A wicked grin curved his lips. “Why? Because it’s fun. Because men have become so fucking emasculated by society, we sometimes feel like having our balls back. Why do dudes love Fight Club so much? It’s because behind every A&F boxers-wearing guy who smells like citrus aftershave and knows who Versace is and takes you out on a date to an Italian dinner and a foreign film, there’s a savage who just wants to grab you by the hair and drag you to his cave.”
His other hand moved between us, sliding down my belly, finding my soaking panties. I was wearing a knee-length dress, but it was flipped up and Jaime didn’t look like he was bothered by it too much. He rubbed my entrance through my panties furiously.
“How? Someone steps out to the pool with his sleeves rolled up. That’s an invitation to fight. You can’t challenge a specific guy. The other guy has to volunteer. Chicks dig it, even when you lose, so guys do it, because pussy is nice, even when you have a bleeding lip. We use our fists. Kicks. Basic MMA shit. But we fight clean, mostly. And if things get out of hand, which they usually don’t unless Vicious’s involved…” He bit my lip, tugging my underwear down roughly and pushing in two fingers. “Then one of the HotHoles breaks it off before shit goes to the ER.”
I whimpered, tightening around him. He was rougher than usual, and I doubted it was a coincidence. He wanted to show me that he was a man, not a kid.
And he succeeded. In and out, in and out, he fingered me while I writhed on my kitchen floor underneath him.
So this was it. This was Defy. I had more questions I couldn’t exactly articulate at that moment, but one thing was clear—Jaime wasn’t afraid of getting hurt. Not physically, anyway.
But what about emotionally?
And what about me? Would I be able to take the hit when things between us went south?
All I knew was that my south liked him. So much so, that I came on his fingers before he even had the chance to touch my clit.
“You feel pretty manly to me,” I breathed out, all jelly-legged with half-mast eyes.
“And you feel like a woman worthy of a fight, Ms. Greene.”
SIX HEAVENLY WEEKS TICKED BY before Jaime claimed not only my body, but my heart. Unsurprisingly, it was the day I got my period (AKA the time when my hormones were wreaking havoc with my body). It was also the day that I moved.
I’d found a place in a small beach town on the outskirts of Todos Santos, and I’d arranged for a substitute teacher to cover my classes that day. That didn’t stop Principal Followhill from grunting that I had some nerve taking time off when my position was on the line and my classes were behind schedule on the required syllabus. She was back to her old ways now that she’d paid me off for Jaime’s car accident.
Since I didn’t want to spend much money on movers, I’d decided to do some of the heavy lifting myself. I spent my morning running from my old apartment to the new one, moving boxes up and down the stairs. I was sweaty and smelly, with my messy ponytail, PINK black sweatpants, and a yellow tank top that showed off my toned midriff. If there was a potential husband waiting for me in the dingy complex I was moving into, he was going to think that I was hot. And possibly homeless.
On my third run back to my old apartment, I saw Jaime waiting at my door. He was wearing a white sleeveless tank and khaki shorts. The kind that hugged his ass as if to say, You better believe I’m touching this all day, bitch.
My heart fluttered in my chest, which made my soul lurch in pain. Just until school ends, remember?
“You’re supposed to be at school.” I slipped past him, marching into my apartment. Yes, I was cold to him because of his mother’s behavior yesterday, and no, it was not fair, but I couldn’t help it. I was on my period. He needed to cut me some slack here. Besides—he really was skipping school. I still cared about his education. A lot, actually.
“I thought you were sick.” He hurried into my apartment before the door shut behind me, his hands tucked in his pockets. “You didn’t even mention you were moving today when we saw each other yesterday.”
“You saw the boxes.”
“Yeah. They have been sitting around since the first time I was here. You never put anything in them. I thought you were moving in, not out. What kind of bullshit is this?”
“My landlord wants the place for himself, so I got a new one.” I shrugged and refused to explain more because this thing with him was supposed to be fun. He didn’t need to know my schedule, even though most days, we both knew exactly where the other person was. There was pain in his voice. I not only heard it, I felt it. Like a punch to my stomach. This was wrong. He needed to know, we owed each other nothing.
With a sigh, Jaime dropped the subject. “Whatever. Let’s hang out.”
“You can’t skip classes, Jaime. You’ll fail. Even if you’ve already been accepted to college, it looks bad.” I started gathering my clothes by their hangers. I was going to carry some more boxes to my car but didn’t want him to see me melting into a sweaty pile of PMS rage.
