 
# Believe in Me

### A Believe in love novel

## Amy Sparling
Copyright © 2016 Amy Sparling

All rights reserved.

First Edition April 2016

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Cover image from BigStockPhoto.com

Typography from FontSquirrel.com

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems -except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews-without permission in writing from the author at admin@amysparling.com.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author's imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Created with Vellum

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

About the Author

# Chapter 1

Keanna

* * *

Another small town and another craft fair. This time Mom and I are in Texas, somewhere called Lawson. It's dry and hot, but not the scorching, make-you-want-to-strip-in-the-middle-of-the-street heat that was in Phoenix a few days ago. Texas is humid. Hot. Those rumors about Texas having cowboys everywhere are true.

I'm staring at one right now. He's middle-aged, overweight, and wearing a pair of dark Wrangler jeans and cowboy boots. His cowboy hat is black and, goofy as it looks, it seems to be doing a good job of keeping his eyes shielded from the blinding sun. I can sympathize with this man even though we have about nothing in common. He's stuck here just like I am, at a craft fair set up in some church parking lot in the middle of a tiny ass town. His wife is peddling her wares: scented candles in mason jars.

My mother is peddling hers, wind chimes and jewelry made of broken glass. Not that I'd ever tell anyone, but it's mostly beer bottles that she roughs up in a rock tumbler then claims she found the pieces of blue, green, and brown littered on beautiful beaches all over the country.

Dawn is a free spirit. She really has traveled the country, but she's also got to make a living somehow and beaches aren't as rife with sea glass as you might think. I would know, I've spent my entire life trailing along behind her, in matching boho dresses from thrift stores, scouting the sands for that buried treasure. Dawn's ultimate goal is to travel the world but world-traveling is expensive and having another mouth to feed—me—makes

Dawn is my mom. She doesn't like to be called Mom. I call her that in my head though, because as natural as it is for her to pack up our suitcases overnight and shove us into a bus to relocate to a new town every few months, it's also natural for me to call my mother Mom.

I can't say it to her face, though.

I am seventeen. Dawn just turned thirty-three a few weeks ago.

Don't want to do the math . . . it's a little sad.

Dawn never wanted to be a mother but she also didn't want to give me to someone who didn't deserve me, or so that's what she always says when we're at a restaurant, getting a free meal from an attractive guy with gaga eyes for her. She always manages to tell this tale to every man she dates. She'd wanted to give me up for adoption but never got the guts to do it. She reminds me all the time, like I should be proud that she has such high standards for me or something.

I am aware that my life is weird. Every school I've ever gone to has had at least one kid there who made sure to point it out.

There are certain things that non-weird people my age consider normal. Like, having a massive closet full of various articles of clothing that you can mix and match to make a new outfit for each day.

Dawn and I never have more than we can fit into one suitcase each. That leads to a lot of wearing the same thing over and over again. People call it weird. I call it my life.

I look down at my jeans, faded and ripped along the thighs. Cuffs rolled up to look like they're fashionably short and not just high waters because I got too tall for them ages ago. They're too baggy because I can't keep weight on my bones because we hardly ever eat. Luckily for me, these old jeans are in style right now. They call them the "boyfriend cut" at American Eagle. Also lucky for me, so is being thin as hell.

Guess I should be happy, right?

Dawn's thumb and forefinger snap me right out of my daydreaming. "Look alive, kid. Make yourself look desirable. You never know when your prince charming will run into you."

Her eyes are crystal blue, almost completely colorless as she stares at me with that look on her face like she's giving me invaluable advice. My eyes are dark, deep voids, almost like I have no color in them at all, just two big pupils. They're a genetic gift from whichever man decided to knock up a fifteen-year-old. Dawn won't tell me who he is, but I think it's because she doesn't exactly know, not that she's trying to keep it a secret from me. We're pretty open with each other.

I've seen enough TV to know that most parents wouldn't frequently tell their kids how badly they wished they'd adopted them out instead of keeping them.

"I'm not sure why a prince charming would show up here," I say, looking around at the crowd of craft fair goers, mostly older women and a few children walking from booth to booth.

"I'm sure that's what every spinster has said about every place they've ever gone," she says, holding her chin up high as she adjusts one of the wind chimes on our retractable canvas tent that serves as our temporary storefront.

"I'm seventeen you know. I'm not close to being a spinster yet."

Mom flashes me a smile, her small, pouty lips leaving absolutely no question to why so many men find her drop dead gorgeous. "That's also what every spinster said when _they_ were seventeen."

I snort and gaze back out at the craft fair. It's a small one this weekend, with only about fifty booths set up around us. There's a little walkway between them all and we're set up between the candle lady and another woman selling knitted baby clothes.

A woman and her husband walk up hand-in-hand, cooing over Mom's wind chimes. I watch as Mom saunters over to them, somehow seeming like an old friend instead of a salesman. She has this charm about her that always ends up getting her exactly what she wants.

In this case, it's three wind chimes sold. The woman buys one for herself and two for her sisters and I ring them up with a credit card swiper attached to my cell phone. At fifty dollars each, we just made enough money to score another week in the motel on the outskirts of town.

It's also enough for bus tickets, should Mom decide to pack us up again. Summer just started, like literally three days ago, so who knows how often we'll be moving around now.

After a few run-ins with the police for truancy, my mother had to agree not to move me from school to school for at least four months in between. The last four months were spent in Phoenix, Arizona. But now that it's summer, who the hell knows how many places we'll stay.

Mom is a wanderer and I'm stuck along for the ride.

Part of me can't wait until I turn eighteen so I can extract myself from all of this traveling and settle down somewhere to start a real life of my own.

The other part of me is terrified of being without Dawn. There is no house in this world that I would call home. There's only Mom and me, and that makes her my home.

Around four-forty-five, Mom extracts herself from the group of people she'd been chatting with and wraps an arm around my shoulders. The dozen fake-gold bangles around her wrist clack against my back.

"Take one of my fabric totes from under the table," she whispers, her breath smelling the like mint gum she'd bummed off of the cowboy earlier. "Go see if there's any leftover food in the church and grab as much of it as you can."

I nod. This church craft fair had provided finger foods for the patrons and craft sellers for lunch. I'd had four mini sandwiches filled with some kind of meat and mayo and two bags of chips. It was the biggest lunch I've had in a while and my stomach still aches from being so full. If they have any leftovers . . . this will be an awesome day.

The church's rec room is empty when I walk inside, well except for the Jesus hanging from a cross on the wall. He's nearly as tall as I am, his expression a little painful to look at. I open the cloth tote bag and make my way to the food table, grabbing a napkin and loading it with the remaining sandwiches. The only chip bags left are of the gross flavors and the healthy low-calorie snacks, but I take them anyway.

Footsteps sound behind me and I jump, trying to look casual. A church wouldn't, like, get me arrested for stealing, right?

"What's taking so long?" Mom says, rushing over to me. I let out the breath I'd been holding, relieved as hell that the intruder was just my mom, and show her the inside of the bag.

"We got a lot of stuff," I say with a grin.

Mom frowns. The tip of her drawn-on eyebrow is starting to smudge off from the heat of the day. "Keanna, do you want to eat for the rest of the week or just for tonight?" She gestures to the meat and cheese tray on the end of the table. "Get the rest of this damn food, girl."

"I didn't want to take everything," I say, feeling a rush of warmth spread into my cheeks. Maybe it's because Jesus is over there dying on a cross and I'm stealing food right from under Him.

"Look around, kid," Mom says, rolling up a stack of sliced turkey and shoving it into a napkin. "This food is free, so take it. Churches like to feed the poor and all of that, and honey, we're poor."

I let out a huff of air and grab the last two bottles of water, shoving them into my bag.

As we turn to leave, a woman steps into the room. Mom keeps walking but I accidentally stop. The shock of seeing someone who totally was close enough to hear our conversation makes me temporarily paralyzed.

"Oh, hello there," the woman says. She seems pleasant enough, maybe about my mom's age. She glances at the empty food table and then offers us a polite smile. Mom hisses my name, wanting me to hurry up, and my legs finally start moving.

"Wait!" the woman says. My heart leaps up into my throat.

Mom turns around, her multi-colored sundress swaying around her legs. "Can I help you?" she asks.

The lady nods. "You're the woman with the wind chimes, right?" She puts a hand to her chest. "They are absolutely beautiful. I know the craft fair is closing down soon but are you still open by chance? I was hoping to stop by and get one."

Mom beams, her attitude going from defensive to cordial in half a second. "Of course, of course. Come with me. My name is Dawn Byrd and I'm the artist."

"Becca Park," the woman says, shaking Mom's hand. "I run this craft fair and I remembered seeing your entry online when you registered. I've been wanting to come get a wind chime all day but," she shakes her head and lets out a breath. "This has been a busy ass day. I had no idea running this thing would be so hard."

"Well you did a fantastic job," Mom says, leading her back into the parking lot toward our booth.

As they keep talking, I start to wonder if the lady heard our conversation or not. If so, she's being nice by not saying anything. But I guess once people are grown up, they don't dive at every chance to make fun of you for being poor like the kids at my old high school did.

Becca Park and Mom talk for fifteen minutes, and Mom works her charm on the woman. Pretty soon, they're laughing and joking as if they're old friends. I envy Mom's innate skill to bond with just about anyone. That's another thing I never inherited from her.

"Listen," Becca Park says, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. I notice the massive diamond wedding ring on her finger and wonder what she did to make sure she didn't end up as a spinster. "I know we just met and this might be a little forward of me, but I just love your art, Dawn. And well, I'd like to invite you and your daughter over for dinner tonight." She smiles wide and bites on her lower lip. "I live just down the road and my husband is making burgers. There's plenty to go around and I'd love to hear more about your wire-wrapping process. What do you say?"

Mom looks at me and I shrug. But I should have nodded because burgers and leftover food in one day just never happens. They say everything is bigger in Texas, and from what I've seen, the amount of free food certainly is.

"Absolutely, Becca," Mom says, reaching forward and grabbing Becca's hands in hers. "We would love to, isn't that right, Keanna?"

I nod, the thought of getting a few hours away from our smelly motel room making me happier than I've been in weeks. "Yeah, I'd love a burger."

"Wonderful!" Becca says. "Come on, I'll help you pack up your booth."

# Chapter 2

Jett

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The sun blinds me as I swing my bike wide around the berm of dirt, turning to the west. I drop down to third gear, the bike screaming in protest at the reduced speed. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but dammit if I wasn't hoping for ten more minutes of riding before the setting sun blinds the hell out of me on the track. I stand on the pegs and drop to second gear, riding slowly over the massive jump, dipping the visor on my helmet to block out as much sunlight as possible. Then I pull off the track and ride back to the garage.

The garage is a massive metal barn, used to store dirt bikes. Mostly those of paying customers, but I keep my bike here instead of at home, which is just down the street. My parents own The Track, a place aptly named because that's just what it is—a motocross track. They rarely hold races here because it's mostly a practice facility. My dad and his best friend Park are old has-beens in the professional motocross world. They turned their knowledge into a training course and usually it's badass.

But summers kind of suck because now I have to work.

As I hop off my bike and prop it up into the storage space, I can practically hear Dad's words now.

_"Son, you're sixteen now. Your lifestyle isn't cheap. It's time you worked for your money instead of having me hand it to you."_

Then, of course, Mom had stepped in the last time Dad brought up the topic of me working at his business.

_"Honey, he's just a kid. He needs to focus on school work."_

_"Not in the summer,"_ Dad had said.

And now here it is, the first week of summer break before my junior year of high school, and I'm already working.

Not cool.

I rip off my helmet and sling my head, letting sweat fly off in all directions. After a day of working at the track, I'd only been able to ride for fifteen minutes. Last summer I spent all damn day out here, working on my technique, getting faster with each lap. Now that I'm forced to work for ten bucks an hour, I'm starting to wonder if my dad doesn't want me to go pro when I'm eighteen.

He tells his clients all the time that practice is everything. And now I'm stuck not being able to practice.

I head into the main building and find Dad in his office, staring at his computer screen as if it had personally offended him. "What's up?" I say.

He runs his thumb and index finger across his forehead and shrugs. "Taxes are kicking my ass. I'm gonna have to get your mother in here to fix this."

I snort. "She's going to love that." Dad always tries to do legal tax stuff by himself but Mom always has to bail him out. She's the one who graduated with a Master's in accounting after all.

"Tell me about it," Dad says, rising from his chair. "How was your second day of work?"

"It sucked," I say, grabbing a water bottle from the mini-fridge in Dad's office. "I only got to ride for fifteen minutes."

"Riding isn't part of your job description, kid."

I roll my eyes and he grins. "You're worried about not getting enough practice huh?"

"Of course I am. You always say you gotta ride your heart out to make it pro." I finish the water and crunch the plastic bottle in my hand.

Dad shakes his head. "How about this. You work three days a week, and you ride four days. That's plenty of practice to make it big."

"Thanks," I say, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. "Can I have tomorrow off?"

Dad laughs. "Nope. It's peewee lock-in night and I'll need your help."

Damn. I forgot about that. The peewees are what they call little kids who ride dirt bikes. Like four to seven-year-olds. The Track has these lock-ins during the summer where the kids will ride all day, then lay out in sleeping bags in our entertainment room and watch TV and eat pizza until the morning when they'll ride all day again.

I used to love lock-ins when I was little. I already practically live here, so sleeping over was even better. Now I have better things to do than sleep next to snoring little kids. I say goodbye to Dad and head down to the front office where I've stashed all my stuff into one of the tiny employee lockers. I'd promised Emma Clarke I'd be off work by six and it's almost six-thirty. The girl hates being kept waiting, but damn if that's not what she does to me all the time.

There are a few parents in the front office, signing up their kids for the lock-in. Luckily, some chick who works the desk is here so I don't have to do anything. I'm still not sure what her name is, but she's kind of hot for being like thirty-something.

I grab my phone and find two missed texts from Emma. One simply says _It's six o'clock, asshole._

The other is a kissing face emoji.

I really don't get this girl. But I get her lips on mine, so I keep putting up with all of her hot and cold mood swings.

I text back _Just got off work, want me to pick you up after I shower?_

And a phone dings from across the room. Shit.

I look up and my eyes find hers. Bright blue eyes, perfect blonde hair, and one hell of an evil glare.

"Hey," I say, putting on a smile as I cross the room and give her a hug. She remains stiff in my arms, so I pull back. "What do you want to do tonight?"

She folds her arms across her chest, her fake nails sparkling as much as the rings on her fingers. "You mean what _did_ I want to do."

"I don't understand."

She rolls her eyes and takes in a deep breath. "Did. As in, the past. Because right now, I am sick of all of your lies, Jett Adams. You are such a prick, you know that?"

The woman behind the counter calls my name. "Take your drama outside, please." She shoos at us with her hand and I grab Emma's arm, pulling her outside.

"Look, I have to work now. I can't be at your beck and call anymore. I still want to hang out, so tell me where you want to go."

Emma flips her hair over her shoulder with such precision that I have to wonder if she's practiced that move in front of the mirror. "I don't want to go anywhere with you, Jett."

Her lips flatten into a thin line and she turns on her heel, digging a hole in the gravel walkway. "Call me when you decide that your stupid dirt bike isn't more important than me."

I should probably let it go, but I'm a little sick of having shit thrown in my face when I've made my expectations clear.

"Listen Emma," I say, moving in front of her so she's forced to stop prancing away from me. "Dirt bikes will always come first in my life. And don't give me that look. I told you this weeks ago."

Her eyes turn up to the sky like she thinks I'm just _so_ stupid, and I kind of feel like walking away from her right now. She's not worth the effort. She's hot as hell, with a killer body, but still not worth the effort.

"I told you I'm not settling down and I have no desire for a girlfriend," I say, because she clearly needs the reminder.

"I never asked to be your girlfriend, now have I?" Emma says, hands on her hips.

"Look, I like you and we have fun, but when you start bitching at me like I'm some sort of shit boyfriend, that's when I draw the line." I'm still covered in sweat from riding so I lift the front of my T-shirt and wipe it over my face. Emma's eyes dart to my abs and I get probably way too much satisfaction from that. "I don't want a girlfriend and right now you're acting like one. So why don't _you_ call _me_ when you're looking for some fun."

She huffs. "Fine."

I meet her stony gaze with a look of apathy. "Fine."

Mom stops me when I walk in the kitchen. "I need a favor," she says over a frying pan. Looks like she's making fried chicken which is one of my favorite meals of all time.

"Can it wait a bit?" I ask, reaching for a piece of cucumber from the salad on the table. "I need to shower."

"Sorry, it can't wait." Mom ducks into the fridge and digs around, emerging with a block of cheddar cheese. She holds it out to me. "Becca needs this, apparently they only have Colby jack and Park hates Colby jack." Mom smiles. She is what my friends call a MILF, but really I just see the woman who raised me, working and going to college full time while somehow managing to tuck me into bed every night when I was a kid.

"Sure thing," I say, grabbing the cheese.

Becca and Park are our neighbors, though their house is kind of a ways away since we both have a ton of land and the Track between us. I hop on the small pit bike in the garage, crank up the motor and drive it over to their house. I've known these people my entire life and they're kind of like second parents to me since they never had kids of their own. Park used to be a professional motocross racer as well, but he didn't have nearly as bad of a temper as Dad did. I'm not really sure why he quit racing, but I think it has something to do with Becca.

I walk up the steps to their massive wrap around porch and knock on the door. The Victorian house is something like five billion years old and although they've renovated the interior, Becca insisted on keeping the outside of the house original with its intricate wooden decorations and huge old windows.

"Come in, come in," Becca says, yanking open the door.

I hold out the cheese. "I just need to drop this off. You don't want me in there, I stink."

She smiles. I notice she's kind of dressed up compared to usual and her make up is all done. She must have done another craft fair thing. "Sorry, you've got another job to do," she says, taking the cheese.

I follow her into the kitchen and out the back door to the patio. Park is standing at the grill, talking to some woman I've never seen before. Another girl, probably about my age, sits on a patio chair, staring at her fingernails which are plain and natural, not all done up with rhinestones and polish like Emma's.

The girl looks up at me and I offer her a smile. She looks away.

Okay then, be a bitch.

"What's up?" I ask Becca. She turns to her husband.

"Which one tastes better?" He asks, holding up two pieces of hamburger meat.

I eat one and then the other. "I don't know, the first one?"

"Told you!" Park says, pointing to his wife. "I am the best meat seasoner."

"Ugh," Becca says, throwing me a look. "Kid, you're supposed to like mine better."

