Page 159 of Tangled Like Us
I catch her staring at my ripped biceps again, and then I push up on the window. Testing the latch.
Secure.
She keeps talking. “I have a hard time picturing you as a beat-your-chest, beer-crushing jock.”
My mouth almost curves upward. “That’s because I was more like a stiff-stone-wall, beer-drinking jock.” I fix the drapes. Concealing the window, blinds already shut.
“So you were very similar to how you are now?”
“Probably close.” I briefly mention how there’d be a good chance of me becoming that chest-thumping, beer-crushing jackass if I weren’t an identical twin. Being that self-involved isn’t an option when I’m being mistaken as my brother or seen as aunit.
I lean back and drop my boot on the ground. Standing strictly next to the wooden bedpost, I ask Jane, “Were you friends with the jocks at your school?”
She untwists the towel from her hair, wavy brown strands cascading over her shoulders. “Not particularly…” Her voice tapers off, and I zone in on the way her eyes glaze in a rare faraway expression.
Which strains the air and my muscles.
My gaze strengthens on her, and my nose flares.
Something happened.In the past. When she was younger.
I don’t like getting into raw places with anyone, but I keep finding myself wanting to dig there with Jane.
How do I?
Pull the fucking trigger, Thatcher.“Did you have problems with guys on the football team?” I ask straight out.
“Hmm?” She seeks more solace in my hard gaze, her bedroom a million degrees in the silence. “Not football…I had some issues with the boy’s lacrosse team at Dalton Academy.” She pauses.
I make sure to never look away.
Her eyes glide over my strict features while she talks. “The boys were signing up for my after-school math tutoring sessions. But they had no real interest in learning derivatives.”
This isn’t public knowledge.
Or security knowledge.
We share a deeper look knowing she’s revealing something extremely personal and private.
“They’d spend the whole time asking rude questions,” she tells me. “Are you like your mom? Do you like to be held down and tied up?”
I rake a tense hand across my jaw and mouth. My blood is boiling. They ragged on her like that because they knew her parents prefer BDSM and the public compares Jane to her mom every day.
And because they’re immature shit-fucks. Who probably feel entitled to girls. To women. To her. Like they’re toys to fuck with.
Jane continues. “Is your leather collar in your backpack? How many times have you watched your parent’s sex tape?Zero—by the way,” she says quickly. “Not even my morbid curiosity could tempt me.” Her cheeks are reddened, more angered at the memory. “The questions weren’t the worst, really.”
My gaze narrows. “Did they touch you?”
“No,no. I always told them I had a fleet of bodyguards and police on speed-dial and they’d arrive in a minute flat if anyone laid a hand on me. I think my confidence sold the lie well enough.”
Security protocol varies on school grounds. Depending on the client, a bodyguard might just be around for the drop-off and pick-up. I’m betting hers was in the school parking lot or nearby.
But not the whole team.
“Their snickering was always the worst,” Jane clarifies, arms loose around her legs. “Between each question…they’d laugh like I didn’t realize I was the butt of the joke. It was shrill and…ugly.”
I’m clenching my jaw. “Fucking shitheads.” I set my glare on the drapes because it’s caustic as all hell. And I don’t want to glare at Jane. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” I push myself to add more and I try to soften my gaze.
