Pieces Of You by Jay McLean
5
Holden
I’m prettysure Jamie hates me, which is bullshit because she doesn’t even know me. Of everyone in the club, besides maybe Dean, I’m positive I’m the absolute last person she hoped to be matched with. Sucks for her. Me too, I guess. I’d prefer to be paired with any other girl in that room. At least then, there might be an extra benefit to the outreach we’ll be providing.
We’re sitting on one of the tables in the school’s courtyard, going through the notes provided by Dean about our upcoming project. This club was Dean’s idea, and it goes with all the charitable work he does through his church. Again, Dean and me, on paper, are complete opposites.
“So, I guess we’ll be doing yard work for some old lady.” I look up from the notes and quirk an eyebrow at the girl sitting opposite me. “Maybe you know her from bingo.”
Jamie’s eyes are on me, void of a single emotion, and I’ve concluded that she genuinely gives zero fucks about anything I have to say to, or about, her.
Of course, I’ve asked Dean who she is to him, but he won’t tell me, so I highly doubt she will either. I’m curious, though, and the few minutes we’re around each other every morning don’t give me many opportunities to get to know the girl behind the filthy mouth.
Not that I want to.
It’s not like I was instantly attracted to her, because let’s be real—she hasn’t an iota of sex appeal, at least not that she openly displays. But I’m… perplexed, maybe?
She’s still watching me, wordlessly. Is this a game to her? This little stare-off she’s having with me? Because if so, I’m down.
With an exaggerated sigh, I shut the folder, rest my elbows on top of it and lean forward, saying, “I have a question. Well, two questions. A two-part single question. Statement, maybe?”
She blinks. Once. Twice. But those eyes stay on me.
I add, pinning her with my glare, “How far is that stick stuck up your ass, and do you need help getting it out?”
Her lips twitch before leveling out again. The movement was so quick, I don’t know if she was about to smile or snarl. Either way, I got a reaction, and that has to be a point for me.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I settle in my seat and get more comfortable. “Want to know what I think happened between you and Dean?”
She shakes her head and sits taller. “We’re not talking about Dean.”
“Ah, she speaks in full sentences and without cursing or insulting. Who’d have thought?”
“Contrary to what you think of me, I actually enjoy talking. Just not to morons who think their dick activity defines their worth.”
“You talk about my dick a lot. Can’t imagine how much you think about it when I’m not around.” I throw her a smirk. “Obsessed much?”
Her eyes narrow. “I really don’t like you.”
“I’m fully aware.” I chuckle. “Which is a shame since you don’t know me.”
“I know enough.” Hand held out between us, she demands, “Pass me the folder.”
I pull the papers closer to me and cluck my tongue. “Say please.”
And now she’s back to passively staring. It should make me uncomfortable, but I kind of dig it. The longer she stares, the wider my smirk gets. She’s the one to break first. “You do realize I’m immune to… to…”
I hold back a laugh. “My dick activity?”
She drops her head back, eyeing the sky, and mumbles something incoherent under her breath.
“You know…” I say, standing, “You might hate me for whatever unknown reason, but I actually like you.”
Her eyes meet mine again. “In what world could you possibly like me?”
I wait for her to get up and lift her bag strap across her torso before stating, “In a world where I like to be challenged.”
“I’m not challenging you to anything.”
“That you know of.” I shrug, then motion toward the student parking lot. “Let’s go pay your knitting buddy a visit.”
Sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat of my truck, her granny skirt covering her legs, Jamie focuses on the file that Dean had given me a few days earlier. When he found out that I’d signed up to the club, he’d given me the first choice of what to do. Yard work I could do in my sleep, and even though it’s hotter than Satan’s asshole, working outside is what I’ve spent my life doing. Jamie, on the other hand, I don’t know how she’s going to handle it.
“It says she’s a widow,” she murmurs.
I glance sideways at her.
“Her husband passed away, and he used to do all the upkeep,” she adds, her thumb working at spinning one of the few mood rings on her fingers.
When we’re this close, this confined, I can smell her shampoo or perfume or whatever it is. It’s a natural scent—flowers and citrus, and it reminds me of home. Of the farm. “That’s sad,” I respond.
