Chapter 5 Together

JETHRO

Late again.

They're always fucking late.

I’m leaning over the pool table, racking up the balls and waiting for the guys to arrive. King comes clomping up the stairs two at a time first, peeking his head through the opening of the railing. He’s still dressed in the same old light faded jeans and green t-shirt he wore when we shot hoops earlier in the day. “Looking to get your ass kicked again there, Jet?” He pegs me at the pool table, a boastful smirk lifting his lips.

I shake my head. Sure, he won last time, but I’m not about to let that happen again.

“Why did you arrange this last-minute meeting anyway?” His brow pops as he makes a beeline for the refrigerator nestled within the bar. A second later, I hear him pop open a can of beer.

“All will be revealed in due time.” I shrug mysteriously.

Spencer is the next one of our group to arrive after a loud commotion from downstairs, obnoxiously bounding up the steps like he’s being pursued, a large hand gripping the railing as he leaps over the final one.

He is being pursued. Damon is right there behind him, hot on his tail.

“Dude, I said that I’d pay for it!” Spencer jumps over the back of the leather sofa in an attempt to flee from him, nearly stumbling into Kingston who’s sitting at the high table on the other side, scrolling on his phone and drinking his beer.

“Come on!” He shouts, moving out of the way at the last second.

It’s only now that I realize that Damon’s choppy and sleek jet-black hair is mussed up like he’d run his fingers through it aggressively, his green eyes alight with rage, mimicking the usual fury that lives inside Kingston’s chocolatey brown ones.

King is Wrath, after all.

Damon’s fists are clenched, the muscles in his face pulled tight.

Uh oh.

Spencer did something.

He’d done fucked something up.

“What the fuck is going on here?” I spin around, arms folded over my chest, leaning back against the pool table. “What is happening right now and why is it happening?”

Damon’s eyes glow emerald green now as he drops his head to glare at Spencer like some kind of beast, grinding his jaw. “This motherfucker just dented my brand new fucking Mustang outside,” Damon says through his fury.

Damn. I get the anger now. Damon had just received that grey car as an early graduation present and as an award for being on the High Honor Roll for the entire year—for the first time. I’d be pissed too. Hell, I’d probably pummel the shit out of Spencer, too, if I were him. The dude’s got it coming.

“I said I would pay for it!” Spencer replies, coming out from behind the bar area in surrender. “I’ll even let you hit me if it will make you feel better.”

“Hitting you would make me feel better,” Kingston interjects in true Kingston fashion.

“Nah, I’m wrath this second, King,” Damon shakes his head, taking a step towards Spencer who stands up taller and raises his head to meet his glaring anger. He knows there’s no reason to put off the inevitable.

“I said you get one.” He turns to present his shoulder.

Damon wastes no time before clenching a fist and sending a bruising blow to Spencer’s upper arm. But Spencer doesn’t even flinch or express pain because we’re all football players and it’s not like Damon is dishing out anything Spencer can’t handle or hasn’t handled before. Spencer’s a Wide receiver, and he’s used to getting hits on the field. Tougher hits than that one... even if he may be a little out of practice. Two months worth.

Feeling pleased with himself after Spencer rubs the spot to dull the ache, Damon walks over to get himself a beer. King clasps him on the back, chuckling, “See? Hitting people is the best.”

“Alright, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, what’s so important that couldn’t wait until school in the morning?” Damon asks, taking a swig of his beer.

I don’t divulge... yet. Instead, I walk to the wall and take down four pool cues. “First, we play,” I say, offering one to Kingston first, then Damon, and finally Spencer.

“You have me intrigued.” Damon shrugs as he too walks over to the pool table and sets his beer down on the glossy wooden rim. “I call dibs on King.”

Kingston strolls over to stand beside him, leaning over to bump his knuckles to his and they both laugh like the morons they are.

“That’s fine.” I shrug, taking my place and setting my cue down so that I can slide the triangle against the table to roll the balls within it. “But I’m breaking.”

Once I’m satisfied with what I see, I remove the triangle and pick my cue stick back up, carefully lining the tip up with the white cue ball before pulling back to hit it. The cue ball smashes into the balls and breaks formation, sending striped and colored balls off in every direction, ricocheting off from the sides of the table before one lonely red ball falls into the right center pocket.

“We’re solids,” Spencer announces, giving me a high five as I set up my next shot.

Kingston and Damon step out of the way as I walk around the table, eyeing the purple “4” ball only a few inches away from the left corner pocket. The angle of the cue ball to the intended one doesn’t give me much hope as there are three striped balls in front of it, but I bend over and line up my shot anyway. Goddamnit. The cue ball cracks into a yellow striped one but that’s where the play dies, setting up the perfect opportunity for Damon to sink the blue “2” ball.

He takes a long, dramatic swig of his beer before he’s on the move, hovering over the table, cue stick sliding between the bridge he’s made with his hand as he stares down his shot. Within seconds, the cue ball goes speeding into the blue “2” ball and drops right into the pocket with an unsatisfying (for me) clunk.

“That was an easy one,” Spencer jests. “Jet pretty much gave you that one.”

He’s right. I did. But not on purpose.

Damon, the charmer he is just smiles wide and winks, stalking around to find the best spot for his follow-up shot. He is every bit of the sin he’s named after. From his shaggy black hair down to his piercing green gaze and carefree swagger, the fucking guy walks, talks, breathes, and emits Lust.

Out of all of us, he’s the most experienced. Done the freakiest shit, too—which includes numerous double teams with King, and two threesomes where he fucked other men and was edged for two hours.

Watching his focus zero in on the table, I decide that now is as good of a time as ever to disclose why I’ve called them all here. Might as well take advantage of the shock that’s soon to follow an announcement like mine, “There’s been a development in Project Virgin.” I blurt, just as he’s about to send the tip of his cue stick into the cue ball. “A rather huge development.”

“Sonofabitch!” He yells after his focus is broken, sending the cue stick into the table instead of the ball.

A pleased grin spills across my lips after he misses, but I continue, “Skylar called me Saturday night from the party to inform me that he’d popped Jessica Tate’s cherry. It apparently happened at the same time King and Damon were busy double teaming Dina Evans and taking both of her holes—thank you for the picture, by the way, very tastful—” My voice trails as I look to King who boasts and flexes his arms like the showman he is, before continuing my sentence, “Which makes one lonely virgin of Blueridge high left.”