“B-b-bathroom?”
“For privacy.”
Yeah. Right. Privacy. He wanted privacy, right? To be alone with fairy-tale Charlotte and her sunshine hair.
Her nails and dress were candy-floss pink, her lips plump and shiny. She licked them. The wetter her lips looked, the drier his mouth became. He stopped once, ached to adjust his pants. She would for sure see how turned on he was, and thoughts of hairy moles didn’t help. Each shift of his fly over his erection made it worse. Oblivious to his discomfort and mild panic, she took his hand and led him into the girl’s bathroom, right into the handicapped stall.
She closed the door and faced him. “Undo your pants.”
Pants? Wasn’t there supposed to be kissing? “Wh-wh-what?”
She rolled her wrist as impatiently as she often rolled her eyes. “I want to see it.”
“My…”
“Yes, Jack. Your dick. Don’t be such a prude.”
He forced a swallow, couldn’t stop looking at her lips.
She focused on the stall door, like she didn’t want to look at him. Her chin trembled. “Just hurry up already. I don’t wanna miss the last dance.”
Something felt off—her chin wobble, her rushing. He sensed her discomfort, wanted to ask about it, but talking would ruin the moment and so much blood was flowing south, away from his brain. Penis. Charlotte. Touching. These were the only sureties he could grasp, and he wanted the grasping to occur. He’d pictured this moment enough to blind himself. There was always kissing first, but there’d been skin, too—hers, his, theirs. He’d dirtied many a sock in the imagining.
Now it was here. It was happening.
Too shocked to coordinate his hands, he fumbled with his zipper, shaking like a pathetic leaf.
Charlotte made an aggravated sound. “Just…stop. Let me.”
She reached for him as a squeak and shuffle came from outside their stall, then running water. A girl must be there, doing her makeup or washing her hands. Charlotte didn’t pause, and his body shuddered. He couldn’t think beyond how good she felt. Those soft hands on his boxers. The smallest brush made his penis jump, more blood rushed. She pulled his cotton waistband down, barely grazed him, more sounds invaded…then he blacked out.
No. Fuck. Not blacked out. Worse than blacked out. He came in a rush all over Charlotte’s hands and dress, the length of him spasming with the release. That was when he heard the laughter, the holy fucks not even covered with a cough.
Then a rat fell.
Charlotte yelped and spread the cum in her hands all over his shirt, smearing it as she tried to get away from him and the rat. She looked as shocked as he felt, except she didn’t have a dick hanging out of her pants while someone above cackled.
16
“Charlotte ran screaming for the exit,” Jack said, his voice hard and quiet. “I stood there, filthy, pants undone, while the D Squad hooted and whistled and high-fived each other. I was mortified, and so pissed I didn’t realize it was a prank from the start. I should’ve known Charlotte wouldn’t go for a guy like me.”
Jack was quiet awhile, his dreadful story lingering between them. Clementine wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but she looked at his teenage room with new eyes. She pictured a skinny boy with hunched shoulders and flayed self-esteem hiding under his covers, mortified to leave his room. His model airplane collection had probably grown. He’d probably aced every test, studied instead of socializing. Her heart pinched.
She maneuvered so she was cross-legged facing him. “What they did was beyond horrible.”
He released a long, slow exhale. “It was, and it hurts to talk about it, but it was sixteen years ago. I’ve moved on. And if it had been a bunch of friends, it wouldn’t have been a big deal.”
She squinted, replayed his words, but nope…he still sounded like he was excusing his bullies. “I hope you’re kidding me right now.”
He shrugged. “Guys play pranks. Dropping a rat on a friend while someone’s giving him a hand job could be funny.”
“But they weren’t your friends, Jack. They were assholes and that Charlotte bitch should be sent to colonize Mars.”
His lips twitched. “Or Uranus.”
She barked out a laugh.
He frowned. “That sounded better in my head.”
“Like when we met and you asked if I wanted to connect on Snap that Chat?”
His smile was self-deprecating. “Just like that.”
“You’re such a dork. In the best way.” One of his sweetest attributes. “But seriously, what they did was inexcusable.”
Bullies in general deserved corporal punishment. Her last foster home had been bully central. The man of the house had been the ringleader, but he’d had accomplices. They’d taken in four foster kids. Two had been spawns of Satan. She’d never laugh off their reign of terror as harmless pranks.
“Totally inexcusable,” she repeated.
Jack’s legs were stretched out, his ankles lazily crossed. A contradiction to his upsetting story. “I’m not denying that. But Charlotte left a few weeks after, disappeared from town. She sent me a letter, like four or five months later, explaining the girls made her life hell because she fooled around with one of their exes. Claimed she said yes to the dance because she wanted to, but when they found out, it spiraled out of control.”
“That doesn’t make it right, and I’m guessing the guys didn’t apologize.”
“Not formally. A few nicknames followed me. Jack-off. Rat Jack. One-Second Jack was popular for a while, and other creative slurs. Everyone in town knew what happened, but it all eventually faded. I just kept to myself, pleaded with Marco to forgive me for ditching him, which he thankfully did. Then came college and growing my father’s business. Dale and Darrin even work for me now.”
“Seriously? You hired them?” She’d have sent them packing. With bloody noses.
Jack reached behind him and grabbed the top of the headboard. If Charlotte and her posse could see the sharp cut of his triceps stretching his T-shirt, the sliver of happy trail teasing from below the hiked-up cotton, they’d curse themselves. Clementine bit off a breathless sigh.
“One thing that mess taught me,” he said, “was we’re all willing to do mean things to fit in.” His mood darkened for the first time since reliving his humiliation. Like there was more to the story. He adjusted his grip. The muscles in his arms flexed. “I understand it enough to not hold a grudge. But they’ve never apologized, and I don’t want them to. It’s a subject I don’t discuss and would rather forget.”
Clementine pressed her hand to his thigh, spreading her fingers on his firm quad. It was nowhere near as strong as his empathy. “Then why discuss it with me?”
He released the headboard and anchored his hand on top of hers. “Because I’ve never told anyone.”
“But you said everyone in town knows.”
“They do. And I mean everyone. I had to listen to my mother explain that premature ejaculation is normal.” Clementine half-snorted a muffled laugh. He shot her a playful scowl. “Which is no longer a problem. But I’ve never spoken about that incident. Not once. Not with anyone. Not until you.”