The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“So let’s make the best memory,” I beg, but Nathan is resolute. I know I’m not going to be able to move him from his path, so I allow myself to vent some of my frustration in the form of a punch on the arm—the one he’s leaning on. I hit in just the right place, and he collapses next to me with a huff of laughter.

“I’m going to make it so good for you, Charlotte.” Tucking my head against his shoulder, he draws up the blankets around us. “So good.”

14

Nathan

It’s torture, as in actual real torture, lying next to Charlotte after she’s basically told me she wants to have sex. Worse, I’m the one putting her off, and though she’s lying silently beside me I can feel the waves of frustration vibrating off her. But I didn’t expect her to want to have sex tonight. Hell, we hadn’t even kissed yet.

Part of me is annoyed that she went and told Greta that she needed a condom. Maybe I’m a complete hypocrite, but I want Charlotte to look to me for anything to do with sex because God only knows what her friends are telling her. I’d like to wrap Charlotte up and just Velcro her to me so that I can control all the information that flows her way.

Sex is going to be good, and it’s going to be with me. Full stop. Period.

That’s all she needs to know. Everything else is fake bullshit. Greta might be telling her the only way to keep a guy is to spread her legs, and I don’t want Charlotte to feel pressured like that. Even though I can probably make her body ready, I want her ready in the head, otherwise it’ll never be good like I promised.

Her tense body finally relaxes, and when her hand falls away from my arm I can tell she’s asleep. I wish I could follow her into dreamland, but my mind is still racing.

I want her first time with me to be something she remembers forever. I want to imprint myself on her so that no matter where she goes, she can feel me, smell me. She doesn’t know it yet, and I’m not prepared to tell her, but we’re going to be apart longer than the few months that she’s going to be away in Switzerland.

While we’re separated I know that Charlotte will be pursued by other guys, so I’ve got to make every encounter with her be one that she can’t forget. I can’t rely on Nick to cock block everyone, even though I know he’ll do his best.

Maybe that’s why I’ve held back from Charlotte, just watching her and being irritated to the nth degree when she dresses in her short skirts or her cropped tops or her fucking tiny bikinis. I know that I might lose her and that would kill me.

I guess I thought I had more time. Time to wait until she was completely ready. I’d fixed her sixteenth birthday in my head. When that day came, I’d show her that she was mine and that we were meant to be together. I’d show her that there wouldn’t be anyone else she’d meet who would ever fit her better than me.

But waiting until she’s sixteen isn’t an option anymore.

* * *

I slip out in the pre-dawn hours again. This time Aunt AM isn’t hiding in the kitchen, and I don’t go and wake Nick up. Instead I fall into my bed and finally get some rest. I only get a little shut-eye before my mom is at my door telling me I have thirty minutes before the car is taking us to school.

Groaning, I get up. This is good practice for my future, I tell myself. There’ll be times when I’ll go without sleep for days.

But I’m pretty much worthless through most of my classes, so when Greta comes up to me during lunch and asks me about the previous night I just stare at her blankly. Unfortunately, my pause only causes her to raise her voice.

“So you and Charlotte last night?” And the tone of her voice is so loud that everyone in a ten-foot radius stops eating. Her hand spins a milk carton around. I remember Charlotte telling me that Greta is always in motion, or some part of her is.

“Shut up, Greta.” Nick’s on her before I can clear the cobwebs, and I throw him a thankful glance. He silently tells me to nut up and get with the program before Greta announces to the whole school that Charlotte and I are screwing.

“What’s the matter, was it bad?” Greta asks in a mock whisper. I say mock because it’s still loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. A collective hush settles over the table.

I tilt my head and just look at her, trying hard to remember my dad’s admonishments to respect every woman who comes into my orbit. Of course, if Dad heard this chick talking about Charlotte like this, he might change his mind. “I don’t know why you think I’d answer any question of yours about my personal life.”