I shrug, wondering if they'll ever stop calling me kid now that I'm no longer one. "Sorry, you should have warned me."

"You want to stay for dinner?" she asks, motioning toward the patio table. "These are our friends Dawn and Keanna."

I'm not sure which name belongs to which person, the hippie or the super thin girl that looks like she wants to burn the place down. Mom's cooking at home of course, but I could eat a burger and then eat Mom's chicken. I'm about to agree to stay for a bit when my phone beeps.

_Sorry for the BS earlier. Let me make it up to you . . ._

Damn, just a few words on a phone screen and I've practically got a hard on already. I swallow. "Sorry, I wish I could stay but I've gotta head home."

# Chapter 3

Keanna

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Ugh, rich people. Could this house be any bigger? The furniture any nicer? These people have a full kitchen inside the house and then another one _outside_ of the house. We're sitting on a massive wooden deck with extravagant patio furniture, a grill and a granite countertop kitchen outside. There's even a bar and a flat-panel television mounted on the wall.

Our hosts have music playing from invisible speakers in the roof. It really is a beautiful summer night, and the smell of burgers on the grill has my mouth watering, but it's hard not to feel a tinge of resentment that some people get to live this way every single day.

Like that guy who just came over here with a block of cheese. Tasting burgers like it's no big deal, like family and friends and free meals come all the time to him. Hell, having a block of cheese in the fridge like _that's_ no big deal—even that is hard for me to comprehend.

Becca just spent the last five minutes talking about him. His name is Jett apparently. What kind of name is that? It's something rich people name their kids, I guess. Becca goes on and on about what a great kid he is. Did she not see that he's around six feet tall and his arms are absolutely ripped? That doesn't exactly say "kid" to me.

I tune out most of the polite chatter after the man of the house, a guy named Park, gives me a burger. Becca had said her last name was Park and now her husband's name is also Park so that's kind of weird. I don't bother asking what the deal is, because it's not like I'll see these people again after tonight.

I load up my burger with extra cheese and mayo, ketchup, pickles, and even lettuce. Screw it, I put everything they have on my burger because it's available and after one bite I realize this is way better than any dollar menu burger I get with Dawn. I even crumple some potato chips inside and then smash the bun on top to hold it all in. The food is so good; I can't even think straight.

And then Mom starts talking and my senses go on high alert. She's got that dreamy look in her eyes and I steady myself for whatever embarrassing thing she's going to say next.

Only, when she speaks, it's not really that bad.

"I am loving Texas so far," Mom says, grabbing another handful of potato chips from the bowl in the middle of the table. "When we moved here from Arizona, I knew I didn't want to settle down in another large city, you know? I wanted something small, more low key with friendly people."

Becca nods along in agreement and it takes a lot for me to keep my mouth shut. Dawn in a small town? Yeah, right. They are the bane of her existence. She's always talking about how we're going to hit up every major city and sell her art there. Why the sudden change of heart?

"That's what I love about Lawson," Becca says. "We're only forty-five minutes from a big city in case we need something, but we're far enough away that we have all this wide open space."

Mom nods. Then her lips turn down and she shakes her head slightly, like she's disappointed in something. "It's a shame, really. I was hoping to settle in and stay here, but it looks like we'll be leaving in the morning."

"Why's that?" Becca asks, refilling my sweet tea from a pitcher on the table.

"Are you gonna eat that, babe?" Park asks, nodding toward the rest of her burger. She shakes her head and slides her plate over to him.

Mom makes this big dramatic sigh. "Well, my art is my way of living, of course, but if we're going to get enough money for a down payment and first month's rent, I need a job, you see."

Oh god... this is where Mom begs these kind new people to get her employed. My stomach tightens.

"And the great news is that I found a wonderful art consulting job that has a generous sign on bonus and it would let me work from home."

Wow. I did not see that coming.

Becca's eyes brighten. "That's wonderful, Dawn!"

Mom shakes her head "Unfortunately, I have to do the interview and paperwork in person, and it's down in Corpus Christie which is about a six hour drive from here if I'm not mistaken. I wish I didn't have to drag poor Keanna with me, but I can't leave her in a hotel alone."

This is the first I've heard of Mom's fancy new work from home job offer. But I'm not about to question her in front of these people. Mom tends to lie about nearly everything, especially when talking to strangers. But I'm not sure what her angle is here. What's the point in lying about something like this?

"Why don't you let Keanna stay here?" Becca says. "That way you won't be dragging her to your interview and she won't be left alone in a hotel. We have plenty of room here."

Ah. So that's Mom's angle.

Mom puts a hand to her chest. "Oh, I couldn't. That's way too much of an imposition."

"Nonsense. We don't mind at all. Do we, Park?"

Her husband swallows a huge bite of food and nods. "Yeah, I don't mind. She's welcome to stay."

My eyes widen. "I . . . No that's . . .I don't need to stay."

Dawn puts a hand on my arm. "Honey, you don't want to spend six hours in the car only to sit in the car while I do my interview and then have to drive all the way back, do you? The interview will take hours and I can't bring you in with me, that would just look unprofessional."

I open my mouth to object, but I don't want to cause a scene. The thing is, we have never gone more than an hour away from wherever we're currently staying only to come right back again. That kind of talk sounds suspiciously like we've found a home in Lawson, Texas and like Mom actually wants to settle down.

I never thought that would happen. But the idea is kind of awesome. I'd love to stop moving around, maybe get a job and earn some money. Maybe even _possibly_ consider college after my senior year.

"What do you say?" Becca asks me. "We just got a new TV for the guest bedroom. You'd love it."

TV? My own room?

Even though it's only for twenty-four hours, I can't possibly say no to that. "Sounds great," I say. Mom's face lights up like this is the best thing she's heard all year.

"Excellent!" Mom says. "Thank you both so much. I can tell we're going to become really great friends!"

After dinner, which came with a delicious chocolate cake for dessert, Becca takes me upstairs to show me the guest bedroom. It's bigger than the last few motel rooms I stayed in with Mom and it takes everything I have not to dance around like a crazy person the moment I step inside the room.

Plush grey carpeting feels like clouds under my worn sandals. The walls are a faint yellow and fresh sunflowers sit in a vase on the vanity. The bed is huge and although I don't plop down on it like I want to, it looks really comfortable. Also, there's a massive television mounted on the wall. These next twenty-four hours are going to be the best of my life.

I walk over to a large canvas painting on the wall. Splashes of blue and yellow paint cover the canvas and there's a quote drawn on in sloppy, paint splattered letters.

_"If you want something you've never had, you have to do something you've never done."_

Becca catches me staring at it and walks over. "This is cool," I say, resisting the urge to touch it.

"Very inspiring," Mom says with an approving nod.

"Oh, I'm so glad you think so," Becca says. "This is one of my newer paintings, but I haven't put it in my shop yet."

"You made this?" I ask, my mouth falling open. "It's really cool."

She nods. "I run an online shop with my paintings. It's called Becca's Inspirations. I spent the last decade selling my art online but a few years ago I started doing craft fairs. They're a lot of fun."

"You have a lot of talent," Mom says. "We should partner up sometime. Display your paintings next to my wind chimes!"

Becca nods, and then she gets this sneaky look on her face. "Would you like to see my newest stuff? I haven't shown anyone yet."

Mom clasps her hands together in front of her chest. I'm not sure if she's putting on an act so that Becca will like her, or if she's really serious. It's probably a mixture of the two. "I would love to see your work."

Becca leads us outside and then we take a short car ride to a dirt bike track. She drives us around the back of the main building.

"I have a studio in my house, but I tend to store all of the finished products here," she explains as she unlocks a back door and leads us inside. Only the emergency lights in the hallway are turned on, so we walk slowly, bypassing a few office doors. "You have to turn on all of the lights at the light panel on the other side of the building," Becca explains, using the glow of her cell phone to light our path. "Sorry for the darkness, but we're almost there."

We reach the end of the hallway and there's a door ahead of us marked STORAGE. Becca turns to the left and opens a door next to it, flipping on the light. A girl screams and Becca jumps, knocking into me.

"Holy shit," Becca says, putting a hand to her chest. "You scared me!"

I can't help but smirk as I watch the scene unfold in front of me. The small room is filled with shelves of canvas paintings, but along one wall is a couch. That guy from earlier, Jett, is scrambling to button up his jeans. His T-shirt is in a pile on the floor, and the bright lights make a spectacle of his tanned, muscular chest. The girl is in her underwear, a hot pink matching set. It's no wonder that's she's beautiful and blonde, pretty much the picture perfect model of what every guy thinks is perfection.

They're both bright red and mumbling embarrassed apologies. I put my hand over my mouth to stop my laughter.

Behind me, Mom snorts.

# Chapter 4

Jett

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Becca says. She holds up her hand. "Never mind. Don't answer that. I don't want to know."

Emma scrambles past me, grabbing her dress from the floor. "You said we were alone here," she hisses, not-so-quietly, as she clutches the fabric to her chest and glares at me. To Becca she says, "Sorry," before running the hell out of here. I guess she'll put her clothes on in the hallway.

I stand up, bite my lower lip. Only my shirt is off, but I feel about twenty times more naked than any human could possibly be. I lift my eyebrows and muster up a smile. "Don't tell Mom?"

Becca rolls her eyes, bends down and grabs my shirt just so she can throw it at me. "You better hope I don't tell _that_ girl's mom!"

The hippie woman standing in the doorway is clearly trying not to laugh. I want to tell her to go for it, that I can't possibly be more humiliated than I already am. But I don't say anything because Becca isn't done laying into me.

"Dammit, Jett." She puts her hands on her hips. If she and Park ever have a kid of their own, she will make a terrifying but excellent mother. "I know you're the heartthrob around here, but did you have to choose my storage closet?" Her arms wave wildly around. "Of all the places in this building, you had to hook up around my art?"

Now the hippie woman does laugh. I dart a look over at her daughter. I can't remember her name. It starts with a K. The daughter is smiling, her dark eyes focused right on me. Her face looks a whole lot better when she's not scowling like she was the first time I met her. I give her a quick wink.

Becca slaps my arm and groans. "Get the hell out of here, kid. Why can't ya'll just make out in cars like normal teenagers?"

I give her a sly look. "Because there's a couch in here."

Becca slaps me again, and I know it's warranted. I put my hands together in front of her chest, an overdramatic prayer gesture to beg for her forgiveness. "Sorry, Second Mom. I won't defile your storage space again."

"Good," she snaps, but then she grins and rolls her eyes. "Get out of here. And to think, I told Keanna you would be a good friend to have . . ."

I glance back at the girl and she smirks. Something tells me she'd be down for having a little fun. I tug my shirt on over my head. Becca starts telling the hippie lady about her art, leaving Keanna looking bored by the door. I seize the opportunity to do a little flirting as I walk by her.

"Give me a call if you ever want a late night tour of the place," I whisper, meeting her eyes for just a second so she knows my intentions. I'm being slick as hell, or at least I think so. But my words turn her look of curiosity into a sneer of disgust.

"Never going to happen," she whispers back.

Damn, I struck out.

Oh well, on to the next one.

Emma is long gone by the time I get outside. She'd met me here with her car, parked in the back so that no one would notice it. Who knows how long she'll stay pissed at me this time.

I start walking toward home, debating if I should send her an apology text. I'm trying to decide if that's a decent thing to do, or if it'll seem like something a boyfriend would do. I am not a boyfriend. Boyfriends get held down and chained up in the bonds of a relationship. They only get to be with one girl. That's just not my style. Dad says I'll change when I get older, that I'll wake up one day and suddenly want a real relationship. He's told me not to burn any bridges with the girls I date now because I never know when I'll suddenly grow up and my perspective on life will change.

Dad loves Mom and Mom loves Dad and they're this perfect couple and all that, and good for them. Honestly, I love that my parents still love each other unlike most of my friend's parents who are divorced. But that kind of life isn't for me. I like fun and adventure. I like hot girls and no strings attached. A professional motocross racer doesn't need some ball and chain holding him back. I've heard Dad's lectures a million times. He's always telling me I'll change my mind someday.

And I'm always telling him that "someday" is not today.

# Chapter 5

Keanna

* * *

Did that really just happen? Ultra-hot and super-rich guy made a stupid comment suggesting that he and I could make out? There's no way. Guys like that do not even look twice at losers like me.

Becca and Dawn fawn over the paintings for a little while, but I'm too busy being lost in my own thoughts to pay attention to the conversation. The most embarrassing part of the whole two-second event is that I can't stop picturing it.

Making out with Jett.

Sneaking around a business at midnight, looking for couches hidden away in the darkness. Getting undressed and crawling into his lap . . . Yeah, I can't think like that. As if a guy like him would _ever_ seriously consider dating me.

But I guess he didn't say the word "dating" . . . he just meant a hookup.

I've hooked up with plenty of guys before—always random flings and never anything bordering on a real relationship. Dating? I feel the blood rush to my cheeks just thinking it. Why would I even _think_ that word? I've never been on a date in my life.

Unless you count the time Mom met some guy who took us both out to dinner because I was thirteen and she didn't want to leave me alone. She'd thought it was so romantic that this guy let me come along, like he was already step-father material or something. After the date, he'd hooked up with Mom then found me sleeping in the next motel room over and tried doing the same thing to me. I threw a motel lamp into his face and he ran out of there, cursing and dripping blood everywhere.

I shake my head to clear it of thoughts like that. Once one of them slips into my subconscious, more always follow. And this is a good day, with an awesome place to sleep tonight so I refuse to let any bad thoughts come my way.

"I guess we should head back," Becca says, yawning. "It's getting pretty late."

We drive back to Becca's house and Mom tosses me her car keys, telling me to grab my suitcase from the trunk.

When I walk back into the house lugging my beat up old Samsonite, Mom holds up a finger like she just remembered something. "Honey, why don't you get your bag, too? That way it won't get messed up in Corpus Christi."

I frown. Becca offers her a refill on her wine glass and I turn around, heading back to the trunk. Mom and I each have a suitcase and a duffel bag. The suitcase is for clothes and living essentials, while our duffel bag has all of our personal belongings. It's not much; Mom's has her tablet and all of her business paperwork along with a few knick-knacks I made her as a kid. The wind chimes and craft fair stuff go in the back seat of her SUV. My bag has a teddy bear from my childhood, a few pairs of sandals, two bottles of nail polish, my tablet for getting online, and a stack of DVDs to watch on Mom's laptop.

I don't know why I would need any of that for a one night stay at a stranger's house, but I grab the stupid bag and carry it into the guest room.

From the living room, Mom calls my name.

I slip into the hallway and jog down the stairs, my hand sliding along the banister as if I do this all the time. A fleeting image appears in my mind; a daydream of being a girl who lives in a house like this with loving parents. A girl whose room is filled with clothes and friends and memories.

"You leaving?" I ask when my feet hit the first floor.

Mom nods. "Going to head back to the hotel for a couple hours of sleep. Then I'll hit the road and make it there before noon."

I glance around the room and notice that Becca and Park are gone. "Did you tell them you're leaving?" I ask.

She nods, examining her hair for split ends. "They went to investigate a funny noise on the grill or something. Now come here, give me a hug."

She spreads her arms wide, her bangles dancing down to her elbows. I kind of want to use this moment of privacy to ask about this weird job offer and berate her for not telling me sooner. Are we really settling down in a place called Lawson? Will I graduate high school here? Or is it just another one of her silly schemes to get rid of me for the night? For all I know, she met some guy at the craft fair and wants to get laid without a teenager holding her back.

I sigh and walk into her arms, returning her hug. She grabs onto the back of my head and holds me tightly, squeezing until I'm all out of breath and have to gasp for air.

"I love you, K-bug," she says softly, using my nickname from my childhood.

"Love you too, Dawn."

When the hug finally ends, she pulls back and holds me at arm's length. Her eyes seem a little watery, but maybe it's just a trick of the lighting. Mom doesn't really get emotional about stuff like this. "You be good," she says as if I'm a five-year-old. "Make me proud, okay?"

I lift an eyebrow. "I promise not to burn their house down in the next twenty-four hours."

Her eyes soften, two clear gemstones without a care in the world. "Okay, well, I'm going to get out of here," she says.

"Good luck with your interview."

She nods, her lips pressing together in a thin smile. "Thanks, doll."

She grabs me in another quick hug and then turns to leave. And maybe I'm just crazy, but it really seemed like her eyes were holding back real, genuine tears. It almost seems like she's sad that she's leaving me here. Or like maybe she thinks she won't get to see me again.

# Chapter 6

Jett

* * *

I stumble into the kitchen the next morning, obeying my stomach like a starving zombie. Since tomorrow is the first little kid lock-in of the summer, and I'll be supervising it, I'm off work today. I guess Dad thought he'd be nice to me before making me suffer at the hands of a dozen kindergarteners.

One thing about my new job at the family business: it is especially cruel how my body decided to wake up so early on my day off. I used to never get up this early unless it was race day. And even then, I'd wake up early only to crawl into Dad's truck and sleep until we got to the track. But now after only a few days of having a real job, my body is up at freaking eight in the morning.

Mom's chatting on the phone in the breakfast nook, her voice more animated than usual. "So you just let her stay over at your house? You're not afraid she's a robber?"

I lift an eyebrow, wondering who she's talking to as I grab a cereal bowl and fill it to the top with Lucky Charms. Mom continues, "Seventeen year olds can be robbers! She could be a lookout, placed there to scope out your valuables and then alert her crew when you and Park leave the house."

Now I'm curious. They're talking about that girl from last night, Keanna. I glance at Mom and she rolls her eyes, pointing to her phone as if to say, _"You know Becca!"_

I pour the milk and then wander over to the breakfast table, taking a seat opposite of Mom. "That girl didn't look like a robber," I say, and I'm not sure why I'm even defending someone I don't know. She wasn't exactly nice to me.

"Jett agrees with you," she says, lifting her shoulders as she talks. "You should invite her over here. Jace is good at reading people and he'd know if there's something shady going on."

I dive into my cereal, mostly ignoring the rest of the conversation and trying to plan my day off in my head. I know there's a party at the lake tonight, so I'll probably stop by there. Maybe there will be someone other than Emma Clarke to kill the time with.

Mom's voice gets higher. "Ooooh, that would be fun! Yeah, yeah, I have plenty of eggs. Give me five minutes to get dressed."

I stand and grab the cereal box, readying to refill my bowl. "Jett, don't eat anymore," Mom says, shooing me away with her hand.

"What? Why? I'm starving."

