Beautiful Broken Mess(9)

Mrs. Thomas is about sixty years old, but I wouldn’t underestimate her and what she can do with a broom. When my dad hears her, his grip loosens a fraction, and he turns to glare at her for interrupting.

“You’re out there on your damn porch with that nonsense. I haven’t called the cops on your shit yet, but that don’t mean these other people won’t,” she says, pointing out our inquisitive neighbors.

When he realizes we have an audience, he reluctantly releases me. All the blood rushes back to my upper arms, and they begin to tingle from the return of blood flow. I immediately step away from him and head toward the bus stop at a clipped pace.

As I’m walking away, I hear his deep baritone say, “You can bet your ass we’ll talk later.”

I have roughly two hundred and eighty-three days until I graduate. On day two hundred and eighty-four, I hope to have at least a thousand miles between us.



JACE -

“Dude, did I just see you molesting some chick on the side of the truck?” Jaxon asks with an irritating laugh, as he climbs up into the passenger seat.#p#分页标题#e#

“I don’t think you can call it assault when she’s a willing participant,” I defend.

“Damn man, you had Mrs. Jones blushing. I had to distract her on the other side of the store to get her away from the window. Looked like you were into her, whoever she was.”

“She was hot, right?” I ask, as I pull the truck out of the parking lot.

“I couldn’t see her since you were too far down her throat. I did see her leg hiked up though… whoo… wait until mom hears.”

“Don’t,” I growl.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, she won’t be hearing it from me.”

Shit, the last thing I need is someone hounding me about the mystery girl I was practically screwing up against my truck. Mom will be the worst. I typically never show interest in girls, at least not publicly. So far, every girl I’ve come across has been… dull, un-yielding, and just plain pushy. I don’t have the patience for that crap.

Holy hell though, Audrey made the blood begin pumping in my veins again. She lit me up the way a defibrillator re-starts a heart, providing a much-needed shock to my system.

“I want to meet this chick. She has to have a golden pu--”

Instantly, my fist slams into his bicep before he can finish that statement and victoriously, I watch as he sucks in a harsh breath of air and grabs his arm. I know it wasn’t my hardest blow because it wasn’t coming from a decent angle, but I’m glad it inflicted pain.

I point right at him and say, “You’ll stay away from her, and shut the hell up about her body.” End of story.

I hear him whistle while shaking his head. “Man… I need to meet this girl. I mean, you don’t hook up with chicks EVER, and this one had you practically marking your territory for all to see.”

“You make me sound like a damn virgin,” I complain.

“Might as well be,” he responds drily.

“Just because I don’t screw every girl that walks past me and in public, I might add, doesn’t mean anything.”

“That chick last weekend was fine as hell and you know it,” he says, grinning.

I don’t even answer. Sometimes I feel that if I respond in any way at all, he thinks it justifies his actions. Ever since dad died last year, Jax has been uncontrollable. Mom said he’s going through his own grieving process, but in my opinion, it’s getting out of hand.

Last weekend, he hooked up with a girl from our school at a party, right outside on one of the pool loungers for everyone to see. Granted, it was pitch-black outside and most of the party was inside, but they still gained a small audience. The weekend before, he got in a fight when Grayson Jones accidently bumped into him at a party and spilled his beer. A couple days later, he beat Kyle Martin’s face in when he thought the dude had touched his Camaro, which it turned out he hadn’t. Jax has just become a loose cannon.

“So on a scale of one-to-getting-arrested, how crazy are you going to be tonight?” I ask as I pull into Cole’s driveway. He called earlier asking for help with set-up, so I’m dropping Jaxon off to pull our share of friend-duty.

He tugs the door handle and scoots out of the truck. “Hmmm….” He rubs the scruff on his chin, being his typical asshole self as of late. I put the engine into reverse because I don’t have time for his bullshit. “Chill dude, I’ll be good tonight.”

I have no idea what his idea of ‘good’ is anymore. “I’ll be back later. I need to run all this stuff back to mom.”