Page 12 of Crossroads

ELEVEN

I’m attracted to him.

Jasper.

I’m attracted to a guy named Jasper.

What the holy hell is happening to me?

It’s really not the fact that he’s a guy and not a girl. If I really sit down and think about it, I’ve been attracted to guys before. I just haven’t really given it much thought and didn’t want to put any effort into exploring it.

But Jasper?

Being attracted to Jasper? Wanting to know what his hands would feel like on my body? Wanting to know what he tastes like?

Yeah, that seems to be scrambling all my brain cells. I don’t know what to do with it. I think maybe it’s been building for a bit, but seeing him swim today, naked and free in the dirty water—I don’t know.

I wanted to join him. I wanted to find out the answers to all the questions rattling around in my brain. Thankfully, I stopped myself. Well, maybe it was more about not being able to see the bottom of that pond, but still. Whatever it was, I’m grateful.

Or I was until John and Kelly decided to smash us together today. This is going to be a disaster.

We do manage a silent ride. He probably thinks it’s a new record for me, but he’d be wrong. Home was always quiet. I spent a lot of time alone and a lot of time not talking when I wasn’t.

It seems he brings out the talkative side in me.

Makes me want to poke and prod. Drive him crazy and get my own blood pumping.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive, not even when my friends dared me to climb the memorial tower back home.

Even when the cops showed up and pulled me off to jail, my adrenaline levels weren’t as high as they are when Jasper gives me that deep scowl.

But I’m supposed to be behaving. I’m supposed to keep my head down so I can get the hell out of here without pissing off my mother and father. So I can really, truly get away from this life that’s barely even a life.

And somehow, I don’t think my mother would approve of me exploring whatever this is with Jasper.

Not that that’s even an option. Like I said, I’m pretty sure if I made a move I’d get punched in the face.

And it’s not that my mom would be upset about him being male—nope. It’s because he’s from Kensley.

I’ve talked to her a grand total of one time since I arrived.

It was a quick check-in, not to make sure that I’m settling in or doing okay but making sure I haven’t fucked up.

That I’m behaving and falling in line. And haven’t messed around with any of the local girls.

“That would be unsavory and would go against everything you must do this summer,” my mother had said.

Unsavory.

Snob. My mother is a snob.

Knowing Kelly—having been around her every day. Her fond smiles, her checking in to see if I slept well. Showing me how to make butter and soap out of goat’s milk. Being patient with me when I added too much of several ingredients. I don’t understand how they’re related.

“You hungry?” My thoughts are interrupted by Jasper’s deep voice, and it’s only then I realize we’re parked in front of some sort of diner that has definitely seen better days but appears to be open.

I just grunt and open the door to the truck, hopping out.

Talking to him is too dangerous. He seems to be just fine with that and follows me into the diner.

I’m not all that hungry, but it’s clear Jasper is when he orders a chicken fried steak bigger than the actual plate they bring it out on, smothered in gravy, with corn, mashed potatoes, and a huge dinner roll.

It’s kind of remarkable he has the body he does. I order a salad with grilled chicken and get the world’s strangest look from the waitress, but she reluctantly brings it out to me.

“I think you broke her brain,” Jasper says, cutting into his dinner.

“I think all your arteries will be clogged when you finish that,” I say, pointing to his dinner.

And then Jasper does something totally unexpected. Something I wouldn’t have thought I’d get to see in a million years. He chuckles. Like a full-on bright smile accompanied by a hearty laughing sound. And it hits me directly in the chest.

“I’ll work it off tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” I say, angry that his laugh could have such a sudden impact on me. It stole my breath away.

I choke down dinner, and Jasper pays with the money given to him by Kelly and John, and then we’re back on the road.

“How much longer?” I complain, my ass starting to hurt from sitting in this truck for so long.

“About an hour. You’ll make it,” Jasper states matter-of-factly.

I huff but otherwise keep quiet. I manage to keep my mouth shut all the way till we go into the front office of the town’s one motel, which has also seen better days, judging by the worn paint.

But it’s when the motel manager tells us the rooms have only one bed in them that I lose my shit.

“No,” I say. “That’s . . . no. I’m not sharing a bed with him. ”

“Well, you can sleep on the floor,” the older man says, eyeing me. “Or pay for two rooms.”

I don’t have any money because Kelly has paid me with checks, and I haven’t been to the bank.

And I don’t have a card to pay with because my mother is a sociopath.

I look to Jasper, my eyes pleading with him.

But it’s all shot to hell when he plops down enough money for only one room.

“It’s one night.” He smiles at the old man who hands him a key—not a key card but an actual key—for the room.

We head out to the truck so we can park in front of our room, which has only outside access. I’ve seen motels like this, driving by, but never in my life have I experienced staying in one. It’s straight out of a horror movie with the light outside the door flickering.

The sun is nearly all the way down, and it’s getting dark. I’m not sure if we’re safer out here or in that room.

“Relax,” Jasper says, his bag swung over his shoulder as he uses the key to open the door and pushes it open.

Relax, he says. Has he lost his mind? I follow him into the room as he flicks on the one light in the room.

The floor is some sort of orange tile, and sure enough, there’s only one bed.

A bed with a brown quilt I don’t even want to think about touching my body.

And it’s not even a king-sized bed. It’s a queen, at best.

The bathroom is even worse, somehow, with a shower stall that has tile matching the floor, a rickety, holy curtain, and an orange toilet that matches a small sink that doesn’t even have a vanity.

“Jesus. Fuck,” I say, dropping my bag to the floor and then quickly worrying about my things touching that floor. Though the bed wouldn’t be much better.

