Page 54 of Call It What You Want
John tilts his head back in frustration. “I swear to God, sometimes it seems like you kids are determined to make my job as difficult as fucking possible…”
I exchange a look with Christian that says,Good thing he doesn’t know about the dude in the basement…
I shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be a goddamn saint.”
John glances at his phone and sighs. “It’s five in the fucking morning. I’m going back to bed.”
He’s halfway to the door when I catch up to him. “Hold up,” I say, stopping in front of him. “One last thing, I talked to my dad, and?—”
“Let me guess,” John interrupts. “He wants something in exchange for his help.”
I drop my voice so no one else in the room can hear. “Ava was the only witness that morning—the only one who saw what happened to the Senator. He wants me to hand her over to save myself.”
John shakes his head, glancing over my shoulder at Ava. “Well, now that she’s a memberandyour wife, he can’t touch her. I’m guessing that was by design.”
Yeah, that’s what it looks like. Noble. Strategic. But the truth is uglier. I didn’t marry her just to protect her. That was a factor, sure. But the real truth? I would’ve found any justification to make her mine permanently.
When I don’t confirm or deny, John studies me for a long moment, his gaze sharp and calculating. “Just… don’t do anything without telling me first,” he says. “I mean it. I don’t want you taking a fucking piss without me knowing.”
“You got it.”
Then, without another word, he turns and walks out. When the door snicks shut, Christian pushes off the desk and takes one last drag from his blunt. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this absolute shit show, I need to find Wyn,” he says without further explanation, then strolls out after John, humming Darth Vader’s tune under his breath.
It’s just me and Ava now. She isn’t looking at me. She blinks down at the carpet, and my gaze is caught on her profile—on her long lashes, and full, pink lips. On the flush of her cheeks.
What is it about this girl that’s held me captive for three-fucking-years?
Her eyes flick up and meet mine. “Detective Silverman said they found new DNA evidence,” she says, finally breaking the silence. “Why would she want to talk to me about that?”
“No idea,” I answer, panic closing like a fist around my throat, and Ineverfucking panic. I’m usually in control, calling the shots, but lately, it feels like everything in my life has been spinning out of control.
Ava steps up to me. “Look, you’ve dragged me into this mess, and whether I like it or not, we’re in this together now, so the least you can do is tell me the truth.”
She’s close, so close I can smell her cherry-scented lip balm. She’s used it since high school. It’s such a small thing, but it hits me like a punch to the gut. How can someone smell exactly the same when everything else between us has gone to hell?
Unconsciously, I reach up and brush a strand of hair off her shoulder. “They’re just fishing,” I say. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got everything under control.”
And I cling to that lie, praying it’s true, because if the FBI uncovers the truth, it could cost us everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ava
For the fifth morning in a row, I wake up alone in Jackson’s bed. The sheets are cold and untouched on his side. He hasn’t slept here once since dragging me to this place, only slipping in and out of the bedroom like a ghost to grab clothes or brush his teeth. And the question gnaws at me: where does he sleep, and who is he sleeping with? Is he with another girl?
Jealousy rears its ugly head, but I quickly push it away. Honestly, it’s better this way. Maybe now that he’s gotten what he wants from me, he’s lost interest. And if he’s moved on to someone else, then I should be thankful, right?
So tell me why this tight feeling in my stomach doesn’t feel like gratitude. It feels more like…envy.
At night, in that brief moment between wakefulness and sleep, I catch myself thinking about him, remembering the feel of his fingertips brushing across my skin, or the way his lips pull every last ounce of breath from my lungs…
He’s always had a crazy gravitational pull over me. Not just attraction, but something deeper, something elemental, like the university itself dragging me back into his orbit. I’ve tried tofind that same intensity with other guys, with Chase, but nothing could ever quite replicate the way he consumed me.
It’s infuriating, honestly. How can someone so cruel, so infuriatingly indifferent, make my pulse race just by walking into the room? Something is seriously wrong with me.
A sliver of light filters in through a crack in the curtains. It’s morning, and I’m already getting used to the rhythm of the house. People won’t start stirring for at least another hour. But I know I’ll see Jackson at some point, and the second his eyes lock on mine, that same treacherous tingle will pulse through my clit. My body betrays me every damn time.
With a huff, I fling the thick comforter off my body, then pull my panties down my thighs and toss them aside. Rubbing a quick one out will take the edge off, and thenmaybeI won’t be so distracted when Jackson walks into the room.
