Starlee's Home (The Wayward Sons 3)

Surprise isn’t exactly the right word. Ecstatic is more accurate, but I’m trying not to look like I’m about to jump out of my skin with his closeness. He smells amazing and I’m engulfed by the unique, heady scent of boy skin and laundry detergent. Ever since that night in my room, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him and the way he ignites something in the pit of my stomach. We didn’t go as far as me and Dexter have, but in some ways it was more intimate, and the simple brush of his fingers against my skin lit me on fire.

I focus on the movie, or pretend to, and there’s no doubt Jake is playing the same game. We last about ten more minutes before his hand starts to wander, ghosting over my fingers and palm, my wrist and arms. I have to think he knows what he’s doing, because each movement, each touch sends my body into a spiral of want, and when he glides his hand down my thigh and presses his lips to my neck, I gasp in the dark.

Chills run up and down my body, making my limbs both weak and energized all at once. He must notice because he drapes his coat over my lap, providing me with warmth.

And cover.

I want to touch him, hold him—kiss him. I turn my face to his, capturing his lips with mine. The dark of the theater plus the false privacy makes me dumb and Jake only encourages me with his strong kisses and needy hands.

“I hate not seeing you,” he mumbles against my mouth. His hand inches up my side, dipping beneath my sweater. I lean into him, wanting more. “I hate this whole freaking thing.”

I respond with my mouth, my body, the yearning absolutely ridiculous. I don’t care where we are, I just want to touch the hard lines of his chest, the defined muscles on his abs. I push my fingers across his belly, feeling the soft hair above his waistband. I stroke the spot, my elbow rubbing against his hard erection, and he hisses, grabbing my wrist with his massive hand.

In the dark we stare at one another—hyper-aware of each other. His chest moves with deep breaths and he warns, “That will not only get us caught but kicked out.”

I nod. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He kisses me slower, taking it down a notch. “Just be aware that I have only so much willpower when it comes to you.”

His admission thrills me. Jake may struggle academically but he’s a man of conviction, dedicated work ethic, and extreme focus. He runs, lifts weights, and studies his football plays with the intensity of a college scholar. I’ve seen him turn away Dexter’s desserts and run past my house at the crack of dawn. I’ve helped him fight through

challenging words, practicing them over and over, determined to beat his disability.

Jake is the poster boy for self-control.

Until it comes to me.

I take his word seriously and create a little space between us, shifting his jacket to the seat next to mine. After a minute, his body relaxes and he pulls me against his side. My heart rate never fully lowers—it never does when I’m around the wayward sons, but I do my best to get it together and we manage to watch the rest of the movie. I offer him my candy and he drinks from my cup and his fingers link in mine as we watch the heroes defeat the alien intruders. In some ways this feels like my first real date. As the clock runs down on the movie I feel sadness wash over me, knowing once the lights turn on, he’ll have to go. Until then, I pretend like everything’s normal. That we’re two teenagers in love, sitting in the theater on a date, instead of people under the gun for our past transgressions.

18

Jake

I’m caught somewhere between needing to spend some personal time in the shower and floating on cloud nine when I get back from the movie. I’d hung out in the Jeep afterwards, waiting for her to get in her grandmother’s car and head home. I felt a little like a stalker but there was no way I’d let her drive up the mountain alone. This girl is way too important to us.

“How was the movie?” Sierra asks when I pass her bedroom. She’s sitting on top of the bed with her dark hair piled on top of her head, focused on her laptop.

I lean against the door. “Lots of explosions. Blood. Robots.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Not my favorite. Did the rest of the team show up?”

“A few of them. Mostly the seniors.” We’d been tight for a few years. When Claire saw them at the Diner, she’d texted me that this was my chance to meet up with Starlee and have an iron-clad alibi.

It may be the only time I’d have a lesbian to thank for a raging case of blue balls.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun.”

I smile, feeling a little guilty for hedging on the truth, but none of this is my fault. “'Night.”

“'Night, Jake.”

I climb the stairs and the only light on comes from Dexter’s room. The end of the hallway is dark, the twins' rooms empty since they left. Dex is in a spot identical to his sister, his hair a mop of curls, laptop on the bed. He’s wearing headphones and tugs them off when he sees me in the doorway.

“How was it?” He knows where I’d gone—who I really went to see.

“Good. She’s good.”

He nods. “Hopefully just a few more weeks of this.”