by Amy Sparling
My heart thuds so quickly in my chest, I fear he’s going to hear it. But I’ve already started the topic that I’ve been dying to talk about, so I’d be an idiot of I didn’t finish it. “Jace, I am ready.”
A palpable excitement fills the air as Jace contemplates the weight of what I just said. He takes the remote and turns off the television then shifts on his side to face me. The embarrassed and excited smile on my face is so freaking awkward, but I don’t turn away. Not even when he cups my face in his hands and I feel my cheeks blush under them. I am ready and he needs to know that I want to give my all to him.
“Tonight?” he whispers, his eyes staring deeply into mine.
I swallow. Then nod.
Something shifts in his mood, an uncertainty or—oh god, doubt?—flickers across his face after I give him the green light for having sex tonight. My insides shrivel up and explode into painful embarrassment. I finally get the courage to tell him and he doesn't even want to have sex with me!
"What?" I say, a little more defensive sounding than warranted.
He gnaws on his bottom lip. "Well…what I need to say…I, uh…"
Panic and about fifty horrible ideas of what he could say next fill my mind, causing me to burst out with a hurried, "Just freaking tell me, oh my god."
He drags his hand over his face. "Would you be pissed if I already had condoms?"
"Huh?"
The question strikes me as weird at first, because he's the guy and he should have condoms and why the hell would I be mad about that and oh—oh. Okay. He already had condoms. That's why I should be mad. I mean, we haven't yet had sex in our several months of dating and he has condoms, presumably in the nightstand drawer because that's where he keeps flicking his gaze.
And they're probably condoms from sexual exploits with another girl—a prettier girl, a better girl than I am. And now he finally won over his new girlfriend enough to do the deed so he'll just cock an eyebrow and flash that cute smile and ask if it's okay if he uses another relationship's leftovers for our first time.
"Okay, whatever is going on in your head is wrong," Jace says with a small chuckle. "Gosh, your face is adorable when you're internally freaking out."
"What am I supposed to think about this?" I ask in frustration.
He leans over me and pulls open the nightstand drawer, taking out an unopened box of condoms. He shakes the box like a maraca to prove his point. "They're unopened. I bought a box a few weeks ago, you know, just in case."
"Why would I get pissed about that?" I ask. "It's much sexier than a guy wanting to jump my bones with no protection."
He shrugs. "I didn't want you thinking I was assuming we'd have sex, or I was pressuring you too soon by buying them, or—shit, I don't know." He runs a hand through his hair. It makes his bicep grow taunt and the sight of it sends a fire through my belly. "I don't want to screw up anything with you." His voice is resigned, hopeful and desperate all at the same time. "I love you so much, Bayleigh. And it sucks because it feels like everything I do or don't do has the potential to screw up this thing we have going on."
"This thing," I say with a roll of my eyes, "is perfect."
I move closer and nuzzle against his chest. He wraps his arm around me. "We both overthink everything way too much," he says.
"Yeah we do," I agree. I sit up and trace my finger from his collar bone to the elastic waistband of his boxers. "So why don't we stop thinking and start doing?"
A hunger fills his eyes as he digs his hands into my sides and pulls me hard against him. "Yes ma'am," he whispers right before his fingers slide my shirt over my head.
Not wanting to be the only shirtless one in the room, I tug his shirt off and toss it to the floor. The movement is primal sends a rush down to my toes. A few passionate kisses later, and I'm down to my tiny black underwear while Jace hovers over me, completely nude.
His biceps flex as he supports himself and I slide my hands over the smooth, hard surface of his arms and chest, taking in the sight of my gorgeous boyfriend. I am one lucky girl. I slide my hands around his back and squeeze him closer to me, feeling his hard bulge against my belly. He groans with pleasure and closes his eyes.
My heart pounds in my chest, exhilarated and ready. Jace slips a finger under the string of my panties, his eyes taking in the sight of me as he slowly pulls them off. Our eyes meet and my nerves melt away. Everything feels perfect when I am with him. The way he slides his calloused hands over my body, the way he takes in the sight of me makes it seem as if he's the lucky one, instead of the other way around.