"Becca and Park are coming over with that girl," Mom says, taking the cereal box and putting it back in the pantry. "We're going to make a big family breakfast so you better still be hungry."

"I'm always hungry," I say, putting my cereal bowl and spoon into the dishwasher.

"What do you think is up with that girl?" Mom says, giving me this conspiratorial look. "I mean, what kind of mom meets a total stranger and then has her daughter spend the night with her? Park and Becca could be perverts for all she knows!"

I laugh. "I guess it's a good thing they're not."

Mom takes the eggs, bacon, and cheese from the fridge and then hands me two canisters of biscuit dough. "There's still something weird about it, ya know? I mean, I'd never leave you with some stranger."

"That's because you're a good mom," I say.

She grins and wraps an arm around me for a quick hug. "Aww, my boy."

I roll my eyes. "What do you want me to do with this?" I ask, holding up the biscuits.

"Grab a pan and bake them, duh!"

Mom smacks the back of my head and then saunters over to the kitchen island to begin cooking.

I'm peeling apart biscuits and placing them two inches apart on a baking sheet when the back door opens. Since the front door is more of the formal entrance, the Parks always come in through the back. They also let themselves in because they're basically family. That's why I call Becca my "Second Mom" and I think she gets a kick out of it.

I focus on the task of setting dough on the pan even though my stomach is suddenly light and airy at the thought of seeing Keanna again. I know Mom will be judging her this whole morning, trying to secretly discover if Keanna is hiding something sinister in her reason for staying over. Though I think Mom is full of shit for being suspicious, I still wonder _why_ Keanna is here. It's definitely weird.

Dad comes downstairs when Mom calls for him and he and Park immediately get to talking about work. Becca introduces Keanna to Mom and friendly hellos are exchanged. I don't know why I'm suddenly so freaking nervous to see her, but I also know that standing here staring at a bunch of raw biscuits kind of makes me look like a weirdo.

I turn casually, and I see her, standing there looking exactly as awkward as I'd expected. "Hey," I say, giving her a friendly head nod.

She's wearing cut off jean shorts short enough that the inside of the pockets hangs down the front of her thighs, and a plain black tank top. Her toes are curling on top of her flip-flops, like she's ready to bolt at any moment.

"Good morning," she says, scratching her elbow. Our eyes meet for just a second and then she looks down, but not down to the floor. Her cheeks turn massively red and I realize exactly what she's looking at. My bare chest.

She turns away, tucks her hair behind her ears. I turn back to my biscuits and put them in the oven, all the while hiding a massive grin.

She thinks I'm hot.

And I think she's a mystery.

We'd taken breakfast outside to the patio, which is really like a room that happens to be outdoors. There's a roof that extends across the patio, with ceiling fans and two TVs hanging from the ceiling. Only the long wall that runs along the backyard is open to the outside. The rest is kind of walled in with trellises and the natural stone fireplace and bar. It's not until breakfast is nearly over that Mom decided to dig her claws into our guest.

Keanna had been pretty quiet all during breakfast, but I noticed she ate a lot, sampling from every dish Mom prepared. We had eggs, bacon, toast, my biscuits, fruit, scones and jams, sausage links, coffee and orange juice.

Keanna ate some of it.

I was just about to comment on it when Mom sets her coffee down with kind of a loud clink, and then smiles warmly at Keanna.

"So, Keanna. Becca said you and your mom just moved here?"

She shrugs. "I guess so. I never really know where we're moving next."

"So you move a lot?"

Keanna begins to nod but then she stops herself and puts on a forced smile. "Something like that."

Mom takes a sip of coffee. "What grade will you be in next year?"

"I'll be a senior, assuming my transcripts transfer okay."

"Jett's a year younger than you," Mom says, somehow managing to look relieved for some reason. "He could show you around Lawson High, introduce you to some people."

"Thanks," Keanna says, reaching for another piece of toast. "I've moved so much in my life that I'm pretty good at making friends, though." Her eyes meet mine. "You don't need to worry about me."

"Why do you move so much?" Dad asks. I guess he's finally decided to join the conversation and stop talking to Park about track stuff. "Are your parents in the military?"

Keanna chuckles to herself. She shakes her head as she layers strawberry jam onto her toast. "My mom is the poster child of wanderlust. She doesn't like being stuck in one place for very long. I doubt we'll be here past summer."

My stomach tightens at the thought of this strange girl disappearing before I've had the chance to get to know her. Dad nods to himself and then says, "You don't want to stay with your dad?"

She chuckles again and then she looks straight at him. "I don't know my dad."

Maybe it's just me, but it feels like an awkwardness has descended. I have this sudden urge to rescue her from my parent's questions so I blurt out the first thing I think of. "You're really skinny for being able to eat so much."

Shit. That was supposed to be a compliment (don't girls like being called thin?) but the look in her eyes makes me wish I could rewind time and keep my damn mouth shut. Keanna stares at the piece of toast and then looks up at me, with something like deceit in her eyes. Or maybe it's anger.

"Ignore my son," Mom says, rolling her eyes. "Eat all you want, dear."

Keanna doesn't stop looking at me though. Finally, she pushes her chair back and stands up, shoving the rest of her food into her mouth. "Sometimes I go all day without seeing any food at all. So forgive me for eating when there's actually food in front of me."

A lump forms in my throat and I want to take it all back, rewind time until it's just me and her meeting again for the first time. Her dark eyes are hiding so much more than she lets on and although it's useless, I search them anyway, hoping to learn more about this girl. I suddenly need to know everything about her and I have no idea why.

Dad and Park started talking animatedly at the end of the table so they didn't hear what just happened. At least I don't think they did. But Mom and Becca heard all right, and they're both looking at me like I'm the biggest jackass in the world.

"I'm—" I begin, wanting to tell her I'm sorry.

But Keanna looks at Becca as if I am no longer worthy of holding her attention. "Mind if I go back to your house and watch TV until my mom gets back?"

"Go right ahead, hun," Becca says.

Mom narrows her gaze at me. "Jett." I cringe. She's using her pissed off voice. "Why don't you clean the table?"

I'm in no position to object, so I start grabbing dishes and carrying them inside, loading up the dishwasher. Mom and Becca talk in hushed tones, somehow getting quieter when I walk back out there to finish cleaning the table. It's obvious who they're talking about. It's the same girl who has taken control of my every thought.

Something tells me Keanna is not like the Emma Clarkes of this world. She's unique and worldly. She's like an iceberg, cold and beautiful. But part of her is hidden away.

When the patio is clean and the kitchen is spotless, I know what I need to do. I need to fix things with Keanna in a way that goes beyond just apologizing for calling her out on being poor.

I need to let her know she has a friend here in Lawson, Texas.

# Chapter 7

Keanna

* * *

I am living two lives. Caught up in two drastically different worlds. My real life, the one I've known since I was born, is on a short hiatus, replaced by this shiny new life. And although the new life is only temporary, I make it a point to breathe in a little deeper, to look around me at all times and really take in my surroundings. I am living in the moment, I guess you could say.

And this moment is absolutely perfect.

After a shaky breakfast with strangers where I was left feeling like a white trash loser, I am now back in the safety of this guest bedroom. No one bothers me for a whole two hours.

It's nearly noon now, and I am laying on my stomach on the guest bed, feet up in the air and remote control in my hand. I am watching TV. Cable TV. Like a normal teenaged girl.

A commercial comes on and I close my eyes and take a deep breath, reveling in the peaceful solace that can be found in your own bedroom.

Of course I know it's not mine. Nothing is mine except my suitcase and duffel bag and I certainly can't relax and watch TV inside of a suitcase.

I've never even had a mattress that belonged to me. Mom and I either stay in hotels, motels, or fully furnished rent-by-the-month apartments that are usually about ten levels slummier than the motels. This mattress isn't mine either, but I can pretend that it is. That this one single day is all mine. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand behind me and try to do some time calculations to figure out when Mom will get home.

Her interview was in the morning and would probably last until noon. Then she'd be home by six or six-thirty. That means I get a few more hours all to myself.

I try calling Mom's cell from the land line phone on my nightstand but it goes straight to voicemail. She must still be in her interview. Walking over to the window, I gaze out at the sloping Texas landscape. The guest room window faces the front of the house which overlooks acres of untouched land. Could I really get used to living in a small town like this?

Does Mom mean what she said? Working from home in a place that doesn't have public transportation and a dozen shopping malls within walking distance? Maybe she's having a mid-life crisis. Or maybe she's caught up with some mafia type loan shark and we're really hiding out here in Lawson as a last resort to avoid having our heads chopped off.

I chuckle to myself at the thought. There's a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," I call out, keeping my gaze out of the window.

The door opens and a deep voice startles me. "Uh, hey."

I spin around. I'd expected Becca, not Jett.

"Hi," I say, but it comes out sounding like a question. "Why are you here?"

Jett has put on a shirt since I last saw him. The black fabric stretches over his muscular chest, making me want to reach out and touch it. It's a shame that he's wearing it at all. Not that I'd ever tell him, but I kind of liked the view this morning at breakfast.

Jett scratches his neck and gazes around the room. "There's a party down at the lake tonight. I thought you might want to come and meet some people."

"Why would I want to meet people?" I ask. I realize just half a second later that I'm not being very friendly. But friendliness isn't my strong suit.

Jett's eyes bug quickly, but then he recovers. "Uh, well I don't know. My mom just said I should come over here and ask you."

"Wow. Usually the pity invites come after people have known me a few days." I cross my arms. "You know, after they've had enough time to feel sorry for my shit life."

"It's not like that," Jett says, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. "I'm just trying to welcome you into town."

"I don't need welcoming." If Jett's friends are anything like he is, they'll either try to get in my pants or they'll go the opposite way and talk shit about my ratty clothing. I don't need to make friends right now. I need to wait until Mom gets home and figure out what the hell we're even doing here.

Jett takes a step closer, and although we're still several feet apart, I step backward. "Look, Keanna," he says. Something in his voice sounds truly genuine and I almost feel bad for being cold toward him. "Did I do something to make you hate me? Because I feel like you hate me."

I shrug. "I don't hate you. I just don't know you."

"So you should get to know me," he says, throwing on this sideways grin that probably wins him a lot of hearts. God knows my heart starts to weaken when I see it. So I look away. Jett continues, running his fingers across the top of the TV stand. "You'll probably think I'm cool if you just get to know me."

"That's a little presumptive," I mutter. "Maybe you aren't as charming as you think you are."

He smirks. "You'd be the first to think that."

Wow.

I can't even come up with a witty reply here, so I walk over to the armchair in the corner and grab a book off the shelf next to it.

"Thanks and all but . . . no thanks," I say, sitting and opening the book to the first page. "You can go now."

"You should really come. I could drive us."

"I'm sure you'll have so many girls hanging off your arm that you wouldn't even notice if I did go," I say.

He grins and he doesn't even try to deny it. "If you'd like my entire attention for the night . . . well that can be arranged."

"It's killing you that I am not falling over myself trying to hook up with you, huh?" I chuckle and roll my eyes. "I hate to break it to you, Jett, but I'm not some dumbass bimbo whose brain turns to mush when I'm near a hot guy."

"Your point has been made," Jett says. "Sorry I offended you with my invitation."

He turns and lets himself out of my temporary guest bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Even though I might never see him again, I feel the slightest stab of regret for treating him so poorly. Maybe he was just trying to be nice.

But I've known enough guys in my life to know that very rarely is that ever the case.

"Have you heard from Dawn?" Becca asks over a plate of spaghetti for dinner. I shake my head.

"I think her phone probably died. She always forgets the charger. But it's already seven-ten so I guess she'll be here soon."

Becca nods, twisting the pasta around her fork. "I hate how phones don't last very long these days. My battery lasts maybe five hours if I'm lucky."

She's being all nice and welcoming still, but I know we're both wondering what's taking my mom so long to get here. Thoughts of news reports saying she's been in a car wreck scare me, but I know my mother. She's a little unpredictable but she's not a bad driver. She probably met some guy and he's having dinner with her right now. I just hope she hurries back. I hate being an imposition.

After dinner, I help Becca wash the dishes. Her husband had some meeting with the neighbors about their track business stuff so he wasn't at dinner.

"I washed your clothes from yesterday," Becca says, scrubbing the garlic bread pan with a sponge. "They're on your bed. If you'd like to shower before you leave, I figured you could use a clean outfit to change into."

"Thanks," I say with a smile. "You've been so nice to me and I really appreciate you letting me stay here."

"Oh it's no problem at all," she says, adding more hot water to the sink. "I can't wait to hear about Dawn's new job. I think she'll probably be able to get my artwork in some new locations after this."

I nod. "Totally."

"Well, Keanna," Becca says after we've finished the dishes and split a pack of Little Debbie snack cakes, "I have to babysit for a woman from my spin class, so I'll be gone until midnight or so. It's her and her husband's date night. But you make yourself at home while you wait for Dawn, okay?"

"Sure thing."

After a quick shower and about ten more phone calls that go straight to Mom's voicemail, I start to open up the possibility of what I hadn't let myself believe before. Mom won't be back today. She's probably on a mini vacation, taking advantage of the kindness of strangers to watch her kid for her. It definitely wouldn't be the first time Mom promised a day and came back a week later.

I feel like such an idiot. A burden on society and all of that. I call Mom's phone one more time and when the voicemail beep sounds, I leave her a message instead of hanging up.

"Hey Dawn, it's me. Your kid. I guess you thought that Becca and Park wouldn't mind you staying gone more than one day but I refuse to be the kind of person who overstays their welcome. When you're ready to come back and get me, you'll find me at that motel we stayed in two nights ago. Don't worry about how I'll pay for it. I have your credit card in my bag."

She's going to be pissed at me for wasting money on the one and only credit card we have, but maybe this will make her come home quicker.

I clean up any trace of my existence, make the bed in the guest bedroom and turn off the television.

I write a thank you note for Becca. And then I get the hell out of there.

# Chapter 8

Jett

* * *

The sun is beginning to set, which means everyone is already heading out to the lake. Lake Lawson is small, only big enough for some jet skis instead of real boats, but it's about the only place worth going to in this town. At least until I'm old enough to legally drink. We do have plenty of bars.

I'm still thinking about her when it's time to clock out of work. I ride the pit bike back to my house while thinking of her. She's on my mind when I jump in the shower and when I'm choosing clothes to wear, I picture her face in the back of my mind. Not only does this girl seem to hate me, she doesn't even want to get to know me to verify that fact.

I don't know what I did to make her so hostile toward me. She clearly needs a friend.

It would have been fun if she'd come with me to the lake. Sure, I would have had to dodge Emma and a few other girls, but I'm sure I'd be able to park my truck in a secluded section of the sandbar and find a way to win her over.

Maybe she's right. Maybe it does bother me that she doesn't want me. Okay, it's not a maybe. I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I run some gel through my hair. Girls always like me. I inherited my dad's good looks and Mom says I got her charming personality. I'm not trying to be vain here, but it is what it is. I work out, I'm tan, and I look like my dad. Older women love my dad. Jace Adams is still a big name in the motocross world even though he hasn't raced professionally since before I was born.

I've seen the looks my mom gets when other women are gawking over Dad. She always tells me that it's okay to date around now, but when I find a girl I really like, I need to chill out and let her be the only one. Mom is really sweet like that. But she's wrong about one thing—I may be charming but I do not have her personality.

I don't want to settle down. So why can't I get Keanna off my mind?

Is it because I can't have her?

Doesn't that make me a jackass in every possible sense of the word?

Shit. My reflection grimaces at myself. I am a jackass. I saw a pretty girl at Becca's house and when she didn't throw herself at me, I got upset about it. I spent the last however many hours lamenting over this girl, wondering what I could have done or said to make her like me. I am definitely a jackass.

I draw in a deep breath and let it out. Flex my wrists and roll my head to loosen my neck. Get a grip, Jett. I don't want to be a disrespectful prick. If Keanna doesn't like me then she doesn't like me. It's fine. I'll settle for hooking up with the girls who do like me.

It's not like there aren't tons of them.

Keanna's words reply in my head. _It's killing you that I am not falling over myself trying to hook up with you, huh?_ Hearing her say that had hurt, but she was right. I've never been rejected in my life. Guess there's a first time for everything.

All the usual people are at the lake when I arrive. Most of them are older than I am, but I've known these guys since I was a little kid so they're cool with letting me chill with them. Plus, they bring beer. I park my truck on the edge of the lake, right near the road in case I decide to make a quick exit tonight. I've already made a pact with myself that I'd stop thinking about Keanna and let myself get lost in the party vibe, but just in case it doesn't work, I might want to bail. Nothing kills a party vibe like asking your friends to move their trucks so you can get out.

I grab a beer and fist bump D'andre, one of my buddies from the track. He's a senior this year and has a good chance of making it to the professional motocross circuit if he keeps winning races.

"Hey man," D'andre says, crunching his empty beer can and tossing it into the bed of his truck. "Are you actually alone tonight?"

I lift my shoulders, cocky grin in full force. "Just because I always leave with a girl doesn't mean I have to arrive with one."

He throws his head back and laughs. "I feel you man, I feel you."

We sit on his tailgate and drink and catch up on what's been going on since summer started. He hasn't been out at my dad's track much lately but that's because he's been training over at Mixon Motocross Park, working with a professional scout. I hope I'll be there as well when I'm a year older. All I need to do is keep working out, keep riding, and don't get hurt. Nothing ruins a racing career like a few cracked ribs or a shattered ankle.

"So you and Emma Clarke, eh?" D'andre says, cracking open another beer can. "She's fine as hell."

"We're not a thing," I say, shaking my head. I almost expect her to come bouncing up to me, acting like we _are_ a thing, because that's just how shitty my luck is normally. I glance around just in case, but see nothing but sand and water and people doing their own thing around the various bonfires.

"When are you gonna settle down, man?"

I tilt my head back and chug the last of my beer. I've only had one beer tonight so it's definitely too early to be talking about crap like this. "Uh, never?" I crunch up the can and toss it in the back of D'andre's truck. I know he recycles them for something like sixty cents a pound so I don't feel bad for basically littering in his truck.

"You know, some guys would give their left nad to get as many girls as you do, and you don't even want to keep them."

"Dude if you're gonna start feeling sorry for yourself, you're gonna have to do that somewhere else," I say, pointing off into the distance to give him an idea of where he could go. "Tonight's supposed to be fun, not a pity party about why your ugly ass can't get girls."

He clenches his chest in mock pain. "Harsh, Adams."

"Um, Jett?"

