by Amy Sparling
“I told you I’d be here to hang out with you,” Jett says, bending down and disappearing below the desk.
“Yeah but it’s six in the morning. You didn’t have to get here this early.” I walk over behind the desk and Jett sits back up, a brown paper bag and two Starbucks coffees in his hand. “I didn’t want to miss out on one second of being with you,” he says, leaning forward for a kiss.
My lips fits so perfectly on his and the kisses we share are starting to feel a lot like home. “Why do you do this?” I say, pulling out the barstool next to him and sitting down. “Why do you have to be so romantic like that?”
“Uh, because I’m crazy about you,” he says, reaching into the bag. He takes out two blueberry muffins and hands one to me.
I hold the muffin under my nose and breathe in the delicious sugary smell. “I’m gonna miss this when it’s over,” I say softly, turning to look at Jett.
He’s looking at me like he’s just as enamored as I am, but that can’t be true. There’s no way he likes me as much as I like him.
“Who says it has to be over?” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying really hard to win you over.”
I roll my eyes. “Is that code for trying to get you to sleep with me?”
He flinches. “No. Why do you always jump to that conclusion?”
“Because you’re a guy.”
He exhales loudly and shakes his head. “I need to turn on the computer,” I say, taking a bite of my muffin before moving around him to get to the computer. I can tell he’s a little annoyed with me, but I’d rather not dive into the conversation of our pretend relationship, or fling, or whatever this is. I know he’s just trying to be nice. But I don’t need false hope from a gorgeous guy. Hell, the way things are going, I’ll probably sleep with him just for the fun of it. It’s not like a guy like Jett would ever want something meaningful with me anyway.
I flip on the computer and rest my hand on the mouse, waiting for it to start up.
A few seconds of silence pass and then Jett is behind me, his strong chest touching my back. “We need to talk,” he whispers into my hear. I tense.
“About what? I’m busy.”
“No, you’re not. You’re stalling and trying to avoid me.”
His hands cover my arms and slide down to my hands. He turns me around and then steps closer, backing me literally into a corner of the front desk. “Look at me,” he says, like it’s an order.
I look up and he doesn’t say anything. He just takes me in his arms and kisses me hard, deepening the kiss the moment I relent and kiss him back. I hold onto this chest while he pulls me against his strong body, his mouth caressing mine with the energy of someone who can’t get enough. His lips pull away and I lean up on my toes, so drunk on his kiss that I want more. “I’m sick of you pushing me away,” he whispers, his lips just barely on top of mine. “You can’t keep doing it. I’m crazy about you.”
“I don’t believe that,” I whisper back, every fiber of my body needing to be close to him. This is so wrong, so destined to end up in heartache, but fuck it, I don’t care. “I know you like me,” I say, taking in a ragged breath. “I also know this won’t last forever. You’re famous around here. You’ll move on and I’ll always just be the loser without a real home.”
“Don’t say that,” Jett says, closing his eyes.
I shake my head. “It’s true but I don’t really care, okay? So just chill and stop trying to make things better for me. This is a fling and it’s fun and I like it, so just chill out and let’s have fun, okay?”
My voice had risen a little louder than I realized, and Jett’s expression goes from worried to cold. He takes a step back and shakes his head. “I don’t think you listen to anything I say, Keanna.”
“That’s because I don’t believe in any of it.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “What will it take to make you trust me?”
I snort out a laugh. “Jett, please stop. We were having fun. Let’s just have fun.”
“Dammit, Keanna,” he says, his jaw tightening as he runs his hands through his hair, messing it all up. He turns around and holds the back of his head in his hands, staring off in the distance. Then he spins back toward me and shoves me against the desk again, caressing my neck, my ear, my lips with his. I groan at the feel of his hips pressing into mine and he grabs my face in his hands, kissing me hard and then so soft I barely feel it. He pulls back, staring into my eyes for a long moment. “I’ll prove it to you,” he says, his resolve apparent in his features. “I’ll prove it and you’ll be sorry.”
“I’ll be sorry?” I say, trying not to laugh while also catching my breath from that hot make out session.
He grins. “Yep. You’ll be sorry because by then you’ll be totally in love with me.” He puts a finger on my belly and drags it down until it hooks under the waistband of my jeans, he pulls my hips against his and whispers into my ear, “And there won’t be anything you can do about it.”
Damn, that’s hot.
I swallow and try to stand up a little straighter, try to get my head back in the game. And that’s when my elbow hits something warm and I knock over the coffee on the desk. It tips over, spilling scalding hot coffee out of the hole in the lid.
“Shit.” I flinch and flail, but the damage is done. This pretty white tank top is covered in dark brown, the liquid seeping up the shirt and ruining the whole thing.
“It’s okay,” Jett says, turning down the hallway. I hear a door open at the end of the hall and I grab a roll of paper towels to wipe up the mess. Most of the coffee ended up on me, so at least the computer and the papers on the desk are okay.
Jett returns with a black T-shirt with some dirt bike logo on it. “Here, wear this. It’s a small so it might fit you.”
I take the shirt and frown at it. “Where’d it come from?”
