Phone Sex | Jack Hughes

11

JACK'S BEEN ON A ROADTRIP HALFWAY AROUND THE COUNTRY for a week and a half. I knew his schedule was going to be sort of hectic when the season started, but I never anticipated how much I was going to miss him when he went away. He's been texting me non stop, since the second he left, but he barely had much time to call me, so anytime he did, he would mostly just force me into telling him about how I'm going, saying it grounded him.

Kept him calm.

Ethan had become progressively stranger as the weeks went by that Jack and I were spending time together, learning about each other. I'm just glad that our assignment is a week from being over, and I'll be free of him and his comments about how I'm not really Jack's girlfriend. That it was only a matter of time before he broke my heart.

He'd even gone as far as to ask me out to dinner at a place we used to go on dates to all the time when we were together. I'd told him no, obviously, and immediately complained about it to Jack, who had offered more than once to put him through a wall, but there was no reason to.

I knew who I wanted. I could handle Ethan.

It wasn't until the Friday before Jack was due to come home that everything started to fall apart. It started with waking up that morning from a text from Ethan letting me know that there was still a bunch to finalise for our presentation and that the only place he could meet me was the very restaurant I'd told him not to.

When I tried to protest, he told me if we failed I would be to blame, and this thing was worth half our grade. So, I sucked it up and agreed to meet him later that night, but only to do our assignment. Nothing more.

Things got progressively more shitty from there. I spilled my $8 morning coffee, lost multiple pages out of my planner on the walk to my morning lecture, forgot a jacket in the freezing lecture hall, and then. Worst of all.

I checked Instagram.

I hadn't heard from Jack since four in the morning when he told me he was getting onto his flight home from LA, that was hours ago, but right now, what I'm staring at, has me questioning absolutely everything he's ever told me.

It's him. Jack. My Jack. And a girl. A blonde girl. They're leaving a bar in Los Angeles, holding hands, she's kissing his cheek.

It's not even a post he made, but a fucking article. The headline: Jack Hughes dating Instagram Sensation Hillary Blake?

My heart sinks, but before I can even think about anything, I've got a text from Jack, and it's like he knows, because he doesn't even let me know he's landed and safe. All he says is:

Rowdy:
I CAN EXPLAIN!!!!!
It's not what you think, baby

But, I don't think I really want him to explain right now, in fact, I sort of just feel sick. Before I know it I'm spiralling, googling their names together in sentence, and I'm horrified, because there's not one search result but hundreds. There's so many photos of them together I can't keep up, it's almost like they've been together for months. She was in fucking Jersey three weeks ago with him, and guess where I was three weeks ago? Ding ding ding!!! In his fucking bed.

The same bed he promised me loved me in. The same bed I slept in until he left. When did they even have time to see each other? Jack and I had spent every slate second tangled up together between his sheets. I vaguely remember he had one night three weeks ago that he had to work late because of promo.

Was he lying to me this entire time?

I feel sick. So much so that I physically have to leave the classroom, and the second I make it to the bathroom, I throw up.

I don't bother checking my missed calls, because I know he's tried about a hundred times so far. Instead, I call Ethan, and sob for him like a pathetic little girl, begging him to come and get me and make it all better.

I don't know why I'm surprised when he does exactly that, picking me up and driving us quietly to the restaurant just like he said he would.

I barely have the energy to tell him I don't want to go to dinner with him and that I didn't care if we failed, I just wanted to cry myself to sleep.

He sort of doesn't seem to care, but I decided that I don't either. If Ethan wanted to buy me expensive wine and hold my hand, so be it. At least he wasn't lying to me. I silently hoped someone would take a photo of us at dinner and make an article about me, just so Jack could see it and know how to feels to be lied to.

By the time I make it to dinner I forget that I've told Jack exactly where I would be a whole three days earlier when I'd complained about Ethan. But, about twenty minutes into listening to the boy across from me talk about the save he made in last nights game, I'm stunned to find Jack Hughes storming right into the exact restaurant I'm at.

He makes a direct bee-line for me, his features turned into a hard frown as his eyes flicker from me and Ethan, then back to me.

Then he absolutely blows my mind, but he asks the couple beside us if they're using the spare chair at their table, and before they can answer, he's snatching it from them, placing it right by my side, and sitting on it backwards.

He's got a cap on his head, keeping his hair back, and he's still in the clothes he'd left in this morning, but there's something different about him, and it takes me a moment to realise.

"Hey, baby," he grins, shoving a handful of fries in his mouth from Ethan's plate.

I scowl at him, recoiling. "Are you drunk?"

He snorts, like this is all a fucking game to him. "I mean, I wouldn't go as far to say I'm drunk, but I may have accidentally finished a bottle of rum on my own."

"What the fuck, man?" Ethan growls, lacing my hand with his. "Leave us the hell alone, can't you see we're busy?"

Jack raised a single eyebrows in his direction. "I can see that you're busy trying to get between my girlfriend's legs when she specifically told you no."

"Jack," I hiss, staring at him like he's crazy, wild, even.

"That's my name, princess," he grins, his tone teasing. Then, he turns to the waitress passing by. "Can I get a shot of vodka?"

"Jack!" I snap, louder this time.

He turns to me, frowning. "What, Lyla? You're allowed to ignore me all day, go on a date with another man who's not your boyfriend, not let em explain myself, but I'm not allowed a glass of wine?"

"You are being ridiculous," I hiss, my frown so deep it hurts.

"Just playin the game, baby."

Now he's not even making sense.

"Hughes, fuck off," Ethan snaps, his voice raised slightly, and I can tell already that it's set Jack off.

He turns to him with a snarl, gabbing my wrist and yanking it free of Ethan's hand. "Get your fucking hands off my girl, asshole."

"Okay," I shout, standing to my feet, Jack looks up at me like he's terrified for his life, as he should be. "Up, Jack, now. We're leaving."

"What the hell, Lyla?" Ethan cries.

"Leave it, Ethan," I frown, grabbing Jack by the wrist and yanking him after me. "Let me handle this on my own."

I drag him all the way out to the street, and then a little further for good measure, shoving him by the chest as hard as I can—which does basically nothing—before he turns back to me with a frown that resembles a kicked puppy.

"Explain yourself, Hughes," I growl. "Now."