The voice is soft, feminine, and catches both of us off guard. I turn around and see Maria Gonzalez standing next to D'andre's truck, a beach towel wrapped around her body.

"Like clockwork," D'andre says, shaking his head. He reaches for another beer. "Girls can't stay away from this dude."

"Shut up, man," I say low enough that I hope only he can hear. Maria is a quiet girl who takes dirt bike lessons from my dad. She's not usually the type to try and hook up with me, and besides, the look in her eyes tells me something is wrong.

I hop off the tailgate and follow her around to the front of the truck, where it's not quiet thanks to the thumping rap music blasting from D'andre's speakers, but at least it's private. "What's up?"

Maria studies me for half a second and then bursts into tears. "I'm sorry."

"Whoa," I say, reaching an arm out to her shoulder. "Don't apologize. What's wrong?"

She sniffles, wipes the tears from her eyes. I can tell it's taking a lot out of her to keep her composure right now. "Maria." I try again. "What is it?"

"Could you maybe take me home?" she whispers, her Spanish accent thicker now that she's crying again. "Please? I'm so sorry. I don't live far away."

"Sure, it's not a problem," I say, doing some mental math. I'd only had one beer. I can drive. "Let's go."

I wave goodbye to D'andre and don't bother offering him an explanation. Maria climbs into my truck, turning to the side to kick the sand off her bare feet before she closes the door behind her. She holds the beach towel tightly around her chest.

"Are you . . ." I begin, not really knowing how to finish the sentence without sounding like an ass.

She shakes her head. "I'm in my bathing suit."

I nod. "Okay. Cool. Where to?"

"County road thirty," she says, holding back another sob. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry to bother you, I just didn't know who else I could ask and you seem like a nice guy so . . ."

"Hey, what did I say about apologizing?" I turn to her and try to lighten the mood. "Party was lame as hell. I don't mind leaving."

We drive in silence for a few minutes. Some goofy pop song comes on the radio and I sing along, totally off key and missing most of the words and this gets a laugh out of her, which makes me feel like some kind of hero. She points out her driveway and I turn into it, a long gravel strip that leads to a small house.

"Thanks again," she says.

"It's no problem. Have a good night."

I wait in the truck until she's safely inside her house and although I'll probably never know why she left the party crying, I hope it's not because of some guy.

I hope I've never made a girl cry like that. A sudden stabbing guilt presses into me, as memories of all the times I've drunkenly made out with random girls around the bonfires at parties come back to me. I've certainly never seen girls cry in front of me, so that has to be a good thing, right?

Maybe it's good that Keanna blew me off like she did. God knows I didn't have the best of intentions in wanting to hang out with her. I kept picturing those soft lips, often curled into a smirk, and imagining what I would be like to kiss them, to run my fingers through her hair, feel her body pressing against mine, wanting more. They always want more.

I've been called a great kisser more times than I can count. I know exactly what to do to make a girl's body tremble beneath my touch. And I hope to God that I've never left any of them the way I saw Maria tonight. Dammit. Keanna made the right choice to deny my offer to hang out. She doesn't exactly seem like the Emma Clarke no-strings-attached type of girl. And those are the only girls I can allow myself to mess around with.

I wish things were different, but I know myself. Even if Keanna was interested enough to actually go out with me, I'd only end up hurting her in the long run. I'm not going to be that type of guy.

# Chapter 9

Keanna

* * *

The walk to the motel feels a lot longer than I'd anticipated when I left the Parks' house an hour ago. I remember the drive over as being only a few minutes, so I figured I was about four or five miles away. And given what I remember about the gym class I had suffered through in junior high, normally walking one mile takes about fifteen minutes. So shouldn't I be four miles away by now?

Maybe it's because I'm doing more of a lazy saunter than a real walk, certainly not the powerwalking I'd done in that junior high class. With every passing minute, I hope Mom will listen to my voicemail message and come by to get me. She'll want to stop me from spending money on a motel, especially money we don't have in the form of a credit card.

A car approaches in front of me, driving way too fast to be Mom looking around for me, but I look up just in case. It's a black sports car and it doesn't slow down at all as it zooms across the old asphalt county road.

I sigh and kick at a piece of broken road, watching it bounce down a few feet. When I catch up to it, I kick it again and again until I end up at a red light in the middle of an intersection.

I'm getting close. The motel is to the left, next to a brightly lit shopping center. It looks maybe half a mile away and I pick up the pace, no longer caring about wasting money. I need a shower and a nap. Walking several miles in flip-flops is incredibly uncomfortable.

The same cigar-smoking front desk guy greets me when I walk into the motel. Well, if you could call a bored grunt a greeting.

"Didn't you check out?" he says, flipping a page in the celebrity gossip magazine in front of him.

I pull out the credit card from my back pocket. It has my name on it since I'm an authorized user on Mom's account, so there's no funny business here, not like the last time I'd stolen her debit card and tried to buy beer with it.

"I'd like another night please."

"Sure thing," he says, taking the card. I look around the dreary lobby, the stench of cigar smoke lingering heavy in the air. A little machine beeps and the guy grunts and swipes the card again. The second beep makes me nervous.

"Card's declined," he says, dropping the plastic in front of me. "Got another one?"

"Wha—" I begin, then I sigh. That card had a limit of twelve thousand dollars. There's no way Mom's spent it all in the last day. "Can you try it again? Maybe type in the numbers instead of swiping them?"

He lifts an eyebrow and I want to tell him to stop looking so damn judgmental because since he runs a place so shitty that most of his clientele are probably way worse off than I am. Financially and otherwise.

"Why the hell not," he says, swiping the card again. It beeps. "I can try it all day kid, but it's not going to work."

"I don't suppose you'll let me work off the cost of a night's stay?" I ask, widening my eyes in hopes that they make me look like a puppy in need.

He snorts. "And risk getting the place trashed? Sorry kid. No can do."

"Thanks anyway," I say. I turn around and push the door open and try really hard not to cry. There have been many times in my life where I've felt helpless, but I've always had Mom with me. Dawn may never win a Mother of the Year award, but I'd always trusted her to keep a roof over our head. Even when we'd spent two weeks camping in the national forest, we'd had a tent roof to sleep under.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to face the truth, as much as I don't want to. Dawn _did_ leave me with a roof over my head. She thinks I'm safe at the Parks' house so she's not exactly responsible for me being stranded right now.

But I am not going back there. I just can't. I won't be a burden on a total stranger, no matter how nice they've been to me. No one actually _likes_ taking in stranded people as unexpected houseguests and I am not going to put that on someone as nice as Becca. I refuse to be an obligation.

I stand outside in the dark, watching bugs fly around the streetlamp above me. Next year I'll be eighteen and a real adult. I'll have to figure out how to take care of myself at some point since Dawn has made it more than clear that she expects me to be on my own by my birthday.

I draw in a deep breath and think. What the hell should I do? I have about a hundred dollars cash on me but even these sleazy motel places won't take cash without a huge deposit.

I wonder if there's a twenty-four-hour store nearby so I could hang out in the air conditioning and come up with a plan. Or maybe there's a bridge.

Shit.

Am I really homeless right now?

All I want is a hot shower, some food, and a bed.

I start walking toward the right since I came from the left and know there's nothing on that side of town. Soon, the golden arches of a McDonald's catch my eye and an even more welcome sign underneath it makes me smile. It's open twenty-four hours. Finally, some good luck.

I head inside and order from the dollar menu, then settle into a booth at the back of the restaurant. It's secluded enough that the employees might not notice if I stay for a while, and the cushiony bench seat has been recently renovated and is pretty comfortable.

Plus, from this table I have a view out of the window. When Mom's car pulls into the motel parking lot, I'll be able to see it. She must be on her way back home by now. I'm sure it won't be a much longer wait.

Loud laughter from a group of rowdy football players wakes me up. That's when I realize I've fallen asleep in the booth, but luckily no one sees me. I lean out into the aisle and check the clock on the wall. It's past midnight. Holy shit. I've been here for four hours.

Mom's car isn't in the parking of the motel, and I sit up straighter in my booth, rubbing the lines from my cheek from where they'd pressed against the seam in the fabric. Am I totally screwed? Am I now living in a McDonald's? This can't possibly be my life.

On shaky legs, I walk back up to the counter and order a milkshake. It's a waste of what little money I have, but I'm feeling a tidal wave of depression coming on and the sugar will help.

The guy takes my order and says the machine will take a few minutes to power up. "What's your name?" he says, holding a pen over a receipt paper.

"Keanna," I say.

He writes it down, spelling it _Keyana_ and then smiles. "I'll call you when it's ready."

I head back to my seat, ignoring the football players. They're still in uniform and their entire section of the restaurant smells like sweat and fries.

The door jangles open and one of the football players whoops. "Jett, man, what's going on?"

My blood turns cold. Jett's here? What if Becca's already told him that I slipped out of her house without telling her bye? What if they all think I'm a huge jerk?

I guess it wouldn't matter. Maybe I am a huge jerk. But I slide further into my booth and hope that he doesn't stay long.

"Keanna?"

I jump. The cashier calls out my name again, louder this time.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Now I have to embarrass myself all for the sake of a stupid milkshake. Before the guy can call out my name for a third time, I grudgingly walk up to the register, keeping my eyes only on the guy holding my milkshake.

"Here ya go," he says, handing it over. "Nice and fresh for you."

If this were any other time, I would ask how the hell a milkshake can be fresh, but it is definitely not the time. Also, luck isn't on my side.

"Hey," Jett says, his voice full of surprise. He's waiting on his food to be ready, the straw from his soda dangling an inch from his mouth. "It _is_ you. Small world."

"Small town," I say, turning to leave.

"Wait." Jett grabs his bag of food from the guy behind the counter and then takes a handful of ketchup packets. "Who are you eating with?"

"Myself."

He glances toward the football guys and it's as if he actually considered that I might have come here with them. "But there's only one car in the parking lot."

"What does that have to do with me?" I say. Damn, he brings out the bitch in me.

"Did you walk here from Park's?"

I nod. This time I do walk away. I'm done with his questions and it's already humiliating enough being seen here, alone, and homeless. Although I guess he doesn't know I'm officially homeless right now.

I make it back to my booth and then Jett slides in on the opposite side, dropping the ketchup packets in between us on the table.

"Uh, hello?" I say, scowling. "Can't you find somewhere else to sit?"

"I'll level with you," he says, leaning forward as he removes his food from the paper bag. "You look like you've had a shit day. I've definitely had a shit day. Probably the worst day I've had all year. You're a friendly face, and, okay maybe not _friendly,_ but you're sure as hell easy to look at and I'd like to eat dinner here."

My cheeks become raging hot and I stare at the straw in my milkshake.

Jett continues, "So if you really want to kick me out you can, but I'd like to be in your company if only for a little while."

Something I don't quite understand floods into my brain, taking over all rational thoughts. I have been nothing but rude to this boy and yet he is consistently nice to me. I lift my shoulders and take a long sip of my milkshake.

"Fine, but only if you share your fries."

# Chapter 10

Jett

* * *

Keanna may be the cutest fry eater in the world. Her lips slide to the side of her mouth while she gazes at the fries, carefully choosing one. Then she grabs it and bites the end off. It takes her two or three bites for each fry, when I'm the kind of guy who shoves a handful of them in my mouth at a time.

I'd ordered two large containers of fries to go with my double cheeseburger and after she asked me to share them, I'd happily obliged and dumped both containers onto a plastic tray.

Normally I'd devour them all in a few minutes, but I make myself take my time for this midnight meal. When it's finished, I'll have to leave and I am not ready to say goodbye to her again. The very thought that some girl is stuck in my head like this drives me crazy, but right now I'm just going with it.

"So where's your mom?" I ask after I've watched her cutely eat a couple fries.

Her shoulders lift. "I don't know."

"Can you call her?"

She shakes her head. "I tried that. No answer."

"I'm sure she's okay," I say. Keanna nods. She's not very chatty but I want to keep talking. "So . . . did you walk here?"

She stares at the fry she just selected, then turns it over in her hand. Her eyes meet mine and they narrow into thin slits. "What's it matter to you?"

It's probably the last thing I should do, but I'm exhausted from the party at the lake and this girl is doing something to me that I just don't understand. So when I burst out laughing, it's not a surprise that Keanna's glare intensifies.

"The hell are you laughing about?" she says, throwing a fry at me.

I catch it against my T-shirt and then eat it. "You. I'm laughing at you."

Her lips press into a thin line. "Why?"

I shrug. "You're so mean to me and I don't know why." I shake my head and try to stop smiling, but it doesn't really work. "It's actually kind of a turn on."

This time she doesn't throw a fry at me. She throws her fist, punching me right in the arm.

"Ow!" I say, leaning back into the bench seat and rubbing my arm.

Her eyes widen. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. Did that actually hurt?"

I shake my head and grin. "No, but it's nice to see you showing some kind of emotion other than animosity toward me."

She rolls her eyes and grabs another one of my fries, this time taking a packet of ketchup to go with it.

"Sorry." She places a careful line of ketchup along the length of the fry and then takes a bite out of it. "You don't deserve my wrath. But unfortunately . . ." She takes another bite and it's still adorable. "Everyone gets my wrath lately. That's just the way the world is right now. So I can't stop it so you might as well accept it."

I see her gazing at a fry with crunchy ends so I reach out and grab it before she can. "Why do you have so much wrath to give?"

"I'm homeless for starters."

She flinches right after she says it, and I seize the opportunity to get her to open up. "What else?"

Silence ticks on for a few seconds and I give up on trying to get her to open up to me. Then she lets out a soft breath and gazes out of the window. "Everything just sucks in my life right now. I feel like I'm having some kind of mid-life crisis but I'm only seventeen so what does that say for the rest of my life? Is it all downhill from here?"

"The hill can always change directions," I say, trying to sound philosophical or something, but I'm sure it comes out like I'm some illiterate freak. "You have to stay positive."

"Easy for some rich white guy to say," she mumbles.

I want to object but, she's kind of right and that makes me feel even more like a dick than I did earlier tonight. Now I've realized that I'm in danger of becoming a heartless prick like the one who left girls like Maria crying at parties, and on top of it all, I'm just some _rich white guy_ to this girl.

"I'm not really rich," I say. "I make like ten bucks an hour at my dad's track. My parents are kind of rich, yeah, but not me. I have like zero assets. Besides, aren't you white?"

"I'm Puerto Rican." She looks up at the ceiling. "Well . . . half. That's all Dawn will tell me about my dad."

I smile. "My life isn't perfect, you know."

"You say that, but are you going home to a bed that's yours tonight?"

I nod.

Keanna lists things off on her fingers. "Are you positive you'll have that same room a week from now, or a year? Is there food in your fridge at all times? Do you have a phone and a car and a job? Will you inherit the family business after your parents die? Because your answers are all yes and that makes your life so much better than mine will ever be, Jett Adams."

"Wow." I stare at the dwindling pile of fries, no longer hungry after that lecture from this girl I barely know. And then it hits me. And I probably should have realized it the moment I saw her with the crease across her face like she'd been sleeping on something.

"Do you have a place to go tonight?" I ask, trying to sound casual and not judgey.

She hesitates and that's all the answer I need. "I'll drive you back to Park's and you can stay there."

She shakes her head. "No. I can't go back. I already wrote a note saying I won't bother them anymore."

I lift an eyebrow. "Your mom still isn't back, right? You need a place to stay. They won't care, they're nice people."

"I'll figure it out," she says, but she's tracing the patterns on the table with her finger and the way she looks right now, all frail and small and helpless, makes me think of a little kid. I want to protect her. I _need_ to protect her.

"You'll come home with me," I say, and it's not a question. It's a fact. "My parents are asleep and I'll just sneak you in. No one needs to know if you don't want them to."

She frowns and I can tell she wants to refuse the offer, probably even punch me again. I put on my charming smile and try really hard to look like the kind of guy she can trust. "I have a huge bedroom. I'll sleep on the futon and you won't even notice I'm there. And my bathroom connects to my room so you can stay hidden if you want."

"You have your own bathroom?" she asks, her shoulders leaning forward.

I nod eagerly, hoping she'll agree to come home with me. And this is the first time in my life that I've thought this without any kind of sexual ideas in mind.

Of course . . . if she wanted to . . .

I shake my head to clear it of unwanted thoughts. I'm genuinely trying to be Keanna's friend here. I can't go all horn dog on her now. Even if I don't say my desires out loud, I'm sure she'd pick up on it.

I hold out my hand to her, palm up on the table. "What do you say?"

She stares at my hand and then at me, her eyes far away in thought. Finally, she slaps my hand in a horizontal high-five. "Yeah, okay. I could do that. Do I get to shower?"

"Of course."

_Ohmygod Jett, do not think of her in the shower._

"And you won't tell anyone?"

I mime zipping my lips shut. "Not a soul."

Just when I think she's about to say yes, her shoulders fall and she shakes her head. "I can't. I can't keep mooching off of strangers."

"Hey," I say, leaning over the booth to grab her hand. She flinches, but I hold on. "You're not mooching and I'm not a stranger. I'm your friend. And yes I'm your friend who thinks you're smoking hot, but I can also behave myself."

Her cheeks go bright red at my compliment and I have to resist sending a dozen more her way. I'm used to the way girls act when I flirt with them, but this time it feels different. This time I'm not just spewing line after line of dumb shit to make a girl swoon. This time I mean what I say.

Damn, I might be in trouble.

But then Keanna brightens and says, "Okay fine. Let's go."

And suddenly my shitty night just got a whole lot better.

# Chapter 11

Keanna

* * *

After I've agreed to go home with Jett, the entire atmosphere in this McDonald's seems to warp into an uncomfortable silence. Jett seems happy with my decision, he stops asking me a million questions, and although I'm glad to be off the interrogation chair, the silence is still weird. I guess I can't win when it comes to these kinds of situations. If I had a home to go back to, then I wouldn't be in this predicament. For the first time in a long time, resentment towards Dawn grows to a level that I can't exactly ignore.

"You ready?" Jett says when the fries are gone. He shrugs his head to get the dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. That's what makes him look different tonight.

"You normally have your hair gelled up," I say as we clear out of the booth.

"I went swimming tonight so it got all messed up," he says, running a hand through it.

"In your awesome pool?" I recall the massive and elaborate backyard paradise from when I ate breakfast over there. It had a slide, a diving board, and an entire rock waterfall on one end. Had that really only been a day ago?

"Nope, at the lake," he says, pushing open the door and holding it so I can go first. "Lake party, remember?"

"Did you have fun?" I ask.

