks.

So, he’s got an amazing ass. So what?

Yeah, shifting uncomfortably, I frown at the pulse in my panties before hitting send. With Ben’s name on the screen, all arousal fades, and my own butt cheeks clench in preparation.

“Goddamnit, Ali.”

Cringing, I pull the phone away from my ear and say, “I’m sorry.”

But he talks right over me. “I’m tired of your shit! You think I want to call the entire fucking neighborhood to make sure you’re not dead?”

He pauses, sucking in a breath, and I bow my head, tears stinging my eyes. I still remember the frantic look on his face, that night, years ago and the way he convulsively clenched his hand as he made call after call, casting me worried glances. By the time that horrible evening was over, I had bitten my nails down to the quick, and he had worn a hole in the floor.

“Whatever. Get your ass home before I beat it.”

With that, he hangs up, and I exhale a shuddering breath. My relationship with Ben has slowly eroded since that fucking night until nothing remains between us but his resentment.

But I didn’t ask for this. And I’m lost too. Shit.

Wiping my face, I gather my bag and turn toward the door. I have no idea where I am, but I figure if I’m walking the next time I get a call, that will go some way toward showing my compliance.

Jig is standing in the threshold of the bathroom, holding a towel in his hands. I turn my gaze away, my retinas burning, but I can’t focus on his fucking gloriousness when my throat aches with regret.

It would seem all I do is fuck up. I don’t blame Ben for his anger. I just wish I knew how to bridge the gap. Maybe next month, when I’m eighteen, he’ll lose his incessant need to hover over me.

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