Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“Wasn’t going to take it back, but I am wondering why I love you right now.”
“Because I’m handsome.”
“That’s my line.” Jet pouts.
“And I’m awesome. We can’t forget awesome.”
“Also, my line. Considering we’ve spent the last two weeks apart, you sound an awful lot like me.”
I take Jet’s hand. “Come on, I have something to show you.”
“If it’s your dick, I’m all for it.”
My arm on my good side goes around his shoulders. “You might want to hold off on the jokes because it might ruin the moment we’re about to have.”
Jet follows me as I hobble toward my spare bedroom to search for something I’ve had all this time but didn’t want to tell him about because I feared he’d think I was creepy.
“Umm, did your legs get injured too?”
“No. My knees just think they’re fifty instead of thirty-three.”
Jet laughs again, but it dies when I push open the closet door.
I point at him. “Make a Narnia joke right now, and I swear I won’t show you what’s in here.”
He puts his arms up like a busted perp.
I pull out a guitar case and wait for some sort of reaction from him. All he does is eye it suspiciously.
“Do you remember after ‘Hat Trick Heartbreak’ hit number one, you donated your guitar to charity, and it was auctioned off online?”
Jet’s eyes widen. “Y-yes … I … fuck, I tried to find out who bought it because I regretted it as soon as I donated it. With my first royalty check, I bought the most expensive acoustic guitar I could find and gave away my old secondhand Yamaha because I’m a dickhead.” His gaze goes to the case. “Please tell me—”
“I wanted to remain anonymous.” I lift the case and put it on the bed. “You wrote that song—our song—on this guitar. And even though our night in Tampa ended disastrously, a part of me always held on.”
Jet stares at it as if trying to convince himself that what he’s seeing is real. “From memory, the winning bid for this guitar was over twenty grand.”
“Twenty-four.”
“My Firebird cost a quarter of that. You got ripped off.”
“No, I didn’t. Because if I couldn’t have you, I could at least have something to remember you by.”
“Can I?” He points to the case.
“Of course.”
Jet unzips the case and pulls out the black guitar, laying it on the bed as softly as he would a baby. His fingers run along the strings in a slow caress.
“You need me to give you a minute alone with your old lover?”
Jet ignores my joke, and his eyes lock with mine. “Why? I mean … I don’t understand why, when you wanted nothing to do with me back then.”
“That’s not true. I thought I could never have you and that we wouldn’t work out, but never, not once, did I stop wanting you. I knew that was wrong because I had Bryce, but I’ve always, always had this pull toward you that I can’t fight. It’s been there ever since the first time I saw you on stage. I don’t know why I bought the guitar. I can only tell you why I’m showing it to you now.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve always held a piece of my heart, but I’m giving all of it to you right now. I love you, Jet.”
Something happens to Jet in front of my eyes. Not a transformation but a shift. His rigid shoulders relax, and he lets out a loud whoosh of air as if he’s breathing without pain for the first time ever. His eyes are glassy as he looks up at me.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
I smile. “I thought I loved you before I left the tour, but these last two weeks without you have only made me realize how deep I am in love with you. I want to make you mine.”
“I want to be yours.” Jet pulls me toward the bed, and I shove my twenty-four-thousand-dollar guitar out of the way. He gasps. “Hey, careful. She’s precious.”
I laugh and move it across the room and lean it against my desk. “Better?”
“Much.” Jet moves toward me with a predatory look in his eye. “Now, I think I remember saying something about taking care of you because you’re old and broken.”
My mouth opens to protest the old remark, even if my body whole-heartedly agrees, but Jet lands on his knees in front of me, his mouth teasing me through my sweats, and I groan instead.
“Bed,” I rasp.
“Because of your grandpa knees?”
“Fuck you.”
“I wish, but I’ve got to take care of my man, and my man is in pain.” Jet stands back to full height and leads me to the bed.
My back hits the mattress, and then his lithe body is on top of me.
We kiss, all tongues and devouring, while Jet’s hand makes its way between us to undo his jeans.