His face warps as he bites the inside of his cheek. "Not really. I didn't feel like getting drunk and that kind of stuff isn't fun when you're sober. Plus, some jackass broke my friend's heart and she wouldn't tell me who, so it's been bothering me all night."

"You're a good friend," I say, hating myself for the confession. I'm trying to uphold this emotionless bitch vibe, if only to protect my own real emotions. I hate that he's seeing me like this, knowing that I'm homeless and pathetic. God, I hate this so much.

We reach his truck, this massive four door Chevy that's taller than usual thanks to the huge tires. Jett beeps his keys and then rushes to open the passenger door for me. Either he's being chivalrous or he thinks I'm going to scratch the door trying to get inside this thing.

"Not rich, huh?" I say with a snort as I climb into the truck, using the handle inside the door to lift myself up into the black leather seat. The interior smells like a brand new car, something I haven't smelled in a long time.

Jett stands there, a little shorter than me now that he's on the ground and I'm sitting up in the truck. His arm holds the door open and I try not to look at the way his bicep flexes beneath his shirt. Motocross guys must work out a lot.

"It was a gift," he says with a smirk. "For my sixteenth birthday."

"I got an ice cream cake for mine," I say, thinking back to the day Dawn brought it home from the ice cream shop she'd taken a part-time job at since craft fair sales were slow. I'm pretty sure she stole it.

Jett studies me and I lift an eyebrow. "You gonna close the door?" I say, but it doesn't have as much venom as I'd like. He's really, really cute. Ugh.

Finally, he closes it and I watch him shake his head as he walks around the front of the truck to the driver's side. It's as if he can't figure me out. I grin. Good. No one needs to figure me out, because once they do, they'll realize there's nothing special about me at all. It's like my existence on this earth was all by accident. My biggest fear is that people will figure that out.

Jett cuts the lights as he turns into his long driveway, then he pulls over to the far right of their three car garage and parks outside of it. "Garage door is too loud," he says. "Might wake them up."

"Do you normally get home this late?" I ask, glancing the digital clock on the dashboard. It's nearly two in the morning.

He shrugs. "Yeah. They don't care, they just don't like getting woken up. Dad always says there's no real trouble to get into in a town this small. Mom just makes me swear to her like once a week that I won't get a girl pregnant."

He laughs and I nod. "That's probably a good idea. I was an unexpected surprise for my mom and that didn't really work out so well."

"Yeah?" Jett says, his face shadowed from the glow of the motion light on the corner of their garage. "So was I, but think it turned out okay."

I lift an eyebrow. "Are those your real parents?"

"Yep. They got married right before I was born and they're still happy to this day."

"Hmm," I say, gazing at his beautiful face. "I guess some people really do have fairy tale endings."

He shrugs and his gaze darkens a little bit . . . or maybe I'm just imagining it. "Ready?" he says.

I swallow down the tidal wave of nervous butterflies that erupt in my stomach and follow him to the back door.

He punches a passcode into the door's keypad and it opens up, and then he immediately turns to the house alarm panel on the wall inside of the kitchen and shuts that off as well.

House alarms are definitely things rich people have. I've never seen one in my life until now.

Jett smiles mischievously and then puts a finger to his lips, motioning for me to be quiet. Then he takes my hand and pulls me into the house.

All I can think about is the fact that he's _holding my hand_ as he meanders through the 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 already. This is stupid. Embarrassing. Ugh.

Jett shakes his head and steps back into his bedroom, leaving my body feeling cold without his closeness.

"No, I'm just being a friend, you dork. You can stay as long as you want, until you hear from your mom or whatever, and no one will know."

"Thanks," I say, staring at the carpet, which is gray and feels like a cloud under my flip-flops. "I really appreciate it. Hey do you have a phone? I'd like to call my mom again even though it's two in the morning."

He gives me his cell and I try calling her but I'm met with the stupid voice mail again. I sigh and hand it back, noticing that his phone's wallpaper is a picture of his dirt bike, not some hot celebrity model like most of the guys I know.

"Here," he says, opening his dresser drawers. He pulls out a dirt bike T-shirt and a pair of American Eagle boxers and holds them out to me. "Towels are in the bathroom. Go get that shower you wanted."

I stare at his clothes, at his freaking _boxers_ , and then hesitantly take them. "Thanks."

# Chapter 12

Jett

* * *

I lean back against the plush futon mattress and try like hell to focus on whatever show I'd selected on Netflix. Just a few feet away, under the hot water of my shower, was a girl I was going crazy trying to get to know. She'd lightened up a little at the McDonald's, and even more once we got here. Maybe soon she'll be able to have a normal conversation with me. One that's not filled with layers of sarcasm and snide remarks.

Maybe then I can peel back the layers that make up this mysterious girl and see what she's really like underneath the massive wall she keeps up.

A little while later, the shower cuts off and I wait like some kind of nervous idiot for her to emerge. I'm ready to see her again, to hang out and spend time together. Even though, yeah, it's early as hell in the morning and we should probably go to sleep. I'm just not ready for this day to be over. And this might be the first time in my life that I want to talk with a girl and not just get her clothes off so we can make out. I sneak back outside and take her suitcases back up to my room, storing them in the closet just like I'd promised.

When the bathroom door opens, I keep my eyes on the TV, acting like it's not a big deal at all.

"You have good-smelling shampoo," Keanna says. As if to make its point, I immediately smell the citrusy fragrance as she walks up to me and takes a seat on the other end of the futon. She's as far away as she can get, but she's still sitting near me, so I'll take it.

"Yeah, it's green apple something," I say, casually looking over at her. "My mom buys the stuff."

I hadn't thought it were possible, but this girl is even more beautiful in my baggy shirt and boxers. Her dark hair hangs loose and wet around her shoulders and she works a towel through it as she watches the TV.

"Why are my boxers so short on you?" I ask, hoping that that's not how they look when I wear them. I'm way taller than her after all.

She lifts up the bottom of my shirt. "I had to roll them up a few times at the waist so they wouldn't fall off." She smiles and my breath catches in my throat.

She should not have done that. I can see her hip and belly button. The smooth skin of her stomach that makes me want to slide my hands over it. But I just nod and try to regain my composure and she drops the shirt like it's nothing.

I let out a slow breath. I will not get a hard on while sitting next to this girl.

"You gonna shower, too?" she says a little while later.

I'm covered in dried lake water, so yeah, I need to. But I'm not ready to leave. Keanna nods toward the bathroom. "The hot water should be back by now."

"Huh?"

"The water I used for my shower," she explains, like she doesn't understand why I don't understand. "It takes a while for a hot water heater to refill? Why are you looking at me like that?"

I chuckle. "Our water isn't like that. You can take hot showers in every bathroom all at the same time and it won't matter."

She looks impressed. "Nice. Mom and I usually fight over who gets to shower first because the second person never gets any hot water."

"Not here," I say, figuring I better hurry and get it over with.

I shower quickly. Having Keanna in the other room is like Christmas morning, and I can't wait to get back to her. After toweling off my hair and using what's probably too much deodorant, I try to shrug off my nervousness and head back out into my room.

Keanna has fallen asleep and the sight of it makes my heart hurt. She's curled up on the futon, my supercross throw blanket covering her body. She's using her hands as a pillow and although it doesn't seem very comfortable, she looks serene.

I bite my lip. I could go to bed and leave her here but I'd really wanted to be the gentleman and let her sleep in my bed tonight. I sit on the middle of the futon and lightly touch her arm.

"Keanna?" I say softly as I shake her arm. "Wake up."

Her eyes burst open and she throws my arm off her with enough force that I wince in pain. She sits straight up, her chest heaving, but her eyes widen when she sees me and then she relaxes a little. "Oh my god you scared me," she breathes, putting a hand to her chest.

"I'm sorry," I say, standing up. I offer her a kind smile. "You just fell asleep without a pillow and . . . well I was going to give you my bed . . ."

She looks back toward my bed and then looks at me. "That thing is way too big for just me. You take it."

I shake my head. "I'll sleep on the futon. You're my guest, you get the bed."

She chews on her thumbnail and then sighs. "Why don't we both sleep on the bed. It's so big we won't even know the other one is there."

_Yeah tell that to my penis_ , I think. But I certainly don't say it out loud. I can be a decent guy for one freaking night. "Sure, sounds good."

We climb into bed, me on my side with my nightstand and her on the side that's always been empty until this very moment.

My heart thumps like a jackhammer as I plug in my cell phone and set the alarm for one p.m. The lock-in doesn't start until around four so I'll have time to get food for Keanna and me and then leave her here until I get back from work.

When I lie back in bed and turn around, Keanna is already asleep. Her chest rises and falls steadily and a few strands of her damp hair fall in her face. She is so beautiful when she's not scowling at me.

I slide over a little, reach out my hand and push the hair out of her eyes. She stirs, but stays asleep. And then her hand reaches up and grabs mine. I let my fingers lace in between hers and then I close my eyes and fall asleep.

Sunlight streams across my room when I wake up in the morning. I look over and find Keanna facing me, sleeping all curled up with my hand still laced in hers. She's brought it up her chest, and I am so wound up in her arms that I couldn't escape if I wanted to.

Carefully, I slide my other arm out and pat around for my phone. When I grab it, I turn the screen on. Dammit. It's three in the afternoon. How the hell had I slept so late? What happened to my alarm?

And then I hear it, the sound that probably woke me up a minute ago. Dad's calling my name.

"You awake?" he calls out, just a few feet away from my door.

"Yeah, be there in a minute," I shout.

But it's too late.

The door flies open, my dad looking annoyed as hell that I've overslept on a workday. I hold my breath as his eyes land straight on the sleeping girl in my bed.

"It's not what it looks like," I say, feeling Keanna stirring next to me.

Dad puts a hand to his forehead and shakes his head. "It never is."

# Chapter 13

Keanna

* * *

Oh my god. I've been embarrassed several times in my life. Getting bullied on the playground in fourth grade because my pants were "high waters" and then getting bullied even more because I didn't know what high waters meant. Going out in public with guys Mom's dated over the years, watching them get rip-roaring drunk at some little café and then having us get kicked out for causing a scene.

None of those instances equal the amount of humiliation that flows through me now. I am sitting at a kitchen table with Jett. His mom is sitting across from us, her fingers laced together on the table. He gives me this encouraging smile like I'm supposed to trust him. Yeah, right.

"So . . . you say you just let her spend the night?" Mrs. Adams asks her son.

Jett sighs. "For the millionth time, yes. I ran into her at McDonald's and she said her mom wasn't back yet. She had nowhere to go and I didn't want her to be homeless so I brought her here."

"Language," Mrs. Adams says. There's a quick knock on the back door and then it swings open and Becca enters and I swear my humiliation gets about ten times worse.

"Honey," she says, walking straight to me. She throws an arm around me and pulls me into a hug. She smells like cinnamon rolls and I've never been more confused. Shouldn't she be yelling at me?

"Aren't I in trouble?" I ask when she finally releases her grip on me.

Mrs. Adams laughs. "My son is in trouble, not you."

"Mom!" Jett says, slapping his hands on the granite counter. "I was just helping out a friend. _You're_ the one who told me to be nice to her and help show her around town."

"Yeah, but I can't have my sixteen-year-old having girls sleep in his bed," she says, giving him one of those classic Mom looks.

"So what exactly happened?" Becca asks, squeezing my hand while she takes a seat on the barstool next to me.

Jett decides to tell the story. "I ran into Keanna at McDonald's. Her mom is MIA and I didn't want her to be alone so I told her to come stay with us."

"That was very kind of you, Jett."

Mrs. Adams clears her throat. "It _was_ kind, but then Jace found them curled up in bed together this morning."

Becca laughs. "I almost don't believe that," she says, eyeing me. "You seemed to think Jett was a little bit of a jerk last time I talked to you."

My cheeks are so read they're probably in danger of catching on fire. "What can I say? I needed a place to sleep."

"You'll stay with us," Becca says. "I got your note and it broke my heart, kiddo. You're welcome to stay with us as long as you want. Actually," she says, holding up an intimidating finger to me. "I demand it. You'd be safe with Jett but I don't think his parents quite approve."

Mrs. Adams playfully slaps Becca on the arm. "Don't make me the bad guy here! If you had a daughter would you let her sleep in Jett's room with him?"

Becca pretends to consider this. "Didn't we always daydream about having kids close in age so they could grow up and marry each other?"

Jett groans, rolling his eyes like he's heard this story a million times and his mom laughs.

"You're supposed to be on my side," she tells her best friend. "Keanna, you'll stay with Becca and Park until we hear from your mom."

"And no more running away," Becca says, wagging that finger at me again.

"Okay . . . I guess," I say, but it ends up sounding like a question.

Jett looks over at me and gives me this assuring look that makes my stomach flutter. Every instinct I have is telling me to deny their help and grab my things and run away again. But Jett's dark blue gaze has me frozen to the barstool. As much as I may want to leave, I know there's really nowhere else to go. And I don't want to leave Jett.

There, I said it.

Now I have to find a way to make those feelings go away.

It's like another freaking episode of some perfect family TV show after everything settles down. Mrs. Adams, who now insists that I call her Bayleigh since Becca goes by her first name (and apparently calling her _Mrs._ makes her feel old) makes us lunch and we sit around and eat it just like we had for breakfast the other day.

Only the men aren't here this time. They're already working at the track next door. Jett complains a million times about how he doesn't want to work the little kid lock-in tonight because, according to him, kids are sticky and whiney and they're so slow on a dirt bike that it makes the whole thing boring.

I'm really surprised that I'm not in more trouble. My mom is pretty lax about things, hell she'd probably love it if I decided to move in with a guy so I'd be out of her hair, but I'd expected Jett's parents to be more uptight about the whole thing. Since everything else in his life is like one perfect American family movie, I guess I thought he'd be grounded and I'd be escorted off the property like an embarrassing incident they'd rather sweep under the rug.

I guess people can surprise you when you're not expecting it.

"I gotta get to work in about ten minutes," Jett says, taking my empty plate and carrying it over to the dishwasher. Becca and Bayleigh have moved into the breakfast nook and they're both pouring over some magazine that features Becca's artwork. They've gone just far enough away to give us some time to talk, but close enough that we know they're still watching.

"Let me take your stuff over to Becca's for you," Jett says, flashing me this smile that makes my insides tighten up and twist around, like there's a little monster in there trying to fight his way out.

"It's okay, I can do it." I head back to his room with Jett on my heels. As I make my way toward his closet, he dives in front of me and slips inside, grabbing my bags. "Ha!" he says triumphantly, holding my suitcase and duffel bag up in the air. "I win."

I put my hands on my hips. If the flimsy duffel bag rips open and spills all of my pathetic belongings. I might die of embarrassment. "Give it here."

"No, I'm taking it over for you."

I sigh and reach for my bag. He holds it up out of my reach, his muscles flexing under the weight of all of my earthly possessions.

"Don't be an asshole," I say, feeling all of those happy thoughts from earlier slip away. I know he's teasing me, but it's starting to feel a lot like being in school, where guys do this shit all the time.

"I'm taking your bags and you're going to like it," Jett says. He pushes past me and heads outside, all while I'm following him, but failing to catch up.

In the guest bedroom at Becca's house, he drops my bags and then stands, hands on hips as he gazes out at the room. "There. Job well done."

"You're a jerk," I say, grabbing my suitcase and pulling it away from him. Anger fills me up and I latch onto it, preferring the feel of being pissed off to those earlier feelings that were strangely like having a crush. I will _not_ let myself feel things like that for this guy. He is not my type at all. He'll only screw me over, or make fun of me to his rich friends, just like every other guy like him. I made a mistake going home with him last night, and I guess I'll just blame that on being delirious from too much fast food, a sugary milkshake, and a lack of sleep.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Jett says, his face falling. He reaches for me and I back up.

"Just get out. Seriously."

"Really?" He looks hurt, but then he replaces the look with a smirk. "Don't I at least get a thank you or something?"

"Why the hell would I thank you? You took my stuff without my permission! You carried it over here against my wishes and you lorded your strength over me like you're superior and I'm just the pathetic girl who has to do what you say. That's not cool. And I'm definitely not thanking you for it."

The hurt on his face is real, and I love the satisfaction I get from seeing him verbally bitch-slapped.

"Wow, um. I'm sorry, Keanna. I was just messing with you."

"Your definition of messing is my definition of bullying."

Jett runs a hand down his face, his brows pulling together in thought. "You're right. I'm so sorry. I really meant no harm."

"I don't care. Just go."

"But I don't want to leave things between us like this," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "Can I make it up to you?"

"Yeah, you can leave and never come back," I snap. "Go make out with girls in supply closets or whatever the hell you did before you met me and made me your charity case. I don't need your help, Jett."

He swallows and his Adam's apple bobs. His chest rises as he breathes in and it makes him look a foot taller. "Okay, then. Bye."

I close the door behind him and twist the lock. Becca had said she'd be back over here in an hour or so. But for now I'm alone, and all I want to do is sleep and pretend I am somewhere far away from here.

# Chapter 14

Jett

* * *

I am not all about this summer. This summer actually kind of sucks. I've spent my entire life at this track, all day every day, after school, every holiday. Only now that I'm working here, the place has become my nemesis.

Maybe I'm still pissed off about Keanna choosing to cut me out of her life so quickly. Whatever the case, I am not in a good mood.

I walk around the track, keeping to the areas between the jumps as I bend down and turn on each sprinkler I come across. The entire track is lined with them, massive sprinkler nozzles that shoot water onto the dirt. We have to water the track down a lot during the summer because the hot, dry air keeps turning the track into dust. No one rides well on dust.

I kick at a hard clump of dirt as I make my way to the next sprinkler, holding onto my shirt as I bend down to turn it on. I've been getting somewhat of a "farmer's tan" on my chest and arms from wearing a shirt at work so I took it off and have it draped over my shoulder. I'm not going to let this job turn me into a weirdly-tanned freak. I have somewhat of a hotness reputation to uphold.

What was the word Becca used?

Oh yeah, _heartthrob_.

I am all about girls who are all about me, but ever since Keanna kicked me to the curb a week ago—yeah, it's been a whole week—I haven't quite bounced back.

I glance over at the Park's house as I turn around a jump and twist another sprinkler on. It's so far away I can't really see anything, but that doesn't stop me from wishing I'd see her walking in the backyard, picking wildflowers.

Damn.

Here I am inventing cute little things for her to do, and she won't even talk to me. How the hell would I know if she likes wildflowers? Maybe she doesn't. Maybe she's got a new boyfriend now. I wouldn't know. She completely shut me out and I've been too embarrassed by the whole thing to ask my parents if she's still staying over there.

