Read Online Believe in Me (Jett #1) by Amy Sparling - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amy Sparling
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mansion in the dark. He takes me up a flight of stairs that are off to the side of the house, not the main ones that I’d seen when I was over here. I guess these stairs are further away from his parent’s room, wherever that is.
I’m still watching our hands in the dark as we walk down a carpeted hallway that smells like fresh lavender. Even though I don’t want my brain to think these things, it starts flashing back to the last time someone held my hand. I guess it was a year ago—James. He was just a hookup who hung out in our low-income apartments and he was old enough to buy beer. He always smelled like cigarettes and I didn’t even like him. Why did I let myself get into those situations?
I shudder and then realize we’ve stopped in front of a door with a massive plastic sign on it. It’s white with rounded corners and the number thirty in a big black letters is in the middle.
“Here we are,” Jett whispers, opening the door. “I apologize in advance for any dirty clothes on the floor.”
“As long as I don’t step on a used condom, I’ll be fine,” I whisper back.
He flips on the light when we’re inside and puts a hand to his chest. “I am appalled,” he says, eyes wide like he’s been scandalized. “I can’t believe that’s what you think of me.”
I put a hand on my hip and give him this look like he’s not fooling anyone. He laughs quietly. “Okay okay. But you already know I do all of my hooking up in the Track’s back building, not here.”
“Really?” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Never in your room? I don’t believe you.”
He nods. “I swear. I don’t bring girls here. Then they start thinking they’re getting close to me and they’re like my girlfriend or something.” He shorts and shakes his head. “Not happening.”
Of course someone as gorgeous as Jett Adams would be a massive player. “I guess that’s a good game plan,” I say, wondering how many girls go to bed at night wishing they were the one who could pin him down in a relationship.
“I have to pee,” Jett says, heading toward a door across the room. “Make yourself at home.”
I gaze around Jett’s bedroom. It’s bigger than the last few apartments we lived in, and that’s not even including the attached bathroom or the closet. Jett’s room is tidy, with only an overflowing laundry hamper inside the closet that shows he even lives here on a regular basis. His bed must be a king size judging by how impossibly huge it is and it’s made up with a black comforter and a few pillows.
There’s a flat TV on the wall in the part of the room that’s set up like a living room. It has a coffee table, a futon and an armchair, all black. He has a long dresser with a mirror attached, and dirt bike trophies scattered around various places. They’re all taller than I am, with golden number one emblems blazing in the center.
He doesn’t have any photos in his room, besides a few motocross posters. His nightstand has an alarm clock and a phone charger. He’s a simple guy.
“I’m hardly ever in here,” he says when he walks out of the bathroom.
“I can tell,” I say. I push open the closet door and gasp. The closet is as big as a normal person’s bedroom. He has a row of clothes in there, some shoes and tons of dirt bike gear. But the rest of the room is empty.
Jett appears behind me in the doorway. The sudden closeness of him, mixed with his cologne, makes my toes tingle. I stiffen, not wanting to move and have him back away from me.
“Yeah so,” he says, gesturing to the empty part of the closet. “There’s a ton of room. I was thinking you could hide your stuff in here and no one would even know.”
I’d left my suitcase and duffel bag in the back of his truck, but that’s something I hadn’t thought of. It can’t stay back there forever. Especially if it’s going to rain any time soon.
“So you’re just gonna let me hide out like some kind of hobo?”
I’m regretting this
I’m still watching our hands in the dark as we walk down a carpeted hallway that smells like fresh lavender. Even though I don’t want my brain to think these things, it starts flashing back to the last time someone held my hand. I guess it was a year ago—James. He was just a hookup who hung out in our low-income apartments and he was old enough to buy beer. He always smelled like cigarettes and I didn’t even like him. Why did I let myself get into those situations?
I shudder and then realize we’ve stopped in front of a door with a massive plastic sign on it. It’s white with rounded corners and the number thirty in a big black letters is in the middle.
“Here we are,” Jett whispers, opening the door. “I apologize in advance for any dirty clothes on the floor.”
“As long as I don’t step on a used condom, I’ll be fine,” I whisper back.
He flips on the light when we’re inside and puts a hand to his chest. “I am appalled,” he says, eyes wide like he’s been scandalized. “I can’t believe that’s what you think of me.”
I put a hand on my hip and give him this look like he’s not fooling anyone. He laughs quietly. “Okay okay. But you already know I do all of my hooking up in the Track’s back building, not here.”
“Really?” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Never in your room? I don’t believe you.”
He nods. “I swear. I don’t bring girls here. Then they start thinking they’re getting close to me and they’re like my girlfriend or something.” He shorts and shakes his head. “Not happening.”
Of course someone as gorgeous as Jett Adams would be a massive player. “I guess that’s a good game plan,” I say, wondering how many girls go to bed at night wishing they were the one who could pin him down in a relationship.
“I have to pee,” Jett says, heading toward a door across the room. “Make yourself at home.”
I gaze around Jett’s bedroom. It’s bigger than the last few apartments we lived in, and that’s not even including the attached bathroom or the closet. Jett’s room is tidy, with only an overflowing laundry hamper inside the closet that shows he even lives here on a regular basis. His bed must be a king size judging by how impossibly huge it is and it’s made up with a black comforter and a few pillows.
There’s a flat TV on the wall in the part of the room that’s set up like a living room. It has a coffee table, a futon and an armchair, all black. He has a long dresser with a mirror attached, and dirt bike trophies scattered around various places. They’re all taller than I am, with golden number one emblems blazing in the center.
He doesn’t have any photos in his room, besides a few motocross posters. His nightstand has an alarm clock and a phone charger. He’s a simple guy.
“I’m hardly ever in here,” he says when he walks out of the bathroom.
“I can tell,” I say. I push open the closet door and gasp. The closet is as big as a normal person’s bedroom. He has a row of clothes in there, some shoes and tons of dirt bike gear. But the rest of the room is empty.
Jett appears behind me in the doorway. The sudden closeness of him, mixed with his cologne, makes my toes tingle. I stiffen, not wanting to move and have him back away from me.
“Yeah so,” he says, gesturing to the empty part of the closet. “There’s a ton of room. I was thinking you could hide your stuff in here and no one would even know.”
I’d left my suitcase and duffel bag in the back of his truck, but that’s something I hadn’t thought of. It can’t stay back there forever. Especially if it’s going to rain any time soon.
“So you’re just gonna let me hide out like some kind of hobo?”
I’m regretting this
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