Page 17 of A Summer Thing

Chapter Ten

Jude

Declan sinks beneath my skin more and more, day by day.

It’s been, what? Two, three weeks? And she’s already managed to kick at my boundaries, tumble over them, and land directly at the forefront of my mind—all without trying. Which, if I’m being completely honest, turns me on and pisses me off in equal measure.

I never intended to share my story with her, though—however small a part of the full story it was. But when she opened up to me on the boat, telling me about her brother and the crash that took his life and almost took hers, it hit so close to home that it felt almost… wrong not to.

It forced an inexplicable shift in me. One I’ve been grappling with ever since.

Why her? Why this stranger? Why her smile? Her laughter? Her company. The depths of her sorrow-stricken gaze. Why her? To ignite something within me. To make me feel as if I could unravel at the seams if I’m not careful.

Because Declan, she’s shadows wrapped in darkness, but I feel her presence in a way that burns.

______

My head falls between my forearms, wrists bearing my weight at the railing of the balcony.

Anger, frustration— jealousy —pool through my veins. A feeling I have no right to fucking feel.

I walked into the party a few minutes ago— late, after hanging back at the Masons’ to take a FaceTime call with my parents— only to arrive at Boss’s to find Parker hogging Declan’s time.

Her attention. Her smiles. Her fucking physical space.

Leaning into her as he spoke, chuckling about something under his breath with an ease that doesn’t belong to him. Not when it comes to Declan.

I realize what a douchebag I sound like, but I can’t fucking help it.

I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to this girl whatsoever.

After a few short weeks of spending time with her, getting to know her, already attracted to her from the first second I laid eyes on her, learning more about her story and sharing more than I ever planned to in return, I’ve grown… protective of her.

Possessive would be the more accurate term.

The sight of them together twisted at my limbs, urging my legs to move forward and claim what clearly isn’t mine.

So, I forced myself to do the opposite and headed outside.

I needed some air.

Some fucking space to breathe.

But Declan’s scent still clings to the fabric of my black sweatshirt, the soft and floral smell assaulting my senses. I refuse to admit I haven’t washed it since she returned it. For no particular reason other than it smells like a place I’d love to fucking bury myself in.

Pathetic.

I groan and wipe my hand down my face as I straighten my spine. She’s got me all twisted up. A feeling I haven’t felt in a long damn time. Not since Brenna.

The thought irritates me. Irrationally so.

Declan doesn’t belong to me. Not even close. So why do I feel this primal need to storm back inside and tear her from Parker’s grasp? To stake a claim for him and everyone else to see? Officially.

The fact of the matter is, I trust Parker.

I know the conversation happening in there is all friendly.

It’s my reaction to it that doesn’t make a lick of sense.

I need to get shit straight in my own head.

Problem is, I don’t have the first fucking clue how to go about doing that when the only thought running on a loop in my mind is—

I want her.

______

When I head back inside, Declan and Parker still occupy the same space of couch, so I stride in the opposite direction, aiming for the kitchen and a cold bottle of water instead.

I get more than I bargained for.

A girl in a bright red dress and matching heels saunters over, stepping directly into my space without touching me. I mark a point in her favor for keeping her hands to herself, welcoming the distraction.

My draw to Declan is one thing, this jealousy is another.

An emotion I can’t afford to feel when she’ll be halfway across the country in a matter of weeks, Coach’s threat still looming above me.

I find I give less and less of a shit about his warning the more time I spend with her, though.

Which is all the more reason to entertain the attention of the girl standing before me.

“Hey, Jude Carter, right?” she asks, teeth digging into her bottom lip as she throws a coy look my way. One that doesn’t at all match her forward intention.

I confirm her assumption with a dip of my chin, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and striding to the opposite end of the kitchen where it opens up to the loft.

Fucked up intentions or not, I still want to keep my eyes on Declan.

And, for the sake of full transparency, I want to see if this jealousy flows both ways.

I’ve seen her reactions to me—a light flush in her cheeks, a quick intake of breath, a flare of interest flashing through her gaze.

I’d like to know if it reaches any deeper than that, though.

If the thoughts playing on a near-constant loop in my mind happen to be nagging at her as well.