My fingers lace around his neck and my legs part for him as he slides a strong arm round my waist, tugging me an inch off the bed. I moan when his lips touch my neck, sending a euphoric feeling coursing through my veins. I gasp when he enters me, but it’s silenced by his moan of pleasure. Our eyes meet and I don't look away, not even when he says, "Damn, you're beautiful."
CHAPTER 11
“Wake up, beautiful.” Hearing Jace’s voice first thing in the morning would have been a perfect start to my Sunday, if only it was the first thing I heard. Instead, the ungodly loud, incessantly horrible chirping of his alarm clock was the first sound of the morning. It startled me out of a deep sleep and into a state of mild panic as I looked around, taking in my surroundings and wondering where the hell I was.
A few seconds and one wake up, beautiful later, I remembered where I was, who I was with and what we had done last night. I yawn and stretch my arms above my head until they touch the headboard behind me. “Hey there, handsome.”
Jace is out of bed, his boxers covered with clothes for the day. He hovers over me and kisses me on the lips, upside-down.
“You need a new alarm clock,” I say, squishing my face in disapproval. “That thing is awful. It sounds like a dying animal.”
“It got us out of bed, didn’t it?” He frowns as I roll over and pull the pillow over my head. “Well, it got me out of bed.”
Hanging out at the motocross park on race day is drastically different than when it's just a practice day. Hundreds of people are here—racers, spectators, children and worried moms. And not to mention about two dozen girls who recognize Jace and ask for an autograph.
I manage to reel in my jealousy while my boyfriend happily obliges to signing posters of himself for various smiling, star-struck faces. After all, he holds my hand the entire afternoon, only letting go when he absolutely has to. I know it's lame, but it sure feels great to be the one who gets to hold his hand at a place where so many girls swoon over him.
JoJo comes up to us between races, her blonde hair pulled back in a sweaty ponytail and a fine layer of dust covering her nose. This time she gives me a small smile before reaching out her hand to fist-bump Jace.
"You did really well in your first moto," he says. “Now we have to do even better for the second one.” I try to pay attention to their conversation, but the motocross lingo is lost on me and soon I get bored and watch the races instead. While they're talking, Jace's phone beeps and he pulls it out of his back pocket.
I know it doesn't matter who texts him because he's allowed to have friends. But I can't help myself when I squint through my sunglasses to catch a peek at his phone. The screen shows one new text message from Sara. He glances at the screen and then shoves the phone back in his pocket without opening the message.
Sara? I've never heard that name before. Jealousy grabs a hold of me and my heartbeat quickens. I take a deep breath and tell myself to calm down. Sara could be another cousin for all I know. Plus he didn't even read the message, and if it was someone important, he'd have read it.
I absentmindedly wring my hands while Jace and JoJo keep talking. I stare out at the track, pretending to watch the bikes as they zoom by, but really all I'm thinking about is that mysterious text message. No matter how many times I tell my brain to chill out and get over it, I'm still not chill and so not over it.
Jace's fingers intertwine between my own, pulling my hand awa
y from the other one. It almost feels like he saw me wringing my hands and decided to hold one of them to make me stop. Or maybe he's just holding my hand just to do it. Regardless, I look over and smile at him and he smiles back.
He leans in, his lips hovering just inches from my ear. He whispers, “Sara is the payroll person for Mixon Motocross Park. She sends a text to everyone when our paycheck stubs are ready.”
I lift an eyebrow, and then quickly cover it up, plastering a bored look on my face. “Okay, so?” I say, totally not as convincing as I should be.
He winks at me and wraps an arm around my waist. “Just thought you should know.”
A warm content feeling falls over me as I gaze into my boyfriend’s eyes. I knew that text was nothing to worry about. I hope that with time—or, you know, no time—I’ll get to a point where things like that don’t bother me at all.