“In other words, you don’t wanna hang out with me?” He followed me, knocking over a stack of boxes with his huge body in the process.
“No. I don’t have time to fuck around today.” I kept walking back and forth, stuffing my hanging clothes into a pair of laundry baskets, hoping he’d get the hint.
Damn him. It was his fault I wasn’t packed already in the first place.
Jaime grabbed my stiff shoulder, studying me. “You think that’s why I came here? To fuck you?”
His raw gaze alone stripped off a layer of my shitty attitude, but I still needed him to leave. This had to stop. We had to stop.
Then why did I run out of breath every time I thought about my life without him?
I shrugged again. “No? Okay, no then. Still, I’m moving, as you can see, and I’ve got my hands full.” I lifted up the heap of clothes in my hands for emphasis. “See you tomorrow.”
“I’ll help,” Jaime announced, grabbing the biggest, heaviest box and throwing it up on one of his shoulders.
I wanted to protest, but shit, that box was like a hundred pounds, easy. I was avoiding the thing like it was that drunk aunt at a wedding reception no one wanted to talk to. Scanning the prominent veins in his arms popping out, I knew I should decline his help. He should be in school. It could even raise suspicion, me and him not showing up on the same day. I remembered Vicious’s veiled threat.
But…I really needed the help.
Also, I was helpless when it came to him.
“Right,” I said after a pause. “I’ll show you where I’m parked.”
He tutted with a growl, reminding me who the boss around here is. “Makes more sense to use the Range Rover. More space. We can finish sooner. It’ll leave us more time for ourselves.”
I exhaled, climbing down the stairs. “Just to give you a heads-up—I’m on my period.”
“You don’t say. You hid it so well.” He threw the box into the back of his SUV like it was feather-light. “Like I said, I’m here to hang out.” He speared me with his scowl.
I guess we were hanging out.
We finished moving (and unpacking) everything by seven that night, and Jaime made a quick run to the nearest Wendy’s. He asked if he should pick up beer too, and after I said sure, I nearly bit off my tongue, realizing what I’d done. It was easy to forget he wasn’t my age. Funny thing was, he did bring beer. When I asked him if he had a fake ID, he chuckled and mussed my hair like I was an adorable kid, explaining that the HotHoles never got carded in Todos Santos. I shook my head and cracked open my beer.
Jaime hooked up my TV and dragged the coffee table to the middle of the room. We watched a shitty game show from the 80s. His feet were on the table, while I curled up on the sofa. We looked like a couple. What’s more—we acted like one.
It felt natural. And scary. For a moment, just a brief, crazy, I-obviously-need-help moment, I imagined that we were moving into this apartment together, me and him.
“How did we get to this point? Holy shit, I’m fucking my student,” I mumbled out of nowhere, my eyes still glued to the TV.
“Well…” Jaime stretched, downing what was left of his beer in one swig and slamming it against the table. “I blackmailed you into it. That’s how.”
His sarcasm held a lie I wanted to believe. We both knew he hadn’t forced me. I fucked him by choice. I put the beer to my lips, stalling.
“Okay.” He licked his lips and turned off the TV, rubbing his thighs. “Let’s play Truth or Dare.”
I was tempted to remind him I wasn’t twelve but didn’t want to be even more of a grouch. So, I batted my eyelashes innocently. “Are you going to milk my secrets out of me?”
“Might as well since you aren’t going to milk the jizz out of me tonight.” He got up from the couch, disappeared into my tiny new kitchen, and returned with a bottle of Jose Cuervo. Holding the bottle of tequila by its neck, he slouched back down beside me. Now we were both sitting cross-legged on the sofa, facing each other. A fan hummed above us, and if we were really silent—which we were—we could hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, their rhythm systematic, like a sweet lullaby.
“This conversation needs booze, so a shot for every time we choose a truth over a dare.” Jaime rested the bottle between us, his voice clipped. He was looking at me funny.
Jaime was normally impossible to read. A hot, carefree jock with darkness behind his light eyes, but the expression he wore…it was borderline pained.
“I don’t want you drinking under my roof. You’re under twenty-one.”
“I’m eighteen. Any other place in the world—virtually all over Europe—I’d be allowed to get shitfaced wherever I want.”
“We’re not in Europe,” I deadpanned.
“We will be, one day. Together,” his bizarre statement came out so confident. I almost doubled over. Okay, then. Back to the subject, I guess.