Part of Me (Jessa & Paxton #1) Page 2

  In that moment, I pull out of her mouth and push her away from me. She stares at me with some level of confusion, her breaths heavy, her chest rising and falling with the effort. Her wet, pink lips hanging open, her turquoise eyes burrowing into mine like she can see straight into me. Like she knows me. “Fuck off,” I tell her before turning around and getting the hell out of there.

  Chapter 1 - Jessa

  On the drive with Dylan to Chicago I was already realizing that I had made a huge mistake. It could have been the way he sang along with the Ed Sheeran, Jason Mraz and John Mayer cds he played on a loop for six hours straight. Maybe it was the annoying way he kept both hands on the steering wheel at ten and two at all times. Or the way he talked excitedly about joining a fraternity and suggested that I join a sorority. That drive with Dylan made it blatantly clear that Dylan is not my kind of guy.

  I kind of figured this would happen because it’s what always happens when you turn a fun, flirty, sexy relationship into a committed one. People get comfortable and the real them emerges and you realize that when people stop trying so hard to be the person that you will want to belong to, that they aren’t who they were pretending to be. The Dylan that I was just screwing for more than nine months back in River Bluff sure as hell didn’t break out John Mayer on me.

  What the hell was I thinking? After warding off relationships through all of my post-pubescent years I decide to, not only force myself into one, but then act like it was cool when Dylan decided to follow me to college in Chicago.

  The whole point of coming to Chicago was to find my future and people who were like me, who would get me. A year ago when Chicago boy Paxton showed up in River Bluff and I saw so much of myself in him, I knew I had made the right decision. But then I left my home town with a piece of it still clinging to me.

  Watching my friend Emily and her guy Danny; the way they managed to help each other through all of their shit and make each other better, did something to my brain. It made me want to be happy too and, in a moment of weakness, I decided Dylan would be the man to make it happen.

  But Dylan is not the man to do that. No man is the man to do that. I know that. Men only make things complicated and confusing and force you to take your focus off of your real problems and make you focus on theirs. Or, more accurately, all of the new problems you have because of your relationship.

  I need to let him go, I know I do. But how do I do that? How do I tell the guy that gave up his own plans and moved to a strange place for me that I no longer want him? That I, in fact, prefer he disappear from my life so I can leave my failed attempt at happiness in the distance.

  It would help if I had a legitimate excuse, but I don’t. Not that I have any real experience in this department- Dylan’s my first real boyfriend. When I was fifteen, I stupidly thought I was in love, but he turned out to be the biggest asshole I’ve ever crossed paths with. Compared to that sleaze bag, Dylan is the ideal boyfriend. He’s nothing but sweet to me. He’s attentive – way too attentive. He’s everything a perfect boyfriend should be. And we do everything a perfectly boring couple does. Parties aren’t fun because I’m suddenly a possession that Dylan needs to be attached to at all times. I’ve seen every new release at the theatre and eaten at every restaurant within twenty miles of campus because… what the hell else is there to do with your boyfriend on a Friday night? He came over in fricking sweatpants the other day. Sweatpants. And not the sexy kind that some guys wear that hang low on their hips and make you want to find out what’s under all that baggy fabric, but stained ones with a hole in the knee. Jesus.

  As far as relationships go, I’ve always preferred the kind that were loosely defined by the sex I was getting. Those kinds of relationships don’t require dates and can’t take issue with you talking to another guy. That kind of relationship is about having fun and experimenting with each other’s bodies. In those relationships it’s mostly easy to get out. And I always know when it’s time to get out. It’s like a switch is being thrown and suddenly I cannot stand being kissed by the guy. It happens every time. And when it does it’s time to go. And I go. Maybe they protest, but hell, you’re not my damn boyfriend.

  I’ve hit that point with Dylan. I can’t stand his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth makes me want to vomit, his groping hands make me want to knee him in the balls. The problem is that I can’t just go. It’s not that easy. Which is why…. I don’t do this shit.

  Lesson learned. Won’t happen again. But that doesn’t solve my current problem.

