However, I also needed to stake a claim on her in public, and what better place than among her group of friends?
That entailed actually telling my sister about my relationship with her friend. A few days ago, I invited my sister and her boyfriend, who I’m reluctantly accepting, for dinner at the Heathens’ mansion. While we were eating, Cecily joined us, and we broke the news.
Or I did by openly kissing her in front of a frowning Annika and a surprisingly calm Creighton.
There was a lot of shouting from Annika’s side. She also said things like ‘I knew it’ and ‘I’m so happy. You guys are an unlikely couple but look so perfect together.’ I was proud of raising that little hellion right, but that only lasted until she told Cecily to be careful because our lives are dangerous.
While that’s true, the warning was needless. Especially since Cecily has always been wary of that side of my life. She was even thankful I omitted that part when I spoke to her father about what Dad does for a living.
Back to the current meeting. Sorry, gathering. We’re sitting around a large table that has apparently been reserved for these guys. I have two allies. Annika—who can’t stop beaming and nudging Cecily—and Killian—who only showed up because he likes to think that he’s joined to his girlfriend at the hip.
Everyone else is just not a fan.
It’s mutual since I believe they’re annoying, too. Just saying. Especially that motherfucker clown Remi, whom Cecily caught me plotting the murder of for the sole reason that he makes her laugh.
I grab her hand in mine and place it on my lap under the table, then take a sip of my vodka with my free one. “I’m not glaring.”
“You are,” Killian says needlessly from my left.
“Whose side are you on, motherfucker?” I whisper under my breath.
“What type of question is that? No one’s, of course.” He leans in so only I can hear him. “I also think Remington is an overrated, annoying asshole, and I had the same murder plots you do, but remember that they actually like him, and any offensive action on our part will backfire, so whatever gratification we’ll get from erasing him is not worth it.”
“I know that. Which is why I’m only glaring.”
“See?” Cecily latches onto the last word. “You are glaring.”
“That’s his default,” Killian offers with an amicable grin that could land him a movie role or on a serial killer poster.
“Yeah,” Annika says from the other side of the table, all smiles, sunshine, and rainbows. I’m glad my sister is back. “Jer doesn’t mean to glare. That’s just his expression, I guess.”
“You’re his sister and due to a clear conflict of interest, you don’t get opinion rights, Anni.” Ava points her bottle of beer at her, then directs it at me with a narrowing of her eyes. “I still don’t trust you to treat my Cecy right.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. She’s my Cecy. Not yours.”
The table grows silent as Ava upgrades her expression to a full-on glare. “I’ve known her since we were like babies, and she’s been my bestie for two decades. That makes her my Cecy. Discussion closed.”
“Don’t you have a lot of besties?” I taunt her with the information I’ve gathered about her. “In fact, you might call that bartender you met today a bestie, so your sense of that word is skewed and doesn’t count in this argument.”
“Jeremy.” Cecily pokes me, softening her tone, imploring, but I keep my unwavering attention on Ava.
“He’s not wrong about that.” Remi grins and dunks an olive in his mouth.
“Shut it, Rems.” Ava gives him the side-eye, then directs her malicious stare at me. “It’s different with Cecily. She’s my number one best friend.”
“You mean the one who takes care of your problems and tucks you to bed when you’re drunk,” I say. “That won’t be happening going forward.”
Ava’s expression falls downward. “That’s not all. We…go to places together, and have a lot of sleepovers, and we talk and…and…she’s the only person who gets me.”
“Sounds toxic. You’re too dependent on her and offer nothing in return.”
“That’s not true. Also, I came first and know more about her than you.”
“Doubt it.”
“Then do you know her middle name?” Ava’s voice has turned defensive, realizing that she’s losing. A decent person would’ve backed off, but I’m nowhere on that spectrum so I’ll happily crush the arrogant shit.
“Annabelle,” I say.
Ava purses her lips. “Her comfort food.”
“Waffles and mint gum.”
“Her…her favorite film, then! I bet you don’t know this one.”
“It’s Japanese. Rashomon.”
Ava’s lips part and she eyes Cecily. “You told him that? I thought it was our secret because only a few understand the psychology of it. You even made me watch it a few times to get it.”
“She didn’t have to tell me,” I cut Cecily off before she can reply and continue focusing on her friend. “Why don’t you admit you feed off her and offer little to nothing in return?”
Moisture rims Ava’s eyes and she stares at Cecily, but then she lowers her head without saying anything and slurps from her drink.
“Jeremy!” Cecily hisses under her breath. “If you make her cry, I’ll spend the night in the dorm. Think of that before you say anything else.”
I slide my attention to her. So she did figure out that my purpose is to break Ava and eliminate her as competition. I can think of a thousand ways to make her cry, but it’s not worth it if I have to lose access to Cecily for a whole night.
Maybe some other time. When she’s not around.
Cecily stares at me with an expression of both pleading and simmering anger. I resist the urge to stroke the freckles beneath her eyes. The one hundred fifty-three of them. And yes, I counted them.
I’ve always loved how, despite having her feelings tucked beneath the surface, she doesn’t trap them or allow them to fester and devour her from the inside out.
At least, not anymore.
When we first started out, she was too closed in on herself, too scared of her own demons, and too cautious. But it’s different now.
My Cecily, not Ava’s, has been slowly but surely growing into the beautiful woman she was always meant to be. She started going to therapy with one of her professors she trusts and tells me all about their sessions.
She told me she shouldn’t be trusted with people’s traumas until she finally resolves her own.
Tonight, she’s wearing a dress—one of the few occasions she’s willingly gotten into one. It’s a simple little black dress, but it molds against her curves and has spaghetti straps, one of which keeps falling off her shoulder, creating the most torturous tease.
It doesn’t matter how often, where, or how I fuck her. It doesn’t matter whether I take her as a man or a beast; there will never be a day where I will look at Cecily and not feel the need to sink into her heat, own her, and tuck her as close to me as possible. I want to trap her in that small nook between my heart and rib cage so that she’ll never find a way out.
Until one day, she wakes up and realizes that she was always supposed to be mine.
Not fucker Jonah’s. Not Landon’s.