I really hadn't meant to piss her off so much when I took her suitcase. I was just trying to be a gentleman.

But maybe that right there is my problem. I'm a player. A no-strings-attached kind of guy. I'm not exactly the world's leading expert on all things Mr. Darcy-esque, so it makes sense that when I tried to be gentlemanly, it blew up in my face.

I breathe a sigh, long and slow, as all of the air in my lungs deflates until my chest is at the same sunken level as my heart. For the millionth time since the day Keanna kicked me out of her room at Park's house, I tell myself to get the hell over it. Suck it up, Jett. Move on. Call up one of the billion girls in your contacts list and have one come over to hook up.

But I can't. And this last week might have been the longest I've gone without a girl's lips on mine.

I turn on another sprinkler and curse when the blast of cold water hits me right in the face. I'd been so caught up in daydreaming (i.e.- obsessing) over Keanna's rejection that I hadn't paid attention to where I was standing. And now I'm soaked.

My teeth grit together and I stand up, using my shirt to dry off. That's it. Keanna doesn't want anything to do with me and I will no longer sit around here like a pansy with my head in the clouds. I won't pine after some girl who hates me. I'll throw myself back out there and get a firsthand reminder of why I don't do relationships.

I finish turning on the sprinklers, making sure I'm on the right side of the spray nozzles, and then set an alarm for an hour from now to remind me to turn them off.

Once I'm back at the track, I flip open my contacts list and scroll. Although Emma would jump at the chance to come over, I'm kind of sick of her. After a few minutes of scrolling through girl's names, I hit up Facebook instead. I type: Boreedddd.

And then I shove my phone back in my pocket. With any luck, someone will invite me out to do something. So what if it's a Thursday—it's summertime.

After work, I head into the main office to get a snack out of the mini-fridge Mom keeps behind the front counter. All the riding lessons are done for the day so thankfully there are no customers or kid's parents loitering inside. Thursdays are usually early close days for us so I open a can of Sunkist and plop down on one of the barstools at the front counter. I worked my ass off today. I feel more exhausted than when I spend the whole day riding. Dirt bikes take a lot of endurance and strength, but it's a kind of strength I know by heart. Pulling the throttle and kicking the bike into another gear comes naturally to me now. It's all muscle memory and when I'm riding the bike around the track, it's a full body workout that feels more like playing. I love every second of it. I do _not_ love the manual labor I did today.

Dad walks in talking on his phone. He hangs up a second later and then grins at me. "Ready for your first paycheck?" he says, handing me a folded piece of paper.

"Not really," I say in a joking tone as I open the paper. "Now you and Mom are gonna make me buy my own stuff."

Dad laughs. "Yep. That's the beauty of making your kid get a job."

"Wow, two hundred bucks," I say, ripping the check off at the perforated edges. "Not bad."

Before Dad can say anything, Mom calls his name from somewhere down the hall.

"Shit, she sounds like there's some drama going on," Dad says, rolling his eyes before he walks away.

I can hear Becca's voice saying hi to Dad and suddenly whatever drama they're discussing I want to be a part of. Carefully, I slide off the stool and walk down the hallway, making my shoes step as quietly as possible over the black and white checkerboard tiles.

Becca, Mom, and Dad are talking in the kid's playroom. It started out as a daycare when I was a little kid, but now it's kind of a lounge area for kids, teens, and parents. There are couches and TVs and stuff in there. I walk up to the doorway, pressing my back against the wall so I can eavesdrop.

Becca's talking. "It's been a week now, and I just don't know what to do."

"Her mom isn't answering the phone at all?" Mom says.

"Most the time it goes straight to voicemail but sometimes it'll ring, so that must mean her phone is on, right?" Becca says.

"So what are you gonna do?" Dad asks. "Call the cops?"

"What!" Becca sounds offended. "Why would I do that? The girl isn't a criminal, Jace."

"Yeah, but," Dad says, slower now. He's probably trying not to piss her off anymore. "Maybe you should report the lady as a missing person or something. Or turn the girl into child services since she's a minor."

"No, I won't kick her out," Becca says. "I actually like having another girl around. Makes me think of the kid I never had. It's fun having someone to hang out with and she's a sweet kid, Jace. She really is."

"Oh we had a blast when we went shopping," Mom says. "That girl can eat a lot."

What? When did my mother go shopping with Keanna? And why wasn't I informed?

Becca laughs. "I keep telling her my goal is to make her gain ten pounds. Shouldn't be too hard. Every time I make food she acts like she hasn't eaten in weeks, the poor thing."

"I think you should give it more time," Mom says. "She doesn't have anywhere else to go and you don't want the cops involved. They'll just put her in some kind of home."

"Hey, don't give me that look," Dad says and I picture him holding up his hands in surrender to the two women in front of him. "I was just trying to be helpful. God, I don't want the girl in a home or anything. I'm just worried about her mom."

My stomach clenches and I turn away, quietly walking back to the front office. I don't want to hear any more. It's bad enough that I already have a crush on a girl who hates me, so I don't need to add feeling sorry for her to that list. Maybe her mom will come back soon and everything will be okay. Maybe by the time school starts in the fall, she'll have forgiven me and maybe we can be friends again.

I call D'andre on my walk home, but he's already committed to seeing some dumbass kid movie with his little brother tonight. He invites me along but I pass. Sure, I love movie popcorn but sitting through some brightly colored, extra loud little kid movie would be more like torture. I'm not that desperate for companionship. Maybe I'll just play the Xbox all night.

I walk up the two steps onto the back patio and a small cough startles me. I look up to find Jacey Hamilton sitting in one of the patio chairs, a beach towel strung across her lap and a sexy smirk on her lips. She's got long blonde hair and she's a little chubby, but in all the right places. Her ass and tits are amazing, and she knows this judging by the bikini she's wearing under a see-through mesh tank top.

"Can I help you?" I ask, stopping when I'm standing right in front of her, invading her personal space. She peers up at me and pokes her lips out. The thing with Jacey is that she is all about harmless hookups. You never have to worry about this girl sending you a million emotional texts the next day. She's casual. She's fun. And I haven't seen her in a while, not since Emma scared her off at the Spring Fling school dance.

"I saw your Facebook post," she says. "Figured I'd come over and take you for a swim."

I grin. "Without even texting first to see if I'd be free?"

She stands and her boobs press into my chest. She tosses the towel over the back of the patio chair, making sure to let her butt graze up against me when she turns. "I took a chance. So what do you say?"

I shrug. After spending all day in this hot ass sun, the pool actually sounds like a great idea. I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier.

I toss my shirt to the deck and empty my phone and keys from my pockets. I'm already in board shorts so I give her an evil eye wiggle. "Last one in has to rub the other's shoulders."

Her eyes go wide and then we take off running. But I'm closer and faster, my long legs far quicker than her short ones, so when I dive into the pool head first, I know I've won.

Jacey's glaring at me when I bob back up from the water. "So not fair. You cheated."

I gasp like I'm totally offended. "Did not. I can't help it that your little kid legs don't take you very fast."

"Hey, I'm the same age as you," she says, swimming over to me. Her hair looks brown now that it's all wet. I get a sudden flash of what Keanna's hair looked like wet, sprawled out over her face while she laid in my bed. I have to blink it away and tell myself to focus on the girl in front of me. The girl who actually wants me . . . well, as much as you can want a casual hookup.

"So what's been up with you?" Jacey says, treading water in front of me. We're right where the water gets about six feet deep so my feet touch but hers don't.

I shake my head. "Nope. No talking. You owe me a shoulder rub."

She rolls her eyes and then grabs my arm, using my body as an anchor to pull herself around. She wraps her legs around my waist and then grabs my shoulders and starts rubbing them. I close my eyes. "Holy shit, you're good at this."

"Enjoy it cause I'm not doing this forever," she snaps, digging her thumbs into my shoulders. "So, like I said, what's been up?"

"Not a damn thing. I'm working at the track now, so my life has become motocross and then more motocross."

"Hasn't that always been your life?" she says.

"Yeah, but before I had a job I at least had _some_ free time. Now it's work work work, ride work ride and then work again."

She giggles while she rubs the tension out of my shoulders. "I bet Emma hates that."

I groan without even realizing it. Jacey stops and leans over my shoulder to look at me. "Uh oh, trouble in paradise?"

"Okay, don't make me kick you out of this pool," I say, giving her my best mean glare. "Emma and I are _not_ a thing."

"Yeah, yeah. If she had her way, you would be. I'm proud of you for holding your ground."

"You might be the only one," I say, taking her hand and pulling her around so that we're face to face again. The massage felt great but I feel bad using her like that.

"I don't really like Emma that much," Jacey says. The corner of her lip curls. "She's kind of a . . ."

"Bitch?" I suggest and we both start laughing.

"Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something," she says, pushing away and leaning her head back so that she starts to float on her back.

"What's up?"

Before she can say anything, Mom walks up. Damn, I hadn't even heard her approach. It's a good thing we weren't doing anything inappropriate. Note to self: Keep an eye out for the parents. They're not as loud as you hope they are.

"Hey," Mom says, giving a little wave as she passes us on her way to the back door. "Will you be home for dinner?"

"Yeah," I say and Mom nods. "Jacey, you're welcome to stay, too."

She slips inside and Jacey gives me a look. If we weren't in the pool, her hands would probably be on her hips. "I feel like your mom doesn't like me."

"Mom likes everyone."

Jacey's eyebrows narrow. "But it feels like she doesn't like me."

"That's because your name sounds like my dad's name, Jace. She said it creeps her out."

Jacey smiles, looking as if everything makes sense now. "So it's not because I randomly make out with her son?"

"Nah, she doesn't care about that."

Speaking of, this might be the longest we've been without her jumping my bones. "So what were you saying?"

Her smile fades and even though she's covered in water, she seems to look a little scared. "Well . . . I don't know. Maybe it's stupid."

"Okay, now you have to tell me." I lift my feet and dunk down into the water, tossing my head back so my hair will flatten when I resurface. "What's going on?"

"Okay so, well. How should I begin?" Jacey bites her bottom lip and swims out across the pool, probably buying for time. "So there's this guy."

I lift an eyebrow. "You're interested in a guy?"

She nods and her cheeks flush. "I know I spent my whole life saying I'd never get in a real relationship because that kind of shit never works out for my parents, but . . . I don't know. I kind of like him."

"Do I know him?" I ask. "And are you asking my permission to date him, or something? I mean, you and I are just a no-strings-attached thing. So why would I care?"

"We're not even that anymore," she says, throwing her hand through the water. "Emma made sure to put a stop to it."

Is that why girls haven't been calling me as much?

"So, about the guy," I say, pressing for more info. "What do you need my advice for?"

"Okay, so don't laugh. Because I mean yeah, we make out and all, but you're still my friend, ya know?"

I nod and she seems to relax a little more. "So I guess I want to know . . . do you think a guy would like me enough to be my boyfriend? Like . . . am I worth it?"

"Of course you're worth it, if that's what you really want," I say.

Jacey bites on her lip again and sinks down until just her head is above the water. "I guess I feel like I'm just some slut that no guy would ever really _like_ , like. And I know it's stupid but I _like_ , like him. I want to tell him that but I'm not sure if I'm girlfriend material."

I walk across the bottom of the pool and take both her hands in mine, making sure to meet her gaze. "You are not a slut. You can't think that about yourself."

She frowns and stares down at the water. "What the hell is wrong with me, Jett? Relationships are stupid! Ugh."

I smile and let go of her hand so I can flick water in her face. She grimaces and flicks water back at me. "Dude, if you like him then go for it. And if he doesn't like you then he's a jackass, okay? You're awesome and I'm glad we're friends."

"Thanks." Her frown morphs into something like a grin. "I may not be as hot as girls like Emma Clarke, but I'm a good kisser, right?"

I nod and give her a wink, "Totally."

"Good," she says, playfully splashing me with water again. "You taught me everything I know, so I should be good."

"Psh, obviously," I say. Then I grab her head and dunk her under water, just like we used to do when we were kids. She screams and tries to retaliate, but I'm too strong.

The sound of footsteps on the deck startle me again and I look up, expecting to see Dad. Only it's not.

Keanna gives me the slightest scowl before she walks up to my back door and lets herself inside.

# Chapter 15

Keanna

* * *

I guess I should be happy that it doesn't faze me to see Jett playing around with some girl in his pool. It's not like I have a crush on him. It's not like I _had_ a crush on him. It was one night, one kind deed on his part and then his epic ruining of the deed by being a condescending jerk.

Mrs. Adam's house smells like clean linen when I step inside, grateful to put a solid brick wall between Jett and me. Every room seems to have one of those light up wax melter things and that's where the clean scent comes from. There's something really nice about walking into a house that's not only clean and tidy, but that also smells nice. Motels smell like stale laundry and moldy carpets. Low-income apartments smell like weed and fast food grease. Mrs. Adam's house smells like perfection.

(I refuse to call it Jett's house.)

"Hey there," Mrs. Adams says with a kind smile. Becca had just talked to her on the phone and I was told to let myself in the back door and that's just what I did. She's wearing tight-fitting yoga pants with the word PINK written on one leg. Her tank top is neon pink and she looks like she could pass for someone in college and not the mom of a teenager.

"Okay, so Becca needs sprinkles?" she says, joining me near the kitchen island.

"Yep. She only had one jar of Christmas sprinkles and they expired two years ago."

"Ew," Mrs. Adams says, curling her nose. "What is wrong with that woman?" She shakes her head and turns toward a cabinet, her high ponytail bouncing as she walks. "Let's see what we have here."

"I really like your tank top." The random statement startles me and I'm the one who said it.

She gives me this knowing smile. "It's the sparkles, right? I love it. I have it in three colors."

It must be nice to like something and be able to buy three of them. Of course I don't say that . . . I just smile politely and hope that this moment is over soon. I've spent a week avoiding Jett and now he's right outside the door. What if he decides to come inside and introduce me to his date? Ugh.

"So . . .," I say. "Sprinkles?"

She turns back to the cabinet and starts taking out jars and bottles. "Here ya go," she says, sliding four containers of sprinkles across the counter to me.

"Whoa, Mrs. Adams, you're a sprinkle fan."

"Yeah, I'm a little obsessed. Have you tried these silver ones? They look like real metal but they're totally edible. I love them. Here, take them too."

I take the jar of sprinkles that look like silver BBs. She's pulled out star-shaped sprinkles, little dots, stuff that looks like glitter, black and white, pink and purple . . . if it's sold in the stores, I'm pretty sure she has it.

"Let me get you a bag for these," she says, opening another door and pulling out a grocery bag. "Oh, and it's Bayleigh. Don't call me Mrs. Adams until I'm like, forty. And maybe not even then. I don't want to be old."

"Don't worry, you don't look old."

The corners of her eyes crinkle. "Thanks, dear. You keep up those compliments. In fact, tell all of Jett's friends to do the same thing. They're always making fun of me."

I don't really have anything to say to that since I don't plan on talking to Jett, like ever, for the rest of my life. So I focus on putting the sprinkles in the bag and then I thank her.

The walk from their house back to Becca's seems to take a million years. Jett and his friend are still in the pool from the sound of the water moving around, but I make sure I keep my eyes forward and not on the pool.

Becca's eyes light up when I show her the sprinkles. "Holy shit. Bayleigh is insane."

"It does seem like an obscene amount of sprinkles for one household," I say. The jar of silver sprinkles catches my attention. They are pretty cool.

Becca lines up the jars on her kitchen island, from smallest to largest. "Okay so, you're probably wondering why I sent you on a sprinkle errand . . ."

I shrug. "You're having a sugar craving?"

She points a finger at me. "Hell yes I am. I figured you could make some cupcakes with me, yeah?"

I nod and try to look enthusiastic about it. Becca's been doing things like this all week. At first I thought she felt sorry for me and was trying to entertain me as if I were some little kid, but now I think she's just genuinely a nice person.

"I always pictured having a cupcake making night if I ever had a daughter," she says, her eyes far away as she daydreams about what hasn't happened yet. "Park and I can't have kids and I keep trying to accept the fact but it sucks, ya know?"

I stare at her.

"Well okay," she says with a knowing nod. "I guess you wouldn't know since you're still a teen. Anyhow, thanks for hanging out with me."

Now I'm starting to wonder if I feel as sorry for Becca as she feels for me. She's a really nice lady and always seems genuinely interested in anything I have to say. Last night we'd spent hours in her studio while she painted and I watched. It was fun, if not a little awkward. Most of my stay here has been spent in my room, watching TV, but the few times we hang out I end up enjoying myself. Talking with Becca is the only time I'm not thinking about Jett.

Well okay. I'm always thinking about Jett.

Becca and I mix the batter and pour cupcakes into every tray she has, making forty-eight in all. She has two ovens so we're able to throw them all in there to bake at the same time. As the cupcakes cook, I help her clean up our mess.

"What are we going to do with all of these cupcakes?" I reach for another paper towel to wipe off my hands.

She gives me a sneaky grin. "Eat them, duh! We can rent a movie or something and have a girl's night. I'll make Park hang out in his man cave."

"And what are we going to do with the other forty cupcakes?" I ask, laughing.

"We'll give them to the boys. Jett can probably eat a dozen in one sitting."

Though he'd been on my mind this whole time, the mention of his name out loud sends a dark shadow over my happy mood. Becca seems to notice because her smile fades and she tilts her head. "You okay?"

My heart is aching in my chest but I nod anyway. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Is it your mom? Oh honey . . ." Becca frowns. That pitying look I've seen so many times returns to her face. "I wasn't sure if I should tell you or not . . ."

The lump in my throat returns. "What? Tell me what? Did you hear from my mom?"

She shakes her head. "No . . . not yet. But, you know how her phone does that thing where sometimes it rings and sometimes it doesn't? That has to mean her phone is on, right?"

I nod, my throat suddenly feeling like it'll close at any moment. Mom's phone has been driving me crazy. If it were dead, then it'd go to voicemail every time. But when it rings . . . is she ignoring me? That's really the only explanation.

"So, what is it?" I ask.

Becca lowers her gaze and stares at her fingernails. "I hope you don't mind, but I called around. I checked with every police department from here to Corpus Christi. She hasn't been arrested or brought in or anything."

"Oh." I nod. Try swallowing the lump, but it doesn't go anywhere. "I'm not mad."

Three nights ago, Becca and I had called some hospitals to see if they had taken in my mom. No one had heard of her, so I'd been a little relieved. "I haven't thought of that. That's actually a good idea."