It's amazing how my attitude and perception can change—literally—overnight. Yesterday and for the past few months I've been dating Jace, I was a freaked out jealous rage monster anytime a girl so much as glanced in Jace's direction. I felt inadequate and unworthy to be dating someone of fame and talent and attractiveness. I felt like it'd only take one smile from a hotter, better girl to make him run away and leave me for her.
None of that is true. I know this, but it was nearly impossible to believe until today. I am not inadequate or unworthy. If Jace thinks I'm hot then I'm hot, dammit. It doesn't matter what anyone else, or myself, thinks. And if Jace says he loves me, then he loves me. And love isn't just a four letter word to him. He wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it.
Jace cocks an eyebrow curiously at me as he probably wonders what sorts of things are going on in my head. It's right about now that I realize I'm not just grinning a small, stupid grin. I'm full out smiling like a freaking clown. I force my lips to retreat from the sides of my face and form a more simple, coy smile.
I lift an eyebrow at Jace, mocking him, and then grab his hand. My heart turns to mush when he squeezes it, a silent gesture telling me he loves me. I squeeze back—a silent I love you, too.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Sparling is a Texas native with a passion for young adult literature. In her free time she participates in an unhealthy amount of Xbox playing, attends nerd conventions and reads books with her daughter. Amy Sparling is a pen name for author Cheyanne Young.
You can tweet her @Amy_Sparling or visit her at www.AmySparling.com
Want this eBook autographed? Check out Amy’s Authorgraph page where you can request a FREE digital autograph!
http://www.authorgraph.com/authors/Amy_Sparling
Want more of Hana and Ash at Mixon Motocross Park? Check out Motocross Me, a YA Contemporary Romance novel by Cheyanne Young. Available on Amazon for $2.99
CHECK OUT AMY’S OTHER BOOKS WITH THESE EXCERPTS:
CHAPTER ONE
"Why do you kiss me like this if you're not going to have sex with me?" I ask, exhausted of the same making out after school routine. Elisa's eyes flicker and she looks away, ashamed.
Dammit.
I guess I shouldn't have said it like that, but it's too late now. I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, but it's just so damn frustrating. We make out every day until her Mom gets home, but that's just it. I'm so sick of second base. When will she let me get to third? Or at the very least – short stop.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles. Our legs and arms intertwine as we lay on the futon in her bedroom. She's lying on the inside, up against the corner. I lay on the outside, one arm under her head and the other on her hip. Her cat whines and scratches from outside her door. We've long since banned him from our time together, but he never gets the hint to go away. Elisa thinks it's mean to keep him out there but I think it's awkward to make out with a cat purring nearby, watching our every move. It's all sorts of wrong.
Of course the meowing and scratching on the door doesn't make it much better. I take Elisa's chin and force her to look at me. She gives me one of those smiles that look like a frown.
"You're mad at me," she whispers. I kiss her forehead because she likes that kind of thing; pull her to me even though we are already touching as much as psychically possible. "Lis, I told you we don't have to do it until you're ready."
She grips my arm tighter. "But you're mad, I can tell." I shake my head. "No, I'm not mad. We just can't make out this intensely anymore." I adjust myself through my jeans so she will get the hint.
"You're gross!" she says, pushing me away.
"It's not my fault, babe."
We sit up in an effort to cool ourselves off. I grab the remote off her nightstand and turn on her TV. A basketball game is on, so I flip to the sports channel to clear my mind of sex. She groans because she hates sports. She hates them so much that she hasn't even gone to my last three home games. I guess after six months of dating you get comfortable enough to quit making sacrifices for each other.
Of course, God forbid she gets comfortable enough to sleep with me. Ugh. I shake the thought from my mind and focus on the game. The Rockets are leading by thirty points, which kicks ass.
I throw my arm around her and kiss her hair. It smells like coconut. Her arms are crossed and she's staring out the window, either in a daze or deep in thought – I can never tell. But just in case she's sitting here steaming about me watching sports, I put the remote in her lap. "You can pick something to watch," I say with an innocent smile that means please don't be pissed at me.