“Relax,” he repeats himself, dropping his bag on the floor next to mine and kicking his boots off by the door. I notice him sliding the chain lock in place, and I feel like I might puke.

“Is that the only thing keeping us from murderers?”

He laughs again, his whole face lighting up when he does it, and my heart nearly stops as I watch him. “No one wants to murder you more than me, and I’m locked inside.”

“You can’t possibly be fine staying here,” I say, considering sleeping out in the truck.

He removes his flannel shirt, leaving him only in that white tank top that clings to every muscle of his and drops it on his bag before flopping down on the bed.

I swear I see dust flying everywhere when he does it.

“It’s not that bad.” His long legs stretch out as he puts one ankle on top of the other and tucks an arm behind his head, leaning against the wooden headboard.

I take in the sight of his long body lounging on the bed. His bicep is flexed, and I notice the dark blond hair in his armpit, neatly trimmed and masculine as hell. And for a moment, I ponder sticking my face there and breathing him in.

Jesus, I really need to get a grip.

“We should go to bed anyway. Don’t worry, when you wake up, this will all seem like a dream.”

“A nightmare,” I correct. “A horrible, horrible nightmare.”

He snickers again, and I huff irritably. “You’re so damn spoiled.”

“I think wanting a clean bed and a place to rest my head, where I don’t have to worry about being murdered, is the bare minimum.

“It’s really not that bad,” he says again.

I don’t want to lay any inch of bare skin on the mattress, so I kick my shoes off—leaving my socks on—and lie flat down on the bed next to him. “You’re going to sleep in your clothes?”

“Why?” I turn my head just enough to gaze up at him. “You want me out of my clothes?”

He glares at me, that scowl back in full force. “What did I tell you about that shit?”

“The gay shit?” I ask innocently, but my tone is laced with agitation.

“Yeah. Knock it off. I just meant you won’t be comfortable sleeping in jeans. Don’t you normally sleep naked?”

I can’t help myself. “Aw, you think about me sleeping naked often, don’t you?”

I expected it to push his buttons. What I didn’t expect is for him to use gracefulness comparable to a cheetah to push off the headboard and cover my body with his. He wraps his hand around my throat as he positions himself between my legs, his knees planted on the bed as he hovers above me.

He isn’t hurting me, but there’s some pressure from his hand on my throat as he foams at the mouth and glares down at me. “I don’t.”

A smart man would probably shut up right now.

A smart man definitely wouldn’t goad him further and smirk up at him.

I am not a smart man right now, apparently, because that’s exactly what I do.

“Yeah, you do. Admit it. You can’t stop thinking about me naked.

You want to know what it feels like to touch all that naked skin. ”

He applies slight pressure to my throat, but it isn’t painful. “Shut. Up.”

“Make. Me.” I don’t know why I say it. Goes along with the whole not being smart thing I guess, but his breath hitches in his throat. His fiery eyes snap to mine, his pupils blown wide, and then they dip down to my mouth.

I can barely breathe. My lungs are trying to force air into them, but it’s a struggle. He just stares at my lips, and I stare back at him, my heart thundering in my chest, his big hand wrapped around my throat as I try to suck in air over and over again.

He has to feel the movement under his palm, but he’s just fixated on my mouth. I want him to kiss me. I want to kiss him. But he’s going to have to make the first move.

I won’t take that risk.

I see the turmoil in his eyes. The fight he’s having with himself right now, and I don’t think he’s going to go through with it until he’s moving.

A second later, his mouth slams down on mine with pure hunger sucking what was left of my breath out of my lungs, but I couldn’t give a fuck about breathing right now.

If this is how I die, then this is how I die.

His mouth is strong and sure, but it’s not really a kiss. It’s more a feral attack, one that makes me ache. His hold on my throat loosens but doesn’t disappear, and I gain a little more control. Sucking some breaths into my lungs and then taking more of him.

I kiss him hard, eating at his mouth as he does the same to me.

Our tongues tangle in a battle I don’t really care about winning.

I just want to feel more of this. He bites my bottom lip, and I hiss before doing the same to him.

My hands go into his hair, and I tug the blond strands as I pull him further into me.

I can feel his hard cock against my own, his lower half slotted between my legs as I lie there and allow him to kiss me. Any minute, this could end. It probably will. But I’m a desperate man as I rub my hard groin against his and revel in the moans coming from him.

They bubble up in his throat as he thrusts against me. The pleasure in my balls climbing with each stroke. My tongue strokes over his before I suck on it, hard. He groans, and I swallow down the sound as I grip his hair harder and roll my hips against him. We don’t say a word.

It’s just hot, horny grunts of passion as we move together, devouring each other’s mouths. It’s too much and not enough, but I’m too far gone to stop it. My balls are pulled up tight to my body, and I feel like I might die if I don’t come soon.

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that because Jasper’s hips snap forward, dragging his thick, hard denim-covered cock against mine, once, twice and then I’m coming.

Flying over the edge as cum spurts into my underwear.

I move with him, pushing him over the edge as he cries out into my mouth, his entire body going rigid and then trembling with pleasure he can’t hide.

We’re both panting, my hands in his sweaty hair, his wrapped around my throat, and it seems we’re both too afraid to move. Too afraid to face what just happened.

We lie there, breathing heavily before he pulls back, and I release my hold on his hair. He climbs off me, walking slowly toward his bag, picking it up and going into the bathroom, then closing the door behind him.

I catch my breath, my hand going to my neck, wondering if he left a mark and realizing I hope he did. My fingers drift to my lips as I feel the puffiness there. The remnants of him.

And there’s no denying what just happened.