She nods, her lips pressing together in a gesture that's both caring and frustrated. "I don't know what else to try."

"She's never done this," I say, going through my memories yet again. Never, ever, has my mom just straight up left me like this. "I don't understand and I swear I didn't know about it. I had no idea she was going to do this."

"I know sweetheart, don't worry about that." The timer dings and Becca grabs an oven mitt. I open the oven door for her and she takes out our cupcakes, which are perfectly baked and already look golden and delicious. The smell fills up the kitchen and makes my mouth water. I am eating like some kind of god over here and I love every second of it.

"I know I've said this before," Becca says as she sets the trays down on fleur-de-lis trivets. "But I'd love having you here for as long as it takes. You really are a pleasure to have around and I don't mind one bit. I hope this doesn't sound crazy, but I kind of feel like maybe your visit is like a gift from fate. I've always wanted a child and lately I've been thinking that if Park and I had kids when we got married, that I'd have a teenager by now and . . ." Her eyes fill with tears and my mouth falls open. "God, Keanna, I'm sorry. Here I am crying like a lunatic! Oh my god, you must think I'm a freak."

"No, I don't. I think you're a lifesaver." The moment I say the words I realize they are true. "I'm a total stranger and you took me in and I'm really grateful."

I'm afraid she's going to hug me, but instead she takes off her oven mitt and wipes her eyes. "Tomorrow, let's go shopping. I want to get you some clothes."

"No way, you can't do that. You've already done too much." She waves her hand at my words but I keep going. "Actually, can I maybe work for you? Do some chores to help pay for my room and board?"

She considers this for a moment. "Okay my first thought is no, because you're my guest but—actually, there might be something you can do. I work a couple days a week at the track but I'm looking at going to Louisiana for a few days to showcase my art at this huge craft fair they have there. You could cover for me. I'll even pay you."

"Working at the track? I don't know if I could do that." What I don't say is that Jett works at the track.

She shakes her head. "Nah, you totally can. The front desk is easy. You can come with me tomorrow and I'll show you the ropes. Cool?"

"Well, I do need to work off my debts here so, I guess I should."

She smacks me with an oven mitt. "You have no debts here! The money you earn at the track will be yours. You can spend it going out with friends or something."

I snort. "I don't have any friends."

"Sure you do. Jett's your friend."

Pain settles into my stomach again. "Yeah," I say, turning so she can't see the anguish in my eyes. "Sure."

# Chapter 16

Jett

* * *

I'm off work on Saturday morning and Dad and Park have both taken the day off as well. This is some kind of summer miracle because now it means I get the track all to myself. No dodging around slow kids that my dad is trying to train, or getting into races with idiots who think they're faster than me. No one is ever faster than me on my own track.

I head out to the track's garage where I keep my bike, my heavy riding boots clunking along the concrete floor. The outdoors smells like warm air and wildflowers and since it's seven in the morning, it's just cool enough to feel the last few seconds of nighttime chill before the sun heats it all up.

I grab my helmet off the wall and pull it on, buckling the strap beneath my chin. My heart isn't racing, not exactly, but it's beating with an enthusiastic rhythm because finally, finally, I get to ride alone. Just me and the bike on the track I know by heart.

My bike cranks up with only one kick of the kick starter, which is nice because I haven't been on it in a couple of days. I check to make sure it's full of gas and then I ride out of the garage, feeling all of my stress and anxiety dissipate with each turn of the piston.

The track is supreme this morning. The dirt is wet and tilled up from the tractor, perfect for pinning it around the hairpin turn. A good rider never sits on their dirt bike; we have to be standing, knees and elbows bent, guiding the bike where we want to go. Sit down even for a second and your lap time just got slower.

My muscles throb as I ride. The familiarity of the movements come back to me, but my body has had a break for two days so it screams in protest. I grit my teeth and push harder, faster, letting the racing modified engine of the bike accelerate with all its got.

When I'm on the track, I'm not Jett Adams, the prick who hurt Keanna. I am a racer, an athlete. I am one with the bike. And I know that sounds lame, but it's true. The only time I can forget about the stresses that plague me are when I'm on a bike.

So why can't I stop thinking about her now?

It's been a week. I've ignored every text from Emma, and even ignored the flirty Facebook chats with Ryann and Beth, two girls whose brothers race with me. I've had a flirty back and forth with both of them for weeks now and I've ignored it all. For the first time in my life, I don't want to mindlessly hook up with someone.

I want to have a talk with a girl. Share secrets and feelings. Make her feel special and safe and protected, like I did that night I drove Keanna home from McDonald's. I want to hold her hand and show her off to the world. All she wants is to forget I exist.

I pin the throttle as my bike jolts forward and then I slam on the brakes to take a sharp turn. All of the shitty, horrible things I've done come back to me. All of the hookups that I've never called back, the kisses I didn't mean, the girlfriends I stole from their boyfriends. Those are the things that make me feel like shit.

Carrying Keanna's bags shouldn't be one of them. I wasn't trying to hurt her. I was trying to make her think I'm strong and chivalrous and kind. Maybe make her think she's not alone in this world even though her shitty mother has left her in that exact position. But all it got me was a cruel glare and a warning never to talk to her again.

I push on, riding around and around the track until I am exhausted and my body screams for me to stop and take a break. I need water. I need food. But the pain of pushing myself to my athletic limits makes me feel good in this twisted way. Finally, I pull off the track.

The closest water bottles are in the mini fridge in the front office, so I pull my bike up to the door and hop off, leaning the handlebars carefully against the brick wall. Racings bikes don't have kickstands. My chest is heaving and I rip off my helmet, setting it on the bike seat.

I drop my hands down to my knees and concentrate on breathing slowly. This isn't exhaustion from a lack of endurance. I am in excellent shape. This is something different, something I hadn't known I could experience.

Heartache.

I stand and pull off my jersey, then the neck brace and the chest protector, all of the equipment that's expensive as hell and meant to keep my body from getting hurt in the event of a crash. Too bad it doesn't help at all for what's inside of me. If they made heartbreak protectors, I'd buy fifty of them.

It's hot as hell outside and still humid since it's only around nine-thirty in the morning. Luckily, my chest is covered in sweat so it helps cool me off. I head into the office and the cold blast of air conditioning makes goosebumps prickle across my skin.

"Hey there," Becca says cheerfully.

I nod as I walk and I stop short when I realize she's not in here alone doing Saturday morning paperwork. I swallow, my eyes focused on Keanna. She's wearing a pink sundress with thin straps that make her shoulders look frail and somehow cuter than normal. Her hair is in a messy bun, with strands hanging in her face and all I want to do is push it out of her eyes. Let my fingers trail along her skin . . .

The whole world seems to slow down until it's just a vortex with Keanna and me trapped in the middle. I watch her eyes go from startled to somewhat friendly and then straight back to anger. It's almost like she forgot she was mad at me for a second. Too bad she didn't forget forever.

"How was the track?" Becca asks, her face turned down toward the papers she's organizing. She's too busy to have noticed those few seconds of awkwardness that passed between me and her houseguest just now.

"Good," I say, suddenly forgetting every other word in the universe.

"Water?" Becca asks, leaning over to the mini fridge by her desk. She takes one out and hands it to me.

"Thanks," I say, wondering if I'll ever find the ability to say more than one word now that Keanna is here looking like a damn angel.

I look at her as I bring the water bottle to my lips and she watches me, her eyes gazing down to my bare stomach before she looks down at the front desk.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, trying to sound friendly.

Becca answers for her. "I gave her a job. Since I'll be gone for some craft fairs soon I figured she could do what I do so that I don't have a ton of work waiting for me when I get back."

"Great idea," I say, pulling out a barstool right next to the one Keanna's sitting on. There are only two stools behind the front counter but Becca is standing over by the computer so I had to seize the opportunity.

"Need any help?" I ask her. Hopefully she won't tell me to screw off in front of Becca and maybe, just maybe, I can win back her friendship.

"Not yet," she says, keeping her eyes on the paper. It's a parent's manual that my mom typed up a long time ago because she got sick of explaining the rules of motocross to dumbass parents.

"Hey, I can totally help with this stuff," I say, tapping the paper. My finger comes dangerously close to hers and she doesn't recoil, which must be a good thing. I give her a smile. "I know everything about motocross."

"Everything?" she says, somehow peering down at me even though she's shorter than I am.

I nod, feeling the cockiness return to my smile. "Everything."

She leans back, straightening her shoulders and pursing her lips. "Okay then. What year was the first professional motocross race?"

"Uhh . . ." I bite my bottom lip and then shake my head. "Damn. I don't know. Like the seventies or something?"

Keanna's stern expression softens and I'm reminded of how angelic she looked while asleep in my bed. "Remind me never to call you when I have a life or death motocross trivia question."

I laugh. "When would you ever have a life or death motocross trivia question?"

She shrugs, playing with the pen in her hand, drawing circles in the air. "I don't know. But it could happen."

"It could totally happen," Becca says, reminding me she's still in the room. I look over at her and she puts a hand on her hip, pretending to be disappointed in me. "My own godson doesn't know the first professional motocross race," she says, shaking her head. "What an embarrassment."

"Okay then, when was it?" I ask, putting Becca on the spot. She looks at Keanna and then back at me.

"Hell if I know!"

We all burst into laughter and when I look over at Keanna she's looking at me. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn't seem like she hates me quite as much.

# Chapter 17

Keanna

* * *

Laughter feels good, even if it is awkward as hell. Being around Jett is fun and I hate myself for thinking that. I'm supposed to hate him! Especially after seeing him in the pool with that girl. I bet he's spent every day this past week with a different girl, each one more beautiful than the last.

"Damn, I'm out of coffee," Becca says, frowning into her empty mug.

"Want me to get you some more?" Jett offers. "One sugar, no creamer?"

"You're a doll," Becca says, handing over the mug.

I try to focus on the manual in front of me, but a catch the scent of Jett's deodorant as he walks behind me toward the coffee maker in the other room. Okay, the guy is covered in sweat—thinking that his armpits smell good is like the stupidest thing ever.

But damn does he look great in those black and blue dirt bike pants, his abs glistening from sweat. Without his jersey on, the riding pants sit low, revealing the V of his hips, the faint white line of skin where his tan stops. I draw in a ragged breath and try to make sense of the words on the paper.

_The yellow flag means to slow down because another rider has fallen on the track up ahead of you._

Yeah, okay, my focus is gone.

Jett returns, walking slowly because he's filled the mug up to the top.

"Ya'll got any food around here?" he says, putting a hand on his perfectly chiseled abs. "I'm starving."

"Ooh!" Becca says, her eyes lighting up. "Key, go take him back home and give him the cupcakes."

Becca has taken to calling me only half of my name. It's like we're old friends after only a week, but I kind of like it. Mom never gave me a nickname.

"Cupcakes?" Jett says, looking more than excited.

"Yeah, we made like five hundred of them last night," I explain, as I think about what Becca just said. She wants me to take Jett over to her house, alone, to give him the cupcakes. Can I handle that?

"Okay that sounds awesome, and I will be eating four hundred of them, but can we get real breakfast first?" Jett says, running a hand through his hair. Because it's sweaty, half of it sticks up. "Too much sugar will make me sick. I need protein."

"You could go to Sherry's Café," Becca says, and I guess she's trying to be helpful but _ohmygod_ is she suggesting that I go alone to a restaurant with _Jett_? That's a thousand times worse than taking him to her house.

Jett nods. "Good idea. Want me to bring you back some waffles?"

Becca sips her coffee. "You know it."

"How do you have all of her food and coffee choices memorized?" I say, if only to buy some time before he asks me to go with him.

Jett shrugs. "She's my Second Mom. Also I've been a slave to both of my moms since I was old enough to walk. They're always having me get them crap, the lazy be-yotches."

Becca rolls her eyes and reaches into her purse, which is under the front desk in a cubby hole for employees. "Here's some cash. Ya'll two go have fun."

"Hey, second mom?" Jace says in this overly cool way. "I don't want your money. You're embarrassing me in front of the pretty girl."

Becca snorts and shoves the money back in her wallet. "Suit yourself."

Am I the pretty girl in this situation? Oh my god, why does he do this to me?

Jett turns to me with this hopeful look in his eyes and it hits me now that he's actually worried about me agreeing to go with him. "So . . . wanna get breakfast?" His voice is low, his eyes focused on mine as he stands in front of me, his gorgeous muscled chest on full display.

I swallow. My head tells me to yell the word no and slap him in the face. But my heart says, "Yeah, that's fine."

His blue eyes light up. "Yeah?"

I nod. "Yeah."

He grins. "Cool. Give me like two seconds to shower and change clothes." He holds up two fingers. "It'll be fast."

I nod and he takes off jogging down the hallway to where there's a gym with a locker room. Becca had given me a tour of the facility earlier and it's pretty cool. There's offices, a big lounge area with TVs, a daycare for little kids, and a gym with all of the same equipment you'd find in a real gym. There's also a few storage rooms like the one we'd seen Jett in on my first night here, making out with that girl. She definitely wasn't the same girl in the pool. I wonder how many girls he's made out with in all of the various rooms of this building.

And then I hate myself because I kind of wish I was one of them.

"Thanks for coming with me," Jett says, glancing over at me while we're stopped at a red light. Once again I'm in the front seat of his truck, the scent of leather and hot boy an intoxicating mix that confuses the hell out of me.

"Yeah, well I didn't really have a choice."

He tilts his head. "You could have said no. But I'm really glad you didn't. I want to make it up to you."

I lift an eyebrow. "Make what up to me?"

I can see his Adam's apple bob while he focuses on the road ahead. "You know . . . that night . . ."

Oh, it's fun messing with him. I bring my eyebrows together. "Huh? What night?"

He fidgets with the steering wheel as he drives. "That night I carried your bags and disrespected you . . . you know . . ."

I chuckle. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to hear you say it."

He leans his head against the back of the driver's seat. "You're so mean to me."

He slows and turns into the packed parking lot of a café that looks like a log cabin on the outside. We park and then he cuts the engine and turns to face me. "Look, I am sorry. And I want to make it up to you. It means a lot that you came here with me today."

He gives me a small but meaningful smile and, dammit, if I don't find myself smiling back at him.

I draw in a deep breath and stare down at the fabric of my new dress. When I'm sitting here, the hem rises to my upper thighs and suddenly I'm very self-conscious of it. "Look," I say, letting out a breath. "I don't know why I'm saying this but . . . maybe . . . I don't know," I say, shaking my head. "Maybe we can start over and like, be friends."

"Yeah?" Jett's face bursts into a smile bigger than I've ever seen. He slaps the steering wheel and then pops open his door. He's over on my side of the truck before I can gain my composure and suddenly he's opening my door and holding out a hand to me.

I take his hand and feel a warmth spread up into my insides as he helps me climb down from his massive truck.

"Thanks," I mumble, running my hands over the pink fabric to make sure it's all down and where it should be. "I probably shouldn't wear a skirt if I'll be riding in this massive thing you call a truck."

Jett closes the door behind me and takes my hand as casually as if we do this all the time. "Don't worry. If someone tried getting a look up your skirt, I'd kick their ass."

I roll my eyes, finding it very hard to walk now that my hand is in his. "You wouldn't need to do that," I say.

He squeezes my hand. "But I would."

When we reach the doors of the café, Jett drops my hand and opens the door for me. I'm glad the awkwardness of holding his hand is gone, but I also miss the feeling of his skin on mine. Maybe it's just the fact that no one really touches me anymore. It's not because it's Jett. Right?

The place is packed, but the hostess finds us a spot near the back in one of those tiny booths made only for two people.

Jett orders a Dr. Pepper and I order a water and when the waitress leaves he gives me a look. "Are you one of those people who hates sodas?"

I shake my head. "I just wanted a water."

Honestly, it never occurs to me to get anything other than water. Dawn and I rarely went to restaurants, but if we did, we had to be as cheap as possible. We always got water and split an entrée. Mom would say it's what keeps women thin and then she'd go off about how being thin is everything.

Funny, because I would have rather spent my childhood without going to bed hungry every night.

"Thanks for coming," Jett says shortly after our food arrives.

"You've already thanked me like three times," I say, stabbing into my hash browns. "You can stop thanking me now. I'm having breakfast with you, not curing cancer."

"I'm just glad you're here," he says, unfazed by my poking fun of him. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't stop thinking about you."

My heart seems to seize up in my chest. "What way am I supposed to take that?" I reach for my water because my throat is suddenly dry.

He leans forward, his eyes like deep oceans that lock onto mine. I am in danger of falling straight through to the bottom. "It means I have a huge crush on you, Keanna."

Okay, my heart has definitely stopped.

His lips curl up. "And it means I can't stop thinking about you and wondering what you're doing and kicking myself for pissing you off. And frankly, being forced to spend time away from you is only making me want you more."

I swallow. His words just made me into a molten goo, but I need to gain my straight back, soon. I need to pull back the walls that he's trying to knock down. They need to be reinforced.

I stiffen and sit up a little straighter. "You don't even know me."

"But I like what I do know."

"What about that girl from the pool?"

"What about her?"

His eyes are challenging me, but I refuse to surrender. "You looked pretty content to be playing around with her in the pool."

"She's a friend. She came over to ask me about a guy she likes."

My eyes narrow. "Did ya'll hook up?"

"No."

"Have you hooked up before?"

"Yes."

The openness with which he says it makes me pause. What kind of guy doesn't start babbling and making up excuses and trying to turn stuff around when you ask a question like that?

I point my fork at him. "Why should I believe you?"

He doesn't even blink. "Because I've never lied to you."

Oh shit.

Where are my metaphorical walls?

They are gone, crumbled and broken, while Jett stands on top of them like some kind gladiator who just won an epic war.

"Why are you telling me all of this now?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Because I don't want to be friends with you, Keanna." The whole restaurant seems to disappear as his eyes lock on mine. "I want to see if we could be more than that."

# Chapter 18

Jett

* * *

I can't stop grinning on the entire drive back from the café. One glance at Keanna shows me that she's suffering from the same problem. I can't help but look at her at every red light and stop sign and just about every second in between. It's a miracle that I don't accidentally drive us into a ditch.

She is so beautiful, and even more adorable now that I took the epic risk and spilled my guts to her. I was afraid she might slap me or throw her glass of water in my face when I admitted that I had a massive crush on her, but she didn't. She granted me the privilege of pouring out my feelings and she didn't even laugh about it.

In fact, I think she's cool with it.