She sighs. “This is why you don’t rely on men to do anything.”
I scoff. “So… it’s not me, specifically. You hate all men?”
She shakes her head, her loose black hair shifting with the movement. “No, I hate the idea of dependency.”
“Jesus Christ,” I huff out, my brow bunched. “It’s just yard work. The man died.”
“People die all the time,” she states, tone flat, distracted with reading the notes.
Dang. “You’re a little cold, don’t you think?”
“I’m actually really hot,” she says, lifting her eyes from the folder and toward the dashboard. “Do you have AC?”
“It’s busted.”
With a groan, she starts undoing the buttons of her blouse while simultaneously tugging the ends from beneath her skirt. I struggle to pay attention to the road because I’m too busy focused on her. Beneath her top, she’s wearing a tight, white tank, the straps of her hot-pink bra visible.
Dudes and boobs. Why we’re so fascinated with them is an enigma, but I have to admit—
“It’s rude to stare,” she mumbles.
I shrug. “You have a nice rack.”
She turns to me, and I expect her to scold me. Instead, she chews her lip and says, “Thank you.”
What the fuck?“You’re welcome,” I say, but it comes out as a question.
She nods toward the windshield. “Focus on the road, you pervert.”
“Right.” I do as she says, realizing that this girl is far more complex than I’d expected. Maybe we’ve both jumped the gun with the judgment of each other because she’s cold one minute and hotter than hell the next.
Either she knows exactly who she is and what she’s doing, or I’m way, way off my game.
It takes onlyten minutes to get to the house, where we’ll be spending one afternoon a week for an entire semester. When we pull into the driveway, the first thing I notice is how much work there is to do in the front yard alone. Almost every visible area is covered in weeds and out-of-control vines. It’s nearly impossible to see the paved path to the front door, but I manage, and waiting for us at the entry to the closed-in porch is an older woman.
“Hey, look.” I motion to where the woman’s opening the door. “It’s your best friend, Gladys,” I quip.
“Her name’s Esme,” Jamie mutters.
“I know.” I sigh. “It was a joke.”
“I know,” Jamie echoes. “It wasn’t funny.” Cold Jamie’s back. Good to know.
Once the truck comes to a complete stop, she starts to open the door, but I stop her with my hand on her arm. “Be nice, okay? She’s… old.”
Her entire face scrunches in annoyance. “I am nice.”
The audacity. “Are you, though? Because you just told me she was a loser for relying on a man, and you gave zero fucks that her husband had just died.”
“I didn’t say that,” she says, shaking her head. And the girl might just be insane. Like, certifiable. I’m getting goddamn whiplash from being around her.
I say, slowly, enunciating every word, “You literally just said it.”
“No.” She shakes her head again, seeming agitated that she even has to talk to me. “What I said and what you heard are two completely different things.” She yanks her arm out of my hold, and a second later, she’s out of the truck and walking toward the porch. I rush out to join her because the last thing I need is someone’s grandma complaining about some crazy, unstable high school girl ripping into her about her dead husband while I stood by and did nothing.
When I catch up to Jamie, walking only a step behind her, Esme waves, smiling from ear to ear. Then calls out, “What’s poppin’, bitches?”
Jamie stops so suddenly I almost run into her. Whatever look must be on our faces has Esme’s smile fading. “Isn’t that how kids talk these days?”
I stifle my guffaw, but Jamie—she lets out a bark of a laugh. And because I struggle to believe what I’m hearing, I step beside her, just so I can see her face—make sure the sound is actually coming from her. It’s loud, and it’s free, and it’s as odd as it is fascinating. After a while, she silences the sound, but her expression is still there—her smile still present. She has a tiny gap between her two front teeth, something I never noticed before, and her eyes—her eyes meet mine, crinkled at the corners. Seconds pass, neither of us breaking the stare, but her smile is waning, and maybe she’s better at this game than me. “What?” she croaks out, her throat moving with her swallow.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I tell her the truth, “You’re kind of cute. I mean, when you don’t look like you want to knee me in the nuts.”
Her breath hitches right before she catches herself. And just like that, she blinks, and she’s void again. Completely empty. Expressionless. “Thank you.” Weirdo.
I shrug. “You’re welcome.”