Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

I press my head into my pillow and look up at the ceiling. Jake’s fingers trail from my hip across my belly, rubbing circles in the bare skin where my shirt has risen up. The move makes my stomach explode with butterflies and heat travels between my legs. I gasp and turn my head and find him watching me.

“It’s a weekend of f

irsts, babe, and if you’ll let me, I can give you one more.” I’m not sure what he means but he whispers in my ear. “Can I touch you?”

I nod, understanding better, his intentions clear. His fingers brush against my lower belly, setting off fireworks beneath my skin. I trust him so much and I want to take this step with him. I nod and he smiles in return before kissing me. His hand shakes, revealing his own nerves as he unbuttons my jeans, and my fingers fumble as I help him pull them off. From there we both calm—his eyes never leaving mine—as he takes his time, as he winds me up, steals my breath away from me.

It’s a weekend of firsts, and Jake Hollingsworth slowly, painstakingly, mind-bendingly gives me another, drawing me to the very edge in the darkened bedroom of my grandmother’s house.

No, my mother most certainly wouldn’t approve.

39

Starlee

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about high school, it’s that everyone shifts gears fast. The homecoming game and my crowning was so last week. As was the dance. There were a few questions about why we didn’t show—a few rumors that lingered in the hallways but then someone hotboxed the downstairs boys’ bathroom, causing a mass evacuation and a visit from the canine drug unit, and everyone moved on to other things.

I’m thankful for that and dive into the final weeks of class before the Thanksgiving break. My main focus, other than school work, is the Helping Hands Club. Our first major project is here and Charlie and I are right in the middle of it. More students joined the club once they realized they needed a few more activities on their college applications, including Claire. Unfortunately, Christina is also one of these people.

“I have a list of seventy-three families displaced by the fires,” Margaret says at our first meeting of the month. She holds up the list given to her by the community food bank. “Each need enough food and supplies to get through the next month. Which means we need about five thousand canned goods.”

“Uh, Margaret, that’s a lot,” a boy named Devin says. “That’s like, more people than live in this town.”

“I know it’s a lot, and we’re really going to have to buckle down to make it happen. We only have two weeks.”

“Tell us what to do,” Claire says, tapping her black nails on the desk. I’ve noticed she’s always ready to get right to the point.

“We’re going to have booths at the entrance and exit of the school. Boxes in the homerooms, and then twice a week we’ll take a shift manning a booth around town. We need the whole community to pitch in.”

Charlie and I glance at one another. I know he’s definitely not into spending a lot of time manning a booth. He already made the flyers that are taped all over school and designed the large banner in the lobby. Beyond that, it’s totally cutting into his video game time. He’s been a lot better lately about balancing his life—even Sierra noticed--which has made things considerably less tense around their house, but I know his upcoming tournament is on his mind.

“We can set up a booth in Lee Vines,” I suggest. “Charlie and I can also pass out boxes to businesses.”

Margaret looks pleased and checks something off her list. “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Starlee. I’m going to need someone to organize the distribution day. Any takers?”

“I can do that,” Christina says. “I’m amazing with a spreadsheet.”

Claire rolls her eyes at that, but Margaret gives her a smile of approval and the meeting rolls along.

Dexter helps us pile boxes into the back of the Jeep one afternoon and I’m surprised to see George waiting for a ride home. “I thought you were still hanging out with the team,” Dex says, climbing in the front seat. The twins both have a box on their knees and I have one on mine as well.

“Ms. DeLange is coming this afternoon,” Charlie says.

I glance into the backseat. “Who’s that?”

“Our social worker,” George says with a grimace. “She’s cool and everything, but…”

Charlie stares out the window and says, “We think our dad is trying to set up a meeting.”

“What? Why?” I ask. No one had mentioned him since the hospital. I figured he’d lost interest when George wasn’t playing on the team anymore.

“I don’t know,” Charlie says, “but I guess we’ll find out this afternoon.”

I end up taping the flyers to the side of the box alone; the boys had their appointment and Dex had to work in the shop. I’m carrying one over to the Wayward Sun for Sierra when I see a woman park on the street. She looks about my mom’s age, with short brown hair. The tip-off is the fact she’s wearing work clothes and a badge is clipped to her shirt—not the normal tourist or hiker we normally get. This must be Ms. DeLange.

I’m not trying to be nosy—I already have the box in my hand—but I let her walk ahead of me and when she knocks on the door to the house, I slip into the coffee shop.

Dexter is finishing up with a customer and I hold the empty box in both hands, waiting for us to be alone. The man takes his time, walking over to the table with the cream and sugar, slowly pouring them in and stirring loudly with his spoon.