I Knew You Were Trouble: A Jessie Jefferson Novel (11 page)

‘What, been in many boys’ rooms before?’ he asks.

‘You’re deflecting the question,’ I point out with a smirk.

He looks up at the ceiling before returning his eyes to mine. ‘I don’t know, five?’

‘
Five?
’ I squeak.

‘Hey, I didn’t say anything had happened in all of them.’ He blushes. ‘How many boys’ bedrooms have you been in?’ He turns the tables on me.

‘Two,’ I say, my face burning again because one of those boys was Jack.

He frowns. ‘Who were they?’

‘Dean Smith…’

‘
Him?
’ he says with distaste.

‘It was when we were fourteen!’ I laugh. Dean is one of the more badass boys in my year, but I thought he was cute for a while. He plays football, too. ‘We only went out for a
couple of months,’ I tell Tom quickly. ‘And we only kissed a few times.’

‘Who else?’ he asks, to my dismay.

‘You don’t know him,’ I reply, hoping he’ll drop it.

‘Now I’m curious.’ No such luck. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Jack,’ I say tightly.

‘Does he go to school?’

‘No, like I said, you don’t know him.’
Drop it, drop it, drop it…

‘When was this? How old is he?’

I answer his second question. ‘Eighteen.’

‘Does he go to college with Natalie?’

Shit.
‘No, he lives in America.’

His face falls. ‘Was this over the summer?’

I nod reluctantly.

‘Oh.’ Great. Now I’ve really pissed him off.

‘Didn’t you snog anyone in Ibiza?’ I ask.

‘No, actually,’ he replies, sounding none too pleased. ‘I could have, but I didn’t want to.’

‘Why not?’

He looks pointedly at me.

‘Sorry,’ I say quietly, realising he resisted because of his feelings for me.

‘Who was he?’ he asks.

‘Just some guy.’

‘Nice,’ he says sourly.

Wow, I wouldn’t have pegged him as the jealous type.

‘What do you want to know?’ I ask gently, feeling disconcerted by his reaction. I like it that he cares, but I don’t like the way it’s making me feel: i.e. guilty.

‘Have you stayed in touch with him?’ he asks.

‘No!’
Well, at least, he hasn’t replied to my email
, I think to myself. I don’t say that I’ve stayed in touch with Jack’s sister. ‘We only
kissed,’ I explain, but I’m not sure that’s going to make Tom feel much better.

He flops back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

‘Do you want me to go?’ I ask uneasily after a moment of silence.

‘What?’ He props himself up on his elbows and stares at me with those very brown eyes of his. ‘No!’ He shoves his hair off his face and sits back up properly, taking my
hands and pulling me towards him. I breathe a small sigh of relief into his mouth as he kisses me. He is
unbelievably
good at this. But then it sounds like he’s had a lot of
practice…

Jealousy swiftly replaces my butterflies and I tug away, looking down at my hands and then back up at him.

‘Why did you and Isla split up?’ I ask hesitantly.

‘She cheated on me,’ he replies darkly.

‘What? You’re kidding!’ I’m amazed. Is she crazy?

‘Nope,’ he replies flippantly. ‘At a party. Snogged some other guy. She regretted it, but it was too late.’

‘You couldn’t forgive her?’

‘No,’ he says firmly.

There’s a loud knock on the door and it suddenly swings open to reveal a tall, curvy girl with long, dark-brown, wavy hair. Becky.

‘Hey!’ she says jovially, her eyes landing mischievously on me. ‘Sorry, was I interrupting anything?’

‘No!’ I cry, automatically edging away from Tom.

‘Yes!’ Tom replies simultaneously. Cringe.

‘You really should lock your door, then,’ she tells him with a grin.

‘I don’t have a lock, remember?’ he replies wryly.

‘That’s right. Well, close it, then. Oh, that’s right,’ she says with a wicked grin, ‘Mum’s banned you from doing that, too.’

Oh my God, this is humiliating.

‘Sorry,
when
are you going back to university?’ Tom asks with a hint of amusement, and I realise then that Becky’s only teasing.

She laughs and comes into the room, pulling up a chair at his desk.

‘You’ll miss me when I’m gone.’ She fixes her blue eyes on me, narrowing them as she tries to place me.

‘You’re—’

‘Jessie,’ I tell her.

‘I recognise you. You two go to the same school, right?’

‘I’m in Year Eleven,’ I say.

‘Aah.’ She smiles at Tom and he rolls his eyes, but she doesn’t make another cheeky comment about me being younger.

