Starlee's Home (The Wayward Sons 3)

I had a feeling Christmas and New Years were going to be tough. They always were, but not spending them with Starlee is starting to rub me wrong.

He pushes his headphones back on and I head to my room across the hall, shutting the door behind me. My phone buzzes in my pocket and a message lights up the screen.

S: Thanks for following me home.

J: You’re welcome, you get in okay?

S: I did.

J: Good.

Even through the phone I feel unfinished business lingering between us. It’s not that I can’t go to bed horny. I’m eighteen. I spend half my day fighting through hormones and ill-timed boners, but tonight was different. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told her my willpower was holding by a thread. I was barely clear-headed enough to find my car in the parking lot.

I look back at the screen and see the dots at the bottom, implying that she’s typing…and typing…and typing.

Finally, a message pops up.

S: Meet me?

I swallow.

J: Now? Where?

Eager much?

S: The back cottage

I stare between the phone and the window. Starlee knows I can easily come and go from the porch roof. I hadn’t lately. I’d been good—trying to follow the rules. I take a step closer, looking down at her bedroom window. She’s looking up at me.

Fuck the rules.

J: Five minutes

I head back in the hall, down to the bathroom to brush my teeth, then go back to my room and lock the door quietly behind me. When I look back down, Starlee is gone and I ease my window up, thinking this is foolish—knowing she’s worth it.

The bitterly cold air hits me as I step on to the porch and make my way down to see my girl.

19

Starlee

My hand shakes from both cold and nerves as I try to insert the key into the cottage lock. A sense of dread and longing took over as I left the movie theater, parting with Claire in the parking lot. Once I hit the road to Lee Vines and the car lights followed me all the way up the isolated mountain road, I had a suspicion who it was.

My heart hadn’t stopped pounding since we’d gotten out of control in our seats. A low ache settled in my bones and as I got closer and closer to home, I knew I didn’t want the night to end.

When I saw his bedroom light turn on, I texted him.

And now I’m here, using the key I’ve had since allowing Charlie to use the cottage to play his games, and freezing in the cold December night. I’m breaking every rule set by not only Sierra but my grandmother, too, but all sense of self-preservation fell away in that theater.

“Crap,” I say, dropping the key. I fumble with my phone, looking for the flashlight. I’m still not good with this thing. Footsteps come up from behind me and in a heartbeat, Jake’s got the keys in his fingers and then in the lock and he’s pushing me through the door.

“Hey,” he says, locking us in.

“Hi.”

“Is there a thermostat?”

I nod and feel my way around the room, finding the little box near the kitchenette. The heat is on—enough not to burst the pipes when it gets below freezing—but it’s still chilly. I press the button up and hear the furnace kick on.