  “Whatcha thinking about over there?” my roommate, Taylor, asks me from her bed, which is four feet away from my own.

  “Dylan,” I tell her.

  “Oh, yeah? I bet I know what you’re thinking of,” she giggles.

  “I bet you don’t,” I say, unintentionally mocking her high-pitched tone.

  Taylor is a sweet girl. She’s from a small town like me. Hers is in Wisconsin. She moved here to be with her boyfriend, Will. They met in Mexico on spring break and it was love at first site. They are deliriously happy and they are our new ‘couple friends’ – Will lives on Dylan’s floor in the dorm next to ours. It’s all so sweet and perfect and it makes me feel claustrophobic and miserable and like a complete phony.

  And, Taylor has appointed herself the official welcoming committee and friend to all. Therefore, there is a fun little dorm party in my room just about every night. And on the nights when I’m not interacting with my floor mates, by no choice of my own, I am on a double date, or just a regular date. None of this is me. None of this is what I want to be doing. I can’t even pretend anymore that I’m having fun. I just want out.

  “Well tell me, what were you thinking?” Taylor asks.

  “I wasn’t thinking anything really… just about tonight.”

  “Tonight is going to be so fun. What are you going to wear?”

  I look at Taylor and force myself to smile. “Um… I don’t know. I have to make a phone call,” I tell her, getting out of my bed. “I’ll be back in a little while and we can figure it out.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she tells me with a puzzled look on her face.

  I take the back stairway out of the dorm and walk to the edge of the tiny patch of trees that is behind it. I’m planning on calling Emily, but I end up pulling Paxton’s number up.

  I haven’t talked to him for a few days. He’s in Venice, California with his dad. Apparently Venice is where he spent most of his summers growing up and it’s the place he considers home. Not that he ever mentioned the place, or his dad and the rest of his California family, until six months after I met him. I realize now that he never really talked about his life at all – not the one in Venice and not the one here, in Chicago. We spent so much time together during his year in River Bluff and I feel like I know him so well, yet if I had to make a list of facts about his life I couldn’t even fill a page.

  “Beso… it’s you,” he says, calling me by the, oh so funny, nickname he has recently bestowed upon me. Beso means kiss in Spanish and he will never let me forget about that first night we met. Ever since Paxton’s been back home he tends to throw a Spanish word in every once in a while. I guess it’s a Venice thing.

  “Paxton… you’re high.” I can hear it in his quiet, dreamy voice. Every time I talk to him he’s at some loud party or just about to get it on with some chick… or high and completely disengaged. He’s not the kid I knew in River Bluff, which is disconcerting, but the least of my problems at the moment.

  “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “No.”

  The line goes silent. All I hear is Paxton’s breath. “I know you’re calling for a reason, kid. Spit it out,” he eventually mutters and I wonder why the hell I chose to dial his number. Ever since he went home all I get is a pissy attitude on the other end of the line.

  “I just came outside to get some air and I was bored, staring at the trees, so I thought you could keep me company, but that’s not really panning out for me.”

&nbs
p; “I’ll keep you company.”

  “Yeah,” I say, taking a deep breath; hesitating. “So… I’m kind of in a bind.”

  He lets out a low laugh. “You always got a reason.”

  “Well, clearly, if I’m just looking to chitchat you and your new badass attitude are not my go to. I just need to talk to someone outside of this quaint little life and you are the least quaint person I know.”

  “Jock Boy getting on your nerves?” he asks, using one of his nicknames for Dylan. He’s got a long list of nicknames for him. Jock Boy is one of the more generous on the list.

  “Everything’s getting on my nerves. I know once I spew all of this you are just going to be an arrogant ass and tell me you ‘told me so’ and I need to stop being such a poser, but I can’t keep it inside and I seriously have no one to talk to here.”

  “Lay it on me, Jess.”