We reach the final stop sign before my house and I look over at her again. She turns a deep shade of pink that matches her dress and links her fingers together in her lap.

"So where are those cupcakes?" I ask.

"At Becca's house," she says. But we've already pulled into the parking lot at the Track, which is in between both my house and the Parks'.

"Wanna walk over there?" I ask.

"Maybe we should see if Becca still needs work done," she says, playing with the hem of her dress. "I was technically supposed to be learning what to do on the job today."

"Eh, it's easy. You'll just answer phones and stuff."

"Yeah, but what will I say when I answer it?" she says, smirking. "A good employee would know what to say to the customers."

I shrug. "You say _hello_." Then I take off my seatbelt and look at her. "Do you not know how to answer a phone, Keanna? Because I could teach you."

She rolls her eyes and throws a playful punch at my arm. "You're a dork."

"Takes one to know one," I say as we climb out of my truck. It's cheesy and pathetic and I'm fully aware of how one smile from this girl completely wipes away all rational thoughts. She is like a drug and I don't care that's drugs are supposed to be bad for you.

We walk up to the main office and I grab the door, holding it open for her. She looks up at me as she enters, the expression on her face telling me she's enamored with my manners. See, this is what was supposed to happen that night I pissed her off. I wanted to impress her and now I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to her. I'll do it right this time.

We find Becca sitting in Park's lap on one of the couches in the lounge. The TV is on to a Metal Mulita DVD, which is basically just a bunch of badass dirt bike stunt guys performing all of the crazy cool shit they can do on a bike.

"Uh, gross," I say, grabbing a throw pillow off the adjacent couch and throwing it at the two lovebirds.

Becca startles, eyes wide as she whips around and nearly falls out of her husband's lap.

"Dude," Park says. "Cock block somewhere else."

"This is the Track _Lounge_! I say, throwing another pillow at him. "Kids could walk in here."

Becca sits up and fixes her hair. "We're closed today so we're not worried about little kids. Of course I guess we should have been worried about _teen_ agers barging in on us."

Becca leans over to see past me and to where Keanna is standing, holding her elbow with her other hand. "How was breakfast?" she asks.

"It was good," Keanna says, putting on that smile that I know is hiding her uncomfortableness. "Um, do you still need me to do any work?"

Becca shakes her head and waves a hand to dismiss us. "Nah, you're good. Ya'll go have fun. And lock the damn door on your way out, Jett."

"Ew, ew, ew," I say, putting my hand on Keanna's lower back as we leave the room. "Don't you two have a bedroom in your own _house_ that you can do this crap in?"

The only reply I get is Park throwing a couch pillow at my face while he makes out with his wife.

"That was . . . weird," Keanna says as we walk back down the black and white checkerboard hallway.

"They're grossly in love," I say. I remember the time I was about five years old and I overheard Becca telling my mom about how she dressed up in a whipped cream bikini for Park's birthday. They didn't know I was listening and they laughed their asses off when I spoke up and asked how a bikini made of whipped cream would hold up in a swimming pool.

When we get back to the front office, I notice Keanna staring at my hands. Does she want me to hold her hand again? Should I even risk that bold move for a second time today? It had worked at the café, but I'm not sure how far I can push my luck.

I lean against the front desk, resting my elbows behind me on the counter. I watch her gaze travel down the length of my body and I want so badly to grab her and wrap my arms around her. But I have to take it slow with this girl. I don't want to scare her away. I need her to know that I'm sincere.

"Okay well, thanks for breakfast," she says, giving me a little wave as she turns toward the door.

No. She can't leave yet.

"Wait," I say, rushing to catch up with her. She turns and looks up at me expectantly and I have nothing to say. I just don't want her to go. I'm not ready to be away from her and the scent of her cherry shampoo.

I scratch the back of my neck. "You wanna go see a movie?"

She flinches. "Ah, not really. I mean, I would, but I can't."

"Why not? I'll drive us. We can see whatever you want."

I follow her outside, all but begging to keep her interested in me.

"It's not that, I just don't really want to go out in public, just . . . not right now."

I lift an eyebrow. "You don't want to be seen with me?" The thought alone hurts more than it should.

She shakes her head. "No, it's not that. I mean, maybe it is. I don't know. I just don't think I can handle the movies right now."

As much as I don't want to admit defeat, it might be best to give her some space. I sigh and shove my hands in my pockets. "Okay, yeah. No pressure."

She bites her lip and looks up at me, her eyes like a lost puppy, or like maybe she thinks _I'm_ the lost puppy. "You're not pressuring me, Jett. I mean, I _want_ to hang out, I just . . ."

"We don't have to go anywhere," I say, seizing the opportunity. God, I want to reach out and hold her so bad, but I keep my hands firmly in my pockets. "We could watch a movie at home?"

"I could do that," she says, a smile playing on the corners of her lips.

"My house?"

She nods.

My heart explodes with all of these new feelings. "Okay, um, walk or drive? Half the time I leave my truck over here anyway."

She glances across the field toward my house and then an evil thought lights up her gaze. "I'll race you," she says, and before I can make sense of her challenge, she takes off running.

I sprint to catch up. She doesn't stay ahead of me for long but I don't get in front of her, maybe because I'm a gentleman or maybe because her ass looks great in that dress. When she runs up the stairs onto the patio she grabs the back door handle and turns, but it doesn't budge.

"Ha!" I say, stopping right behind her. "You can run but you can't get away unless you know the passcode."

She turns around, her back against the back door and that evil grin still playing on her lips. "I think you let me win," she says, panting for breath.

I hold my hands up innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She laughs and it makes her face the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"You're really beautiful," I say, the words falling out of my mouth without a second thought.

"So are you," she says.

And then she kisses me.

# Chapter 19

Keanna

* * *

I kiss him. Like some kind of dramatic airport scene in a movie, I throw my arms around his neck and lean up on my toes and press my lips to his. And he kisses me back. I hadn't realized I was afraid that he wouldn't kiss me back until the moment our lips meet. But it all works out because he leans into the kiss, wrapping his arms around my waist, his fingers digging into my sides as he kisses me back with a force that says he's been wanting to do this as much I have.

I know I shouldn't be doing this.

I know Jett is not on the same level I am. He is rich, I am poor. He is popular and loved, I have no one. He is _so_ hot, and I am just me. A homeless girl with a missing mom. A charity case.

My lip quivers as I think all of this and then Jett's hand slides down to my hip and he presses up against me, flattening my back to the door. He smells like woodsy cologne and his lips taste like spearmint.

When our lips break apart, we both gasp for air. Suddenly the whole world comes back to me and I remember where I am. Outside in the open, where anyone could walk up on us.

Jett gives me this devilish grin as he towers over me, seeming even taller now that we're so close. "Wanna take this to my room?"

My throat is dry and my heart is an Olympic gymnast in my chest so I just nod.

He punches in the passcode on the back door lock and we go inside, the cool lavender-scented air bringing me back to reality.

I am with Jett in his house and we just kind of made out on the patio.

OMG.

He takes my hand and pulls me across their massive house, toward the same back set of stairs. We go up to his room and when he closes the door behind us, he twists the lock. That single action makes my stomach flip over.

"So, um, a movie?" I say, still breathless from that epic make out session. Or maybe from the run over here. All I know is that Jett has taken my breath away and I haven't quite got it back yet.

"Yeah, a movie," he says, gazing down at me as he inches forward, slowly closing the short distance between us.

His toes touch mine and now we're so close but not touching anything else besides our shoes. It feels like a static bomb of electricity has exploded in the small space between our bodies. But I already made the first move outside. I'm not doing it again.

Jett's hand reaches out and grazes my arm. "Was that a mistake?"

_Yes._

I shake my head. "No."

"Do we . . . wanna. .?" he says, pausing to run his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Keep making out?" I say with a sudden burst of boldness.

He nods.

I draw in a sharp breath. "Yeah."

"Yeah?" Jett wiggles his eyebrows and it makes me laugh. In the moment of silliness, he slides one arm around my waist and cups my face with the other hand. Slowly—so painfully slowly—he pulls my face upward and then kisses me softer than before. I melt into him, returning the kisses and wanting more. More kisses, more Jett, more of this feeling that maybe the world doesn't suck.

When he pulls away again, I groan.

"Does this mean you don't hate me anymore?" he asks, running a finger down the strap of my dress. Goosebumps prickle across my shoulders. If I let myself think of the true answer to that question, it might ruin the mood.

I shrug. "It means you're really hot and I'm tired of over-thinking everything."

He looks like he wants to say something else but I slide my hands up his chest, kissing his neck in a trail up to his ear. He moans when my lips touch the perfect spot on his neck, so I run my tongue across it.

"That's it," Jett whispers. In an instant, he's grabbed my ass and slid his hands down my thighs, lifting me off the ground. I hold on to his neck while he walks me to the futon in front of his TV. He turns to where his back is against the futon and then sits down, leaving me straddling him.

My dress pulls up way too high so I lean forward, pressing our chests together so he can't see anything. I am wearing cheap underwear from Target. Not exactly the sexiest thing for a guy to see on the first day you make out.

Jett's hands find my butt and he holds on to it as if it were his own personal hand resting space. I grip his shoulders and kiss him, letting our tongues explore each other's mouths.

When he groans and lets out a little shudder, pulling my hips into his, I know I've driven him to the edge. And since I don't plan on having sex with him right here, after only one day of not hating him, I pull away.

Suddenly I'm hit with memories of what happens when you piss off a guy who wants more than making out. It is never good and it usually hurts.

"Um," I say, leaning back on his lap. I remember the whole dress situation and then carefully stand up, climbing off his lap so that I can sit next to him on the futon.

"Okay I'm sorry, please don't hate me," I say, unable to meet his eyes. I know he has an erection and he locked the door and dammit, this could ruin everything. Guys do not like to be denied sex.

"Why would I hate you?" Jett says. His head rolls to the right to face me and he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I exhale and try to look sweet. Try to look like a nice girl that you don't want to punch in the face. "I'm just . . . I'm not ready to . . ." My eyes drop down to his crotch and my face burns. I can't find it in me to say the words.

"Have sex?" Jett supplies for me.

I nod and brace for the backlash.

Instead of getting angry, he grins and sinks down lower in the futon, spreading his legs open wider as he relaxes. "Nah. Why would I hate you?"

I swallow. Looks like all rational speech has left my brain for now.

Jett reaches over and grabs the TV remote and turns it to the Netflix screen.

"I wasn't going to have sex even if you wanted to," he says, giving me an assuring smile. "You just became my friend again. I want to prove that I'm worth it."

"Friend?" I say with a snort. Damn. Of course. That's all this is. Jett the heartthrob, hooking up with every girl he sees and calling them all "friends". God, I am so stupid.

"Yeah, friends." I nod and focus on the television, but he hasn't picked a show to watch so it's kind of pointless.

"What's wrong?" he says, leaning over and poking me in the arm.

I shake my head. Put on a happy smile. "Nothing."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Am I a terrible kisser? Is that why you pulled away?"

I roll my eyes and can't help but smile. "You know you're a great kisser," I say, feeling warmth from his gaze trail up my whole body.

"Then why'd you pull away?" He reaches for me and takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. I stare at our hands on the futon. His are tanned, calloused and huge. Mine are pale, and shaking.

"Honestly?" I say.

He nods. "I only ever want honesty with us."

"I stopped so you wouldn't get pissed that I didn't want to have sex."

"Yeah, but now that I've explained that I don't want to do that too soon . . ." he says, giving me a seductive grin that makes butterflies tickle my insides. "Maybe you should come back over here. I miss your lips."

"It's only been a few seconds, how can you miss them?"

His eyes lower to my lips and he leans over, making the frame of the futon squeak as his lips brush against mine in a kiss so soft it makes my whole body shudder. "Because they're perfect lips, that's why."

I give him a look and he nods. "I'm serious. The best lips ever."

I cross my arms. "I'm supposed to believe that? Out of all of the millions of girls you've hooked up with, I am somehow special?"

He shakes his head and winks at me. "It wasn't millions. Maybe closer to hundreds of thousands."

I slap him playfully. He grabs my arm and puts my palm up to his lips.

This is wrong. This is so wrong. I can't just let him win me over like this. I need to be strong. I have to remember that he is not like me. That I'll leave soon enough and I'll be back in the slums, in shitty apartments and back rooms in seedy dive bars and I'll never step foot in a house this nice ever again. And when I kissed him on the patio, I had told myself it would just be for fun, just a joke, just a way to fulfill my desires without making it a big deal.

But Jett isn't like the other guys. Maybe he's a really good liar. All the rich guys are. But it just really seems like maybe he's being genuine with me. I'd be a fool to think that, though.

"What are you thinking, beautiful?" he whispers, his lips tickling my ear.

"I'm thinking that if all those other girls can have fun with you," I say, trying to mean it even though my heart is crying out otherwise, "Then why can't I?"

# Chapter 20

Jett

* * *

I set two baskets of burgers and fries on the table and slide one over to D'andre. He grabs the massive cheeseburger in one hand and takes a bite.

"So what's up, man?"

My shoulders fall. "I'm in trouble."

He takes another bite, his eyebrow rising. "Like . . . legal trouble? Man, what did your dumbass do?"

I laugh and grab a fry. Even though we're at a Red Robin restaurant and not McDonald's, I still think of Keanna when I eat French fries.

"Okay first of all you can't say shit about this, okay?" I point the fry at him as if it's some kind of weapon I'll use to whip his ass if he talks.

He takes another bite of his burger. "Okay now I'm intrigued. I mean I was interested when I thought you wanted to use my dad's lawyer services to bail you out of some kind of legal trouble but by the look on your face, this'll be good."

"I'm serious, man. No telling anyone what I'm about to say."

He sets down the burger and gives me his undivided attention. "Lay it on me."

I draw in a deep breath. When I'd called my best friend to come eat lunch with me today, I'd known I wanted to tell him all about my dilemma. But now that it's about to happen, I kind of want to laugh and say I was kidding and go on with our day like normal. But if I avoid talking to someone about this, it'll only make the problem worse. If D'andre can't help, then I'll go to my dad. But I really don't want to because that's just embarrassing.

"Yeah so, I'm in trouble," I say again. "With Keanna."

His eyes light up. "Is she pregnant?"

"What?" I sit up straighter. "Dude, no."

D'andre lifts an eyebrow. "Okay so, why are you acting like the world is ending?"

"Don't judge me, but I'm kind of into her."

He takes the bun off his burger and adds a huge amount of ketchup to the meat before replacing the bun. "Uh, okay. You're into a million girls. That's why I hate you," he says with a chuckle. "You get all the hot girls and guys like me get the leftovers."

I shake my head. "No, I mean, I'm into her. Like, we've spent every day this week together."

"Whoa."

I expect him to laugh at me because I'd do the same thing in his position. But even under all of the joking and giving each other shit, he's still a good friend.

"Well, I guess the great womanizer Jett Adams can settle down if he wants, right?" D'andre says with a shrug. "What's the problem?"

"That's exactly the problem. I don't settle down. I've pretty much based my entire sex life on being a no-strings-attached kind of guy."

"And is this chick trying to attach strings to ya'll?" he says, moving his finger around like it's attached to an invisible thread.

I shake my head. "That's another issue. Sometimes she acts like she's really into me too, but the other times she'll do something sexy as hell and then walk off like it's nothing. Like what we have doesn't mean shit."

D'andre lowers his gaze at me. "You mean like how you treat every girl you've ever been with?"

The words are true but they sting regardless. I stare at my burger, counting each little sesame seed on the bun. "I don't know what to do. I keep telling myself to treat her like any other girl, but I can't. I really like her."

"And this is coming from the guy who has promised me numerous times that he'll never fall for a girl," D'andre says with a laugh. "Man, you're screwed."

I draw in a deep breath and sigh. "Yeah, I know. Even if she liked me back, I wouldn't know what to do. I'm not a girlfriend guy, ya know? Like, that in itself would be a nightmare to figure out but that's not the problem. The problem is that I have no idea if she likes me back or not." I sink my forehead into my hand. "Sometimes I think she's just messing with me. Like she still royally hates me and is messing with my head."

"Girl's will do that," D'andre says, nodding like he knows that fact all too well.

"You're not helping at all," I say, trying to get back to eating. I haven't eaten all day so maybe the lack of food is making me even more heartsick.

"Dude, what I am supposed to do?" he says, taking a long sip from his drink. "Want me to ask her?"

I shake my head. Keanna could lie to him just as easily as she lies to me. And just the thought of that girl lying to me makes my heart feel five kinds of pain that it's never felt before. I've promised total honesty with her and I've been true to my word.

It occurs to me now that she's never offered the same promise to me.

"Look, Jett," D'andre says, grabbing three fries at once and dunking them in ketchup. "Why don't you bring her to the lake party this weekend? I'll chat her up and we can get the guys to meet her and then see what everyone thinks."

"Absolutely not. What the hell did I say about keeping this to yourself?" I say. "No one else can know but you, okay? Don't tell anyone."

He holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, man, chill. You're either completely in love or terrified of this chick embarrassing you for having emotions."

"Honestly, it might be a little of both," I say, feeling my chest constrict.

"So bring her to the party," he says. "Let me meet her and I'll tell you what I think about her feelings toward you. I mean I'm no relationship expert, but it looks like I'm all you've got."

"Yeah okay," I say, wondering how I'll bring it up to Keanna. We've only ever hung out alone, although we've spent nearly every waking moment together this week. "I'll bring her."

After work, I rush home and hop in the shower. I've only seen Keanna once today and it wasn't nearly long enough. She'd been in the front office with Becca, preparing for her first week of working alone since Becca is leaving for some craft thing tomorrow. So all I was able to do is say a quick hello to her since I was with a customer and I had to show his little kid around the track.

Seeing Keanna looking beautiful as hell in a blue tank top and cut off jean shorts but not being able to kiss her was the absolute worst. My heart has been aching all damn day. I kept trying to find ways to sneak back in the office, but my dad had me busy at the track all day.

But it's over now and I'll get to see her soon.

This last week has been a whirlwind of new emotions and experiences. We've hung out every single day without planning it. Somehow we find ourselves in each other's arms, secretly of course. My mom might suspect something but no one else knows. The last three days in a row, I came home to find Keanna waiting for me on the porch. Today she wasn't, but that doesn't stop me. I'll see her soon enough.

I crank up the hot water even though it's hot as hell outside. I let the shower steam up the bathroom and I scrub every inch of my body with the best smelling soap I have. The water hits my neck and I close my eyes, picturing Keanna's lips in that exact spot. She is intoxicating and she has taken