Puck The Halls | Jack Hughes

TWENTY EIGHT

IT FEELS LIKE EVERYONE AT THIS PARTY KNOWS WHAT happened between Jack and I over the weekend. Eyes keep darting to mine, puzzling me out, glaring at me, seemingly pulling apart every detail about me. Jack is with Trevor, Cole and another boy named Alex, they're all out playing beer pong. I'm inside with America and Jemma, I'm sitting on Quinn's lap while he talks to some other older people about who knows what.

He's got his hand on my thigh, holding a beer, it must look pretty out there for a girl who's not even dating the eldest Hughes brother to be on his lap, but to us, this was normal behaviour.

I definitely don't miss the way Jack's gaze periodically snaps to us, before his tears his eyes away with a frown. We haven't seen much of each other since we got back, and to be fair, I wasn't the one who initiated this position. Quinn had, yanking me to him by the waist and staring up a conversation about something completely random, while I sat on his lap.

"Jack keeps glaring at us," Quinn admitted, sighing before gripping at my hips, then placing me on the seat beside him. "Clearly he's still weird about me touching you."

I want to say it's because we fucked and he ate me out and I sucked his glorious dick and maybe we said the L word a few too many times, but what I really say is: "We're just friends, he shouldn't be worried."

"I think he thinks he owns you," Quinn commented, smirking.

I turn my attention to the boy outside, smiling and laughing along with his friends as they watched Trevor gag on the drink he'd just downed. I felt my insides churn at Quinn's words, because, well, I kind of felt the same. And not just that Jack owned me, or that I was rightfully his, but that he was mine.

The game must be over, because the boys are headed inside, making a direct route towards where I was now sitting beside Quinn and not on his lap. Jack's eyes don't even reach mine, in fact, he's making it pretty clear that he's avoiding me.

A frown settles on my lips, but I know I have no place to be sad because Jack's behaviour was entirely my fault. You couldn't blame me for being terrified, what you could blame me for, was the distance between us.

I just wanted him to look at me.

Maybe I spoke too soon, because suddenly he's looking at me, no, scratch that, he's glaring at me. It takes me a second to realise it's because Quinn's nudging my shoulder playfully while he speaks. I tear my gaze away, sighing. But that makes things worse because suddenly Jack's got his hands gripping the waist of a random blonde girl who's passed by.

She was tall, slender, perfect—everything that I'm not—and the entire reason I was hesitant to be with him. I'm furious all of a sudden, fuming so hard I feel smoke just about coming out of my ears, and I can't stop the words that accidentally slip through my lips.

"Are you kidding me, Jack?"

All eyes are on me, shit.

His gaze snaps to me, hands still gripping the waist of the blonde, but he's squinting, like he's accusing me. "What's the problem, friend?"

My cheeks flare at the mention of the word, my own words to him. Yes, admittedly, it had been me who had wanted to stay friends, but I didn't think it would drive a wedge between us, a wedge that was bitter and angry.

My chest rises and falls with each deep breath, hands fists at my sides. "You know exactly what's wrong."

"You know, Miracle—" he cocks his head, switching positions so that his arm is wrapped around blondie's shoulders. He looks angry, hard frown set on his lips and his jaw tense. "I'm not so sure that I do."