  “I just… I can’t do this anymore… this cookie-cutter shit with Dylan. I don’t want to go on dates. I don’t want his thoughtful lips on me. I’m sick of rom-coms. I don’t want to be part of a group of couples. I don’t want to hold anyone’s hand. I don’t want to have to check in every half hour and account for every second of my life. And the dorm – the girls, I can’t handle it. I don’t want to sneak sips of peach schnapps in a ten by ten room with twenty other girls. I don’t even know how to giggle. I get glared at every time the truth comes out of my mouth because no one here sees anything except rainbows and butterflies and I can’t keep living in this pretty little world. It’s making me crazy.” When I hear how hysterical I’m becoming, I stop. Paxton’s quiet. I know he’s trying hard to hold back the words that are blowing up his mouth. “Just say it, Paxton.”

  “I told you so,” he half says, half laughs. “You don’t belong with that guy, Jess. I mean, I know you think the long, wavy hair is sexy and you love the big, blue eyes. And damn, he worked on that tan all summer. And those rugby shirts he wears are hard to resist. But Jess, he’s a pussy. You’re too much for him. You’ve been running his ass over for a year and he just lays down and takes all of your shit which, contrary to popular belief, is not a good thing. You need a fighter. You need someone who’s going to stand up to you.”

  “I need no one is what I need. I need to be myself again. Myself. Not someone’s girlfriend. Not anyone’s anything. I’m not cut out for this shit. It’s suffocating. Why do people do this? I mean, why does everyone couple off and think they’re not complete until they find their ‘other half’? There is no other half. We are not missing half of ourselves. It’s so stupid and I can’t believe I got caught up in this bullshit system.”

  “That’s my girl,” Paxton says. “I missed her.”

  “She’s a treat,” I say, taking a seat on the grass; feeling exhausted by the mess I’ve got myself into.

  “So what’s the problem? Break up with him.”

  I take a deep breath and try to form rational thoughts. “He followed me here. He gave up his plans and followed me here.”

  “You didn’t ask him to do that. It’s not your problem.”

  “I didn’t stop him. It’s not like we didn’t discuss it. It’s not like he didn’t ask me if I was sure I was okay with all of this.”

  “And you said you were?” Paxton asks through a laugh full of disbelief.

  “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t throwing a party to celebrate but I also didn’t tell him there was a really good chance I would be tired of him before we hit the state line. It’s been a month. We’ve been here for one month. I just feel like I’m obligated to stick it out for at least three. I mean, three is at least giving it a shot.”

  “Yeah, I think three is what’s standard in the system. Are you listening to this madness you’re spewing, or does bullshit just fall out of your mouth all the time now?”

  “Fuck off, Paxton.”

  “You called me, sweetheart. I’m just trying to help you pull your head out of your pretty ass. Come on, Jess. What are you really doing there? Why are you letting yourself get sucked into this shit? Since when do you have it in you to stick it out when everything inside of you is telling you to cut ties? I mean, shit, that girl I met at that field party in River Bluff wouldn’t have put up with any shit from anyone. Where’d she go, huh?”

  “Cut me a break, Pax. I don’t know this city. I don’t know a soul outside of the dorms. Forgive me for being afraid of being completely fucking alone.”

  “You want me to come there?” he asks, catching me completely off guard.

  “To Chicago?” I smile into my phone. I wish he were here. I miss him. He makes me feel like…me. In River Bluff I had the two best friends in the world, but none of us were alike. Which was fine, it was good, it was why we were best friends. But when Paxton showed up I knew that there was an affinity between us. Which is why there has always been tension between us; why our words are harsh and our emotions run high. But it’s also why we get each other. “I miss you, Pax.”

  “I miss you too. So what’s the answer, beso, you need me there or not?”

  Paxton doesn’t want to come to Chicago. I don’t even know if he can come to Chicago; I think his mom probably has an invisible fence around the state line that will keep him out. Plus, he’s doing his thing and figuring his own stuff out. I don’t know what that stuff is, but it’s been clear, since day one, that there is a lot of it. And I know that he needs to be in Venice to do that. “No. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “Let me make a few calls. I’ll find someone to help you out. If you want to get out of the dorm I can hook you up. Just let me know.”

  “I didn’t realize you were the king of Chicago,” I tell him, rolling my eyes at his overreaction.

  “There are a few people there who still like me.”