“My locker. It’s a couple years old. Doesn’t really fit me anymore, but it’s clean so you can wear it.”
There goes my cute tank top look for the day. “Thanks,” I say, and I duck into the women’s restroom to change. There’s a drawer and a couch in here, and I dig around the drawers and find a new pack of hair ties. I use one to tie up the bottom of the shirt in the back and I roll up the sleeves to make it a little more girly. The moment I pull the shirt over my head I am thanking fate for making me spill the coffee. This shirt smells like heaven. I might never give it back.
*
The morning goes well and working here ends up being pretty fun. So far all of the customers who came in have been coming here a lot so their info was in the computer and all I had to do was check them in. Becca taught me the procedure for signing up a new riding client but I haven’t had to use it yet.
Jett hangs out with me just like he promised, and he knows everyone who comes in so it takes a lot of the pressure off me.
Mrs. Adams—I mean Bayleigh—calls the office phone around noon and asks what kind of pizza we want. She says it like that, using the word’s what kind of pizza do you guys want as if she knows Jett planned on being here all day. It makes my head spin but I manage to have a normal conversation with her.
Half an hour later, she shows up wearing short shorts and a tank top with a checkered flag made of rhinestones on the front. I can tell why all the guys around here call her a MILF. She’s pretty hot for a mom.
Bayleigh smiles and sets down the pizza box in her hands. “Half cheese, half pep. There’s still drinks in the fridge, right?”
“Yeah, thanks Mom,” Jett says, opening the pizza box and grabbing a slice.
“Thanks so much for lunch,” I say, standing tall and trying to look like someone she should like. I mean, she always acts like she likes me, but I want her to definitely like me.
“You’re totally welcome, Keanna,” she says. She pulls her massive purse off her shoulder and sets it on the counter, digging around for a black plastic bag. There’s red Verizon logo check mark on it.
“Okay, so this is the newest model of the phone Jett has,” she says, taking out a phone. Then she pulls out a pink phone case and pops it out of the plastic box. “I got pink, is that okay? If you hate it, we can exchange it but they didn’t really have many cute options.”
“Uh, what is this?” I say, staring at the new smartphone on the desk.
Bayleigh gives a look to her son and puts her hands on her hips. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Shit,” Jett says, chewing faster to swallow the bite of pizza. “Um, yeah, I forgot. Key, Mom got you a phone.”
“What?” I shake my head. “No. No, I can’t take that. I can’t afford the bill. Maybe after I’ve had a job for a while, but—”
Bayleigh holds up her hand and gives me this sweet mothering look. “No worries. I added a line to the business phone plan. We all have phones on the business account. They’re a tax write off, and since you work here, you get one.”
I lift an eyebrow and turn to Jett. “You did this.”
He grins. “You need a phone.”
“I can’t take this, you know that.”
“You can and you will,” Bayleigh says, taking my hand and putting the phone in it. “Besides, I can’t let a teenage girl walk around without a phone. It’s just not safe.”
“She has me, Mom,” Jett says, reaching for another piece of pizza.
“You’re not as safe as a phone,” she says, rolling her eyes at him. To me, she says, “Don’t you worry about this at all. It’s unlimited minutes, text, and data so have fun.”
“Uh, thanks,” I say, trying not to jump into the air and scream for joy. My own phone.
Wow.
Jett has me call him so we can save each other’s numbers into our phones. Bayleigh gives me her and Becca’s numbers and Jett has to constantly show me how to use the damn thing. It’s way more complicated than Dawn’s old cell phone. As soon as we’re done playing with it, and the customers clear out, I put the phone in my pocket and say I have to pee.
As soon as I’m locked safely in the bathroom, I take out the phone, and with trembling hands, I close my eyes and hope she’ll answer.
I call my mom and listen while once again, the phone goes straight to voicemail.
Chapter 22
I don’t know why people get so excited over Friday night football. Friday night motocross should be everyone’s favorite activity. The track is perfect tonight, the dirt smooth and gritty at the same time. The warm summer air has a gentle wind that keeps you from getting overheated. I pin the throttle and soar over our ninety-foot-long tabletop jump, closing my eyes halfway through so that it feels like I’m flying.
It should be five o’clock soon, and Keanna will be off work. I’d asked her to come out and watch me ride for a little bit. I told her she should learn about the sport since she’s working here and all. But really, I just wanted to show off. I know she already likes me, but if she sees how fast I am compared to everyone else out here . . . I don’t know. Maybe that’s lame.
Still, the thought of the girl I’m crazy about sitting in the bleachers and watching me ride makes my chest swell up in this totally caveman-esque way. I want her to know that I am strong and fast, that I can protect her and keep her safe. I’m not sure how riding a dirt bike would prove that, but still.
I really want her to see me ride.
I pull off to the side for a quick water break and another bike rides up to me. The bike’s number plate is empty so I’m not sure who it is until he pulls off his helmet.
“D’andre, man, what’s up?”
He shakes the sweat out of his hair and climbs off his bike, propping it up against the fence post. “Just realizing how out of shape I am,” he says while he catches his breath.