Which is pointless. A stupid fucking move on my part considering I can’t do anything about it, regardless.

Can’t, or won’t? The question invades.

“I’m Stacy. Stacy Lancaster,” the girl offers with an outstretched hand, and I clear my throat as I return the gesture, dragging my mind from thoughts better left ignored.

“We had English together, I think. Or maybe it was History,” she says, and a breath of laughter trails behind her words.

Her smile is easy. Bright. Doesn’t hold a candle to Declan’s.

Why the fuck do my thoughts keep coming back to Declan?

“Anyway,” she continues, tone dipping down an octave.

“You looked kind of lonely out there all by yourself. I was going to come join you and see if you wanted the company, but now here you are.”

I don’t know why I humor the girl, but I do.

Folding my arms across my chest, a smirk pulls at the edge of my mouth.

“Were you now,” I respond, but the statement isn’t for her benefit, only mine.

Some women can be so presumptuous, so sure a man is willing to take any piece of ass that comes his way should he be so lucky, while some women manage to be the complete opposite.

It can be amusing, if not wholly fucking irritating.

Declan, I note, falls nowhere in between.

Stacy—at least I think that’s the girl’s name—steps closer, diving into a conversation all her own as she reaches out, a hand gripping onto my forearm. My bicep. My shoulder.

I grind my molars, irritation flaring.

Taking her hand in mine, I lower it between us and drop it down at her side where it belongs.

But she doesn’t take the hint. She steps closer than before, the length of her body pressing into mine.

Her hand brushes up my chest, and a muscle ticks in my jaw—once, twice—the distraction no longer worth it.

I don’t appreciate being touched without my permission.

Don’t appreciate the memories it triggers.

Phantom hands gripping my chest. Brown eyes flared wide in shock, begging for—

The warmth of her mouth reaches the shell of my ear as she rises on her toes, straining to reach me.

“You want to get out of here?” She finally offers up the proposition I have no interest in accepting.

“We can head back to my dorm since my roommate isn’t home. Or we can just find a room here, and—”

A shadow steps into my periphery, stopping the girl’s words dead on her tongue.

I glance down at Declan.

A suspiciously smiling Declan.

But in the next instant, her blue stare hardens, ocean becoming ice, and for a moment, I’m taken aback.

Until I realize her intimidating stance is intended for the girl plastered against me.

She peels herself away, hand falling from my chest, and I can finally take a full fucking breath, haunting memories bleeding back into the recesses of my mind.

“Who is this, babe?” Declan says, and my lips tick up at the corners unwittingly. I don’t know how the hell she manages to do it—drag my mind from the irritation of the situation so thoroughly. But here I stand, fucking amused.

“Babe,” I echo, mocking her tone, though the only two in on this apparent game are her and me.

How close was Little D watching? Did she notice my shift in demeanor with this stranger’s hands on me? Or is she simply jealous, too? Is this intrusion for her benefit, or mine?

“Who are you?” Stacy snaps back, true colors rising to the surface. That, or she’s pissed she wasted the last ten minutes trying to get me up her skirt only to find out I might be taken by the infuriatingly gorgeous girl beside me.

The thought rings truer than it should.

But Declan’s head dives backward with her laughter, and I’m torn from the notion. “I…” she responds, gaze meeting mine, silently asking for permission in the same breath. I dip my head in approval, eager as hell to see where this is going. More than I’d like to admit.

Perhaps she is feeling some jealousy of her own. The assumption leaves a trail of warmth blazing through me.

“I… am this guys’ date. And the only girl at this party who should have my hands all over him—if hands all over him is what he’s even interested in to begin with.

” Her eyes meet mine as the statement leaves her mouth, and I’m certain I’m reading too far into it, certain my mind is already a clusterfuck of suppressed thoughts when it comes to this girl, but it doesn’t read as if she’s just messing around, merely playing a role.

“Is that so, Little D?” I question, tone darkened by the possessive thoughts that have been plaguing me all night, stealing further through me the longer I stand here and hold her stare.

I watch as she works it over, the riptide in her gaze calming into a soothing undertow.

“It is so,” she eventually responds, and I’ve no clue if she means it or if it’s solely for the benefit of Stacy who’s still standing at my side.