  “I’ll let you know. Thanks, Pax.”

  “Not a problem, Jess,” he says and it’s clear in his tone that he thinks my petty problems, that I could make disappear if I would grow a pair, are stupid and that he’s over it. I need to be over it too.

  “What’s going on with you? Where are you at?” I ask him, wanting to move on from my issues.

  “At the moment? I’m at some chick’s house in Malibu.”

  “Really?” I ask, intrigued.

  “Don’t get jealous, kid, it’s just a party. I’m not settling in,” he tells me, but I hear a woman in the background. It sounds like she’s doing something close to purring and she calls him ‘baby’. “Back off for a minute- can you not see the damn phone in my hand?” he tells the girl.

  This cute little convo I’m hearing is not new. I get to hear all kinds of sweet, desperate voices in the background when I talk to him. I think women must just follow him around begging all day. I get it. I mean, the boy is insanely hot. And in a way that makes women crazy. Which is completely different from your everyday insanely hot boy.

  Take Dylan for example, he’s extremely good looking in a very traditional, rare but not unheard of, way. He’s got a strong chin and dimples in both cheeks, his teeth are straight and white, his eyes are a nice shade of blue, his dark, wavy hair is always perfectly styled. And Paxton’s right; he worked all summer on his tan. He works out every day to keep his body toned. He’s six feet tall, exactly. He’s hot in the most expected, boring form of the word. And girls love him; they stare at him and maybe they imagine hanging off his arm and being his girlfriend. He’s perfect boyfriend material.

  But Paxton… he’s a whole different kind of beast. If we are going tit for tat against Dylan, God help him, I will break it down.

  Paxton is at least six-foot-two, so he doesn’t have to (and would never think to) make sure his back is straight and his calves are extended in order to ball with the tall dude that is getting too friendly with you. He definitely doesn’t spend time in the gym but he’s physical. His muscles are lean and defined but do not bulge and are not a direct reflection of his ego. His skin is a beautiful shade of tan; not because he laid out in the sun but because it�
��s how he was born. The top of Paxton’s hair is long and, depending on the day, is all messed up and sexy, or slicked back and badass, or cutely flopping lazily to one side. But the bottom is shaved short and there is something about being able to see his strong neck and the exact shape of the base of his skull that, for some unknown reason, is tempting. Paxton’s eyes aren’t blue, they are light gray. So light that sometimes they look like clear pools surrounding his black irises. His eyes aren’t friendly like Dylan’s. They are haunting and enigmatic.

  Paxton likes tattoos. They start on his palms and cover the underside of both forearms. They snake around his upper arms and over his shoulders and under his collar bone and over his back; like they’re creeping. Like they’re growing. Like maybe someday he will be nothing more than a beautiful illustration of his ambiguous life.

  All of the above add to his insanely hot status. But really, for me, it’s the lips. They are big and fat and it’s hard to look at him and not want to suck on them just to see what delicious thing will come out. Like candy. Paxton’s lips are like candy.

  I’m partial to his lips because he kissed me with them. I like to give him shit about that night, the first time I met him, because he was such a god awful prick. If there is one thing I lie to Paxton about it’s that that kiss left me unsatisfied and definitely not wanting more. The truth is, when he reached out and grabbed me in a way that felt more angry than affectionate, I liked it. The way he pulled on my hair and looked at me like he was going to murder me before he bit down on my bottom lip and then sucked it, did something to my insides. When his tongue forced itself into my mouth and he kissed me, it felt primeval; it felt like we were just bones gnashing together. It was violent, it was awful in some ways, but damn if it wasn’t the most exhilarating moment of my life.

  And that’s the problem with Paxton. That’s the part of him that makes him near-impossible to resist. He screams danger. He screams come with me and I will show you shit you have never seen before. There is a fear in being with him, like you are a step closer to death, like you are definitely doing something you shouldn’t be doing. And for some reason, being that close to danger, to death, is exhilarating. That part of him I can’t explain. It’s in his demeanor and in his expressions. It’s his voice and his eyes. It’s just who he is. I can’t explain it, but I get it. Trust me, I totally get it.