City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1)(94)

His voice was low. “I’ve never been more awake.”

He bent to kiss her, cupping her face with his free hand. Their lips touched, lightly at first, and then with a stronger pressure. It was at precisely that moment that Simon threw open the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall.

He was blinking and tousle-haired and without his glasses, but he could see well enough. “What the hell?” he demanded, so loudly that Clary leaped away from Jace as if his touch burned her.

“Simon! What are you—I mean, I thought you were—”

“Asleep? I was,” he said. The tops of his cheekbones had flushed dark red through his tan, the way they always did when he was embarrassed or upset. “Then I woke up and you weren’t there, so I thought …”

Clary couldn’t think of a thing to say. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that this might happen? Why hadn’t she said they should go to Jace’s room? The answer was as simple as it was awful: She had forgotten about Simon completely.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure whom she was even speaking to. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Jace shoot her a look of white rage—but when she glanced at him, he looked as he always did: easy, confident, slightly bored.

“In future, Clarissa,” he said, “it might be wise to mention that you already have a man in your bed, to avoid such tedious situations.”

“You invited him into bed?” Simon demanded, looking shaken.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” said Jace. “We would never have all fit.”

“I didn’t invite him into bed,” Clary snapped. “We were just kissing.”

“Just kissing?” Jace’s tone mocked her with its false hurt. “How swiftly you dismiss our love.”

“Jace …”

She saw the bright malice in his eyes and trailed off. There was no point. Her stomach felt suddenly heavy. “Simon, it’s late,” she said tiredly. “I’m sorry we woke you up.”

“So am I.” He stalked back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Jace’s smile was as bland as buttered toast. “Go on, go after him. Pat his head and tell him he’s still your super special little guy. Isn’t that what you want to do?”

“Stop it,” she said. “Stop being like that.”

His smile widened. “Like what?”

“If you’re angry, just say it. Don’t act like nothing ever touches you. It’s like you never feel anything at all.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you kissed me,” he said.

She looked at him incredulously. “I kissed you?”

He looked at her with glittering malice. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it wasn’t that memorable for me, either.”

She watched him walk away, and felt the mingled urge to burst into tears and to run after him for the express purpose of kicking him in the ankle. Knowing either action would fill him with satisfaction, she did neither, but went warily back into the bedroom.

Simon was standing in the middle of the room, looking lost. He’d put his glasses back on. She heard Jace’s voice in her head, saying nastily: Pat his head and tell him he’s still your super special little guy.

She took a step toward him, then stopped when she realized what he was holding in his hand. Her sketchpad, open to the drawing she’d been doing, the one of Jace with angel wings. “Nice,” he said. “All those Tisch classes must be paying off.”

Normally, Clary would have told him off for looking into her sketchpad, but now wasn’t the time. “Simon, look—”

“I recognize that stalking off to sulk in your bedroom might not have been the smoothest move,” he interrupted stiffly, tossing the sketchpad back onto the bed. “But I had to get my stuff.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Home. I’ve been here too long, I think. Mundanes like me don’t belong in a place like this.”

She sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t intending to kiss him; it just happened. I know you don’t like him.”

“No,” Simon said even more stiffly. “I don’t like flat soda. I don’t like crappy boy band pop. I don’t like being stuck in traffic. I don’t like math homework. I hate Jace. See the difference?”

“He saved your life,” Clary pointed out, feeling like a fraud—after all, Jace had come along to the Dumort only because he’d been worried he’d get in trouble if she got herself killed.

“Details,” said Simon dismissively. “He’s an *. I thought you were better than that.”

Clary’s temper flared. “Oh, and now you’re pulling a high-and-mighty trip on me?” she snapped. “You’re the one who was going to ask the girl with the most ‘rockin’ bod’ to the Fall Fling.” She mimicked Eric’s lazy tone. Simon’s mouth thinned out angrily. “So what if Jace is a jerk sometimes? You’re not my brother; you’re not my dad; you don’t have to like him. I’ve never liked any of your girlfriends, but at least I’ve had the decency to keep it to myself.”

“This,” said Simon, between his teeth, “is different.”

“How? How is it different?”