She takes it and flips through the channel guide, pausing on each individual channel listing, even the stupid ones. She's definitely lost in thought.
"What's the deal?" I ask, chuckling and nudging to her arm. She shrugs, still not looking at me. I hate when she does this. The whole "get quiet, don't talk to me and force me to pry whatever stupid and trivial thing she's harboring over out of her" thing. "If you're going to act upset and not tell me why then I'm leaving," I say, moving to stand up. I don't actually stand because this fake threat works every time.
"No!" She grabs my arm. "Don't leave, please." Yep, works every time.
"Why are you suddenly sad?" I ask. "We just made out – you should be stoked." I pop my collar even though I'm just wearing a T-shirt. "I know I'm stoked."
Usually she laughs when I do stupid shit like that, but this time she doesn't. She just looks down at the buttons on the remote. The highlights in her hair have grown out an inch already and I wonder if it's really been that long since her birthday when I paid for the dye job. Grabbing her hand, I lift it to my lips and start kissing her head repeatedly like some kind of crazy kissing monster. Eventually, it gets a laugh out of her.
She pushes me away, fixes her now messy hair, and frowns. "I just feel really bad that you want sex so much and I keep denying you." Her bottom lip curls out, her little force of habit that always makes me feel bad.
I don't want a deep-ass emotional talk right now.
"Well then stop denying me," I say, making this exaggerated wink so she knows I'm kidding and won't tear into me for being insensitive. She cracks a tiny smile and I continue, "Look babe, it's not a big deal." Actually, it is a big deal because I'm the only guy on the team who's still a virgin but I lie anyway. "Whenever you're ready for sex, just tell me. But until then, it's fine."
"Really?" she asks, settling on a cooking show.
"Really."
We watch the Food Network until her mom gets home with a pizza. Her mom is kind of religious and doesn't allow us in Elisa's room alone. We end up spending a fun-filled family evening in the living room with her annoying little preteen sister. Sometimes I wonder why I put up with these things. But then her drunk dad – who everyone pretends isn't really a drunk – stumbles and falls flat on his face, making the afternoon worthwhile after all.
I'm expected to leave exactly at nine. When the dreaded time comes, Elisa and I stand in the doorway under the porch light in what turns into a ten-minute goodbye. Crickets chirp and cars zoom down her busy road. We hold each other and mak
e out standing up, a fun little routine we do every time I visit her.
The little seductress bites my lip and I shudder, a tingle going from my lips down through my toes. I run my fingers under the back of her shirt, up her spine and bring them forward to just under her breast. She pulls me closer, tighter, to her body. I freeze, unable to move for fear of losing control and ripping off her clothes right here on the stone entryway to her house.
"I wish you didn't have to go," she whispers, since our faces are incredibly close.
"Me too, baby," I say. It's a strain to speak under all the built up sexual tension in my body.
We break loose from each other and I literally shake myself a bit to bring me back to reality. She looks so hot in the shallow glow streaming down through the dusty porch light. I lean down, kiss her forehead and tell her goodbye.
"Wait," she says a few seconds later. I stop walking and turn back to her. She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip.
"What is it?" I ask.
"This Friday," she says.
"What about it?"
She bites her lip and in the moonlight I can see her blush. "I'm ready."
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EXCERPT FROM PHANTOM SUMMER BY AMY SPARLING
CHAPTER 1
This is the wrong part of town for a teenager to be waltzing around at midnight. But I'm not wearing anything valuable, just my Joe's Diner uniform and beat up flip flops. All the sweat from tonight’s shift has undoubtedly washed off all my makeup and since the smell of grease and cigarette smoke isn’t appealing, I'm probably fine. But just in case any crazies from the ghetto are creeping in their low riders thinking of mugging me, I tighten my jaw and walk like I'm some kind of deranged woman seeking revenge in a Quentin Tarantino film.