Becky stays and chats for a bit until I’ve relaxed a little in her company. But only a little. She seems like a big personality and she
is
four years older than me. Daunting.

‘Anyway,’ she says, getting to her feet, ‘Mum said dinner will be ready soon, so come down.’

‘Will do,’ Tom replies with a smile. He’s clearly very fond of her.

Dinner is surprisingly relaxed, with Caroline relaying occasional amusing anecdotes about Tom and Becky’s childhood. She doesn’t ask about my family situation, and I’m guessing
Tom filled her in about my mum, so I’m thankful for that.

Eventually it’s time for us to call it a night.

‘What are you doing tomorrow?’ Tom asks me at the doorway while Stu waits in the car. ‘I’m playing footie in Grenfell Park if you want to swing by?’

I give him a wry look.

‘Not to sit on the sidelines like one of my groupies,’ he remembers with a grin. ‘We could hang out afterwards.’

‘Haven’t you had enough of me?’ I ask, smiling.

He reaches down and takes my hand, his thumb skimming across my wrist. ‘Not nearly enough,’ he says with meaning, his face close to mine. He doesn’t kiss me, though, not with
Stuart in view.

‘OK.’ I nod. ‘What time?’

‘Two-ish?’

‘I’ll see you there.’

He grins and gives me a quick peck on my lips before I break away from him.

‘Good day?’ Stu asks drily, as I climb into the car.

‘Mmm,’ I reply, looking dreamily out of the window, the feeling of Tom’s lips still buzzing against mine. ‘Very good.’

By the end of the following week, everyone at school knows that To m and I are a couple. Seeing him every day, I feel like we’ve been together for a lot longer than we
actually have. We even talk to each other at night before we fall asleep.

Now it’s Saturday and I’m going over to his house for dinner. I think I’m going to come clean about my dad tonight. Johnny said that I could tell people that I trust. And I
trust Tom. Definitely.

Johnny stuck to his word and asked Stu about Tom, which made me feel oddly giddy. It’s surreal to know that my father’s a superstar who’s concerned for my welfare. I
don’t think he – or Stu – would be too thrilled to hear that Tom’s mum is out tonight, though, so I’ve kept this information to myself. The thought of being alone with
Tom in his room without having to worry about the door being open makes me feel jumpy. In fact, we’ll have the whole house to ourselves because Becky’s not there, either.

‘Hey,’ Tom says with a warm smile when he opens the front door. He looks past me to wave at Stu and I do the same, before watching him drive off down the road.
Luckily Stu didn’t insist on saying hi to Caroline.

‘Has your mum left already?’ I ask, as I step into the hall.

‘Just,’ he replies, closing the door behind me. ‘She was late leaving.’

‘Did she know I was coming over?’

‘She helped me cook you dinner,’ he admits with a shy grin, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

‘You’ve cooked me dinner?’ I grin, as I slip off my jacket and hang it over the banister. ‘I thought we were getting takeaway?’

‘Changed my mind.’ He holds his arms out to me and I step into them, tilting my face up to his. He kisses me gently.

I’m relieved to hear that his mum knows I’m going to be here. I didn’t really relish the thought of going behind her back. But if her date goes badly and she comes home
early… Damn, I hope she doesn’t.

‘What have you cooked?’ I ask, pulling away and sniffing the air. There’s something distinctly delicious-smelling coming from the direction of the kitchen.

‘You’ll see.’ He leads me through to the living room where
The X Factor
is on the telly.

We sit together on the sofa and Tom puts his arms round me, practically pulling me onto his lap. I giggle and snuggle closer to him, turning my face towards the telly.

‘Oi,’ he gently chastises, tilting my chin back in his direction. We kiss, gently at first, while Simon Cowell drones on at someone. Tom fumbles around and the sound cuts off, making
me giggle. There goes this week’s viewing.

‘Let me put some music on,’ he says, tapping my thigh so I edge off him.

He lopes over to the speakers and delves into his pocket for his iPhone. I love his body: the boyish but defined biceps that protrude from the short-sleeved T-shirt he’s wearing.
He’s so tall that he makes me feel smaller than my five foot six inches. His hair is falling down across his forehead and I want to brush it back from his face. As he sorts out the music and
returns to the sofa, I remember that I can.

My fingers slide through his soft hair as The Temper Trap’s ‘Sweet Disposition’ kicks off in the background.

‘I love this song,’ I say.

‘Me too.’

We have pretty similar tastes in music, which I’m pleased about, but I think I respected Jack’s taste even more. There I go again. I wish I could stop comparing Tom to Jack, but,
much as I try, the latter is never far from my mind. It’s so confusing. Maybe, when I see Jack at Christmas, I’ll realise that whatever we had is well and truly over.

Hopefully.

It’s not long before Tom’s lips find mine again, and my head is swimming with the reminder that we’re completely alone. His hands move to my waist and I shiver involuntarily as
he slides them along my curves. My breathing quickens, but I don’t stop kissing him. Once more he manoeuvres me onto his lap and I wriggle to get comfortable. My legs end up straddling his
and shivers rocket down my spine as he pulls me closer. He sighs, shakily, into my mouth, then draws away slightly, moving his hands up to run his fingers through my hair. He smiles crookedly at me
and I gaze down at him.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmurs with a seriousness that makes my insides melt. This has gone past ‘like’ and Jack feels a million miles away.

I bend down to kiss him again, pressing my chest against his. He draws a sharp breath and then his hands are on my waist, edging me away from him. He flashes me a self-conscious smile and I
realise as he glances down that, oh, God… I quickly slide off him.

‘Sorry,’ he mutters with embarrassment, adjusting his jeans.

I bite my lip and blush profusely, looking at him from underneath my lashes.

‘That look you’re giving me is not helping,’ he comments, not without humour. It breaks the ice and I laugh lightly and fiddle with my hair.

His head falls back onto the sofa cushion and he gazes sideways at me, his dark eyes burning into mine.

‘I’m going to ruin dinner,’ he whispers.

I look past him to the open-plan kitchen. A thin trail of smoke is coming out of the oven. ‘I think you already have.’

‘Bollocks!’ he exclaims, leaping up from the sofa and rushing over to pull the oven door open. I follow him in time to see more smoke spill out. ‘Argh!’ He looks around
hopelessly so I hand him an oven mitt and he draws the dish out. Its contents are charred black on top.

‘We’ll just scrape the burnt bits off,’ I say, feeling sorry for him as he swears and places the dish down hurriedly on the hob. ‘Look, it’s not that
bad.’

He peers dubiously at the blackened pieces of chicken as I hunt around for some cutlery to see if I can repair the damage.

We’re in good spirits again soon afterwards because, despite the overcooking, it tastes delicious. We sit at the kitchen table lit by candlelight and he pours me a glass of wine. I feel
very grown-up, even though I don’t really like wine that much.

He catches me gazing at him and pauses for a moment.

‘Is it OK?’ he asks, nodding at my food.

‘It’s lovely,’ I reply. ‘Did you really cook this?’

‘Well, I had quite a lot of help from Mum, but I did peel the carrots.’

‘Is that all?’ I laugh.

‘And the potatoes. I peeled the potatoes.’

‘Wow, that’s really something,’ I joke.

‘I also crumbled up a stock cube.’

‘Gordon Ramsay in the making.’

He laughs.

‘It was nice of your mum to do this,’ I say.

‘She likes you,’ he replies.

I wonder if she liked Isla more… Luckily, before I can even think about asking, he speaks again.

‘I hope I can meet your dad one day. Is he coming back to the UK any time soon?’

‘I don’t know. Not for a while,’ I say, chewing on my lip.

Now’s my chance.

‘What?’ he asks, seeing my expression.

‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ I say, as his face freezes. ‘About my dad,’ I add.

‘Jeez,’ he exclaims, slumping back in his chair. ‘I thought it was going to be something bad, then.’

‘Hey?’ I’m confused.

‘I thought you were going to tell me you’ve kissed someone else or something.’

‘No!’ I cry, horrified and then amused.

He visibly relaxes. ‘So what about your dad?’ he asks, and then it’s my turn to feel tense again.

I’ve been here before and it didn’t go down well on either occasion. Neither Libby nor Natalie believed me when I told them about Johnny.

‘Actually,’ I say, a brainwave coming to me, ‘it might be easier if I show you.’

‘Show me what?’

‘Who he is,’ I reply, getting up to retrieve my phone from my bag in the hall.

‘Who he is?’ he calls after me like a parrot.

I type some very familiar words into the search engine of my phone. The story about me being a local girl comes up, complete with pictures of me in my sunglasses at the riverside restaurant in
Henley.

Nervously, I show Tom the pictures. ‘That’s me,’ I say quietly. He takes the phone from me and scrutinises it, then his eyes widen. He’s completely and utterly lost for
words.