Page 6 of Jig's Last Dance

“Ignore him. He’s a dick. I think your tits are perfect.”

Keith, deep into a conversation with his bros, swings around at her statement. “Mm, I agree. You’ve got pretty little titties, babe.”

I cast him a sour look. Dig the hole a little deeper, dick. What’s wrong with a handful? Jeez.

He smiles charmingly, and I silently sigh. It’s time to let this go. I have plenty of admirers with my tiny, thin build,perfecttits, and blonde hair. Who cares what either of them think?

But the woman in me who wants Jig to see something beautiful is dying to know if he agrees. Fuck.

“C’mon,” Keith says, throwing his arm over my shoulder.

With a smile for Shawn, who gives me a thumbs up like a dick, I allow Keith to pull me into the trees. He’s been trying to get in my pants since freshman year.

I have zero desire to give up my virginity in the forest, not that Keith has any idea. I’ve never shared that little tidbit. It’s not that I’ve never had offers. Frankly, no one has lit that fire I’ve been looking for.

Maybe that’s another mirage, though?

If I were honest with myself, I’d admit that Jig might have been a front-runner if he didn’t play with the big fish. But as Shawn so eloquently referred to him, a fallen, he’s firmly off-limits.

Sometimes I think she smokes too much dope. Fallen. More like the devil’s own reject.

Once we’re in the trees, Keith backs me against a trunk and leans over me. He’s cute with dark blue eyes and short dark hair. He’s also no slouch physically and keeps in shape to remain on the football team. But when our lips meet, I close my eyes, and Jig’s blazing blue peepers appear with crystal clarity.

Shit. Seriously?

Stifling a frustrated groan, I open my eyes and meet Keith’s eager stare.

“Babe,” he says, shoving his tongue past my lips. He’s a little overeager, but it’s not unpleasant. It just does nothing for me.

However, the longer he goes at it, the more it feels like he’s trying to suck my soul from my body. And finally, I pull back for air, turning my head to hide my frustration only to meet Jig’s fiery glare.

What the fuck is he doing out here?

He searches my gaze, and I frown, jerking back when Keith touches my cheek. Jig’s brow furrows as he looks between us before his mouth pulls into a smirk.

Dick. With a narrow-eyed fuck you, I turn back to Keith and grab his head, meeting him halfway and kissing him as though I might die if I don’t. I can play games too, fucker.

When I come up for more air, Jig is gone, and the triumphant burn in my belly fades, replaced by dizziness. And when Keith moves to pick me up, I put my hand out and groan.

“What?” he says, grabbing my ass.

“Nothing, I feel sick.” It’s not a lie. My stomach feels swollen and achy. Did I drink that much?

“Really? C’mon,” Keith says, leaning in for another round, but I cut him off when I can’t hold back the tide.

Leaning over, I spew, missing his feet only because he jumps back just in time.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Oh god,” I moan, dropping to my knees. Cramps overtake me, and I convulse, but they just keep coming. And it hurts. My stomach rolls, and the acidic burn blazes a trail up my throat.

I haven’t felt this gross since my appendix burst in the seventh grade and I had to have emergency surgery.

With tears in my eyes, I curl into a ball. I have no idea what happened to Keith, but I don’t care. I think I’m dying, and I don’t want his face to be the last thing I see anyway.

There’s nothing left to purge, but the fucking nausea continues. Wiping my mouth with a whimper, I rub my aching sternum.

“C’mere.”