While Adam drank, swallowed, shuddered, Jared buttoned his shirt. The wet stripe on his stomach burned where Adam had licked him, and his pants still felt too tight. Doing this in public felt far more dangerous than what they got up to in the peaceful solitude of Adam’s bedroom, and Jared was suddenly wary.
Adam tucked the flask into Jared’s back pocket and pulled a thin joint from behind his ear. He held it up to Jared—an offer—and at Jared’s nod, he lit it and inhaled deeply. Passed it over. Then wrapped his arms around Jared’s waist from behind.
“Does weed make you affectionate?” Jared asked, amused. He inhaled again then passed the joint back.
“Nah. Not really.”
From this position all Jared could see was the thick, white smoke as it curled over his shoulder with each of Adam’s exhalations.
None of their friends or classmates had dared to venture out into the cold. They’d be smoking inside or out back where there were large standing heaters to keep them warm. Jared had followed Adam blindly, as had become his habit now.
They finished the joint in companionable silence, neither man feeling the need to fill the frigid air with mindless conversation. For reasons Jared couldn’t quite put his finger on, he got the impression Adam wanted them to be alone together.
When the joint had been reduced to a smoldering stub, Jared pressed a kiss to the edge of Adam’s mouth and ducked back inside to use the bathroom. The small space on the first floor was elegantly decorated in white tile and chrome fixtures, the white towels monogrammed with a swirling gold W.
Through the glass at the front door, Jared saw Adam was still outside, leaning against the rail of the porch talking to someone just out of sight. He looked annoyed.
Trying not to be seen, and ignoring the thumping party behind him, Jared snuck forward until he saw Clare leaning against the wall of the house, wearing a fur wrap and smoking a thin cigarette. The red of her lipstick stained the filter, making it look like her mouth was bleeding.
Then they were yelling at each other, and Jared flattened back against the interior wall, hoping some of their conversation would drift inside. Clare looked completely nonplussed compared to Adam’s red-faced anger.
With a little push, the front door swung open enough to create a gap for their words to drift inside.
“Fuck the bet, Clare,” Adam snapped. “Fuck your bet, and fuck you.”
“I take it you haven’t fucked him yet, then.”
“No, I haven’t fucked him, you bitch.”
“I’m starting to get bored with this, now, Adam. Either you don’t want to fuck him or you can’t.”
“Fuck you,” Adam said again emphatically.
“Or maybe the circumstances have changed? I’ve never known you to back down from a bet before.”
There was a strange, twisting, sickening feeling in Jared’s gut as he listened to them argue. He’d seen this taunting, twisted Clare before, and he liked her even less than every other version of Clare. It was almost her natural state of being, tormenting other people for her own amusement. And he’d seen Adam mad before, but not like this. Not the hot cheeks or flashing eyes and tense hands, like he was holding himself back from hitting a girl.
He couldn’t stand it any longer and ducked out of the house.
“What bet?” Jared asked, purposefully keeping his voice light, innocent.
Adam whipped around, and the color drained from his cheeks. Clare smiled slowly, and Jared realized Clare had known he was there, knew he was listening.
“Oops,” Clare said, the word whisper-light in the cold air.
She dropped her cigarette butt and ground it out with the sharp heel of her shoe, then turned and sauntered back into the house.
“What bet?” Jared repeated, feeling a lot, lot colder than the outside temperature.
“Forget it,” Adam said. “It’s nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, you can tell me about it.”
Adam paced to the edge of the porch, then turned. He wrapped his arms around his chest.
“There was a bet,” he said, as if this was new information to Jared, and from inside the house, at least one of the DJs cut the music dead. The silence rang loud in Jared’s ears, and he knew Clare was behind it. They were the entertainment for the evening now and sure enough, people started to gather in the vast entrance hall.
“What were the stakes?” Jared asked, his voice surprisingly stable.
Adam ground his teeth together, the movement of his rocking jaw thrusting it out defiantly.
“To… fuck the new kid,” he said, eyes hard now. Jared didn’t look away. “To fuck the new, gay kid who was apparently a virgin.”
Jared wanted to scream, to rage. Blood pounded in his ears, heating his face as he realized he’d been played. Not just on a superficial level, though. He’d been played by all these people, by Clare, by Chris, probably Mia and Ryder and the rest of them. And worst of all, by the person with whom he’d shared a bed, made out with, laughed with and confessed to and learned from.
Any sign of weakness would not be tolerated. He couldn’t bitch out over this, couldn’t throw a hissy fit and slap Adam or make him bleed. They had been making fun of the new boy faggot for months now, months, and he wasn’t about to give them more ammunition.
Bile rose in Jared’s throat, and he forced his eyelids open, hoping the frigid air would cool and freeze the tears that pricked and threatened.
In the silence that grew between them, Jared knew it was all bullshit. All the laughter, all the sweet kisses, had been to prove a point. To win a bet. He’d trusted Adam, and that was his first and last mistake at New Harbor Academy.
“What were you going to win?”
Adam stared him down, eyes silently begging Jared to shut up. No fucking way.
“What,” Jared demanded, louder now, “were you going to win, Adam?”
Maybe