“You didn’t pay to get in, did you?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nah, your dad saw me drive up and waved me in.”
“Cool. Keanna is working the front desk so she doesn’t know everyone who gets in free yet.”
At the mention of her name, his eyebrows rise. “So what’s up with her? You still crushin’ like some kind of teenage loser?”
“First of all, I am a teenager,” I say, holding up a gloved finger. “And secondly, yeah.”
He laughs and shakes his head like he now realizes the amount of trouble I’ve gone and gotten myself into. “What are you gonna do with all the other girls lining up to get with you?” he says.
I shrug and reach for my phone, which I had kept in my pocket even though it’s risky. Of course, I wasn’t planning on crashing so there’s really nothing to worry about.
“Dude, I don’t know,” I say, holding it up like it’s some kind of girl summoner. “They keep texting me. I hoped ignoring them all would make them go away but no such luck.”
“Oh boohoo,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Girls are still flocking to you. How annoying.”
“Shit,” I say, running a gloved hand through my sweaty hair. “Emma sends me naked photos almost once a day. I finally told her to stop sending that shit and she sent about ten more in reply. Do you know how to block someone’s number on here?”
“Block her?” D’andre says it like it’s a curse word. “Shit, man. Figure out a way to forward all those messages to me. No one sends me nudes.”
I shake my head. “I delete them the second she sends them. I’m trying really hard to win over Keanna and if she saw that, she’d never talk to me again.”
D’andre lets out a long breath of air and he’s staring at me like I’ve just decided to sell everything I own and go live under a bridge. “Are you seriously ready to throw away all these hot chicks and settle down with just one of them?”
I grin, not because of what he just said, but because now I’m thinking of Keanna. How cute she is when she smiles, the way she ends all of her texts in an emoji now that I’ve showed her how to use them. The way her body feels when pressed against mine . . .
“Yeah, man. I am.”
“Okay, well I still have to officially meet her if I’m going to give you my blessing,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me like he’s trying to be serious.
“Tonight at the lake.” Now I narrow my eyes at him. “Be respectful and don’t say anything that’ll get me in trouble.
“Like what? How your text inbox is a powerhouse of porn?”
“I delete it all!” I say and then he laughs. I check the time on my phone. There’s still five minutes before Keanna gets off work. “Wanna hit up the track again?” I ask, nodding toward our bikes.
“Yeah, but go easy on me,” he says, grabbing his helmet. “Like, if you stay in second gear, maybe I’ll be able to keep up.”
We get back on the track and although I try going slow for D’andre’s sake, it makes riding so boring. Eventually, I let him pull in front of me and then I tail him, urging him to go faster. It sounds mean but the best way to ride faster is to have someone on your ass making you work harder to stay ahead.
I keep glancing over at the bleachers, hoping to see Keanna. On my fifth lap around the track, someone waves to me from the bottom bleacher bench. Ugh. It’s Emma.
I try to ignore her but she jumps up and yells out my name and I realize that Keanna will be off work soon and the last thing I need is for her to see another girl calling for me.
So I pull over and ride up to her, keeping my bike on and my helmet over my head. She doesn’t get any special treatment.
“Yeah?” I call out over the rumbling of the engine.
“Turn that thing off,” she says.
I shake my head. “I don’t have time. What do you want?”
She puts a hand on her hip and her lip-glossed lips turn down in a pout. “You never thanked me for my pictures.”
“That’s because I didn’t want them. You need to stop sending shit like that to me.”
She scowls. “Why the hell wouldn’t you want them?”
“Because I don’t.”
Her nostrils flare. “Okay, look. I heard the rumors
and I figured they weren’t true, but you’re being a really huge ass right now so maybe they are true.”
“I don’t give a shit what rumors you’ve heard about me, Emma.”
I rev the throttle and shift into first gear, making it clear I’m about to take off.
She steps in front of the bike. “I heard that you’ve been spending time with some bitch who isn’t even from here,” she says, her eyes squinting so she can try to garner something from my expression. She always did that; always went on and on about how my eyes would tell her what I was really thinking.
“Okay, well, since you asked,” I say, pulling off my goggles so she can see me better. “I am dating a new girl and it is none of your business. And if you’d like to keep some of your dignity, stop sending me pictures cause all we do is make fun of them.”
Lies, of course. Like I’d ever show some other girl’s naked photos to Keanna. Still, I know the very idea of it should piss off Emma, and judging by the look in her eyes, it’s done just that.
“You’ll be back,” she says, flipping her silky blonde hair over her shoulders.
I shake my head. “I won’t.”
“You will,” she says, glaring at me. “I know you better than anyone, Jett Adams.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say, sliding the goggles back on. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
Chapter 23
As soon as the last client leaves the office, I shut off half of the lights and lock the front door. Then I go through the closing procedures and log out of the computer, turn off the coffee pot, and power down the credit card machine.
Jett asked me to meet him on the bleachers after work, so I head into the bathroom and do a quick hair check, then put on some powder to make my face seem less stressed. It was a pretty good day at work, but standing and dealing with people all day had made my face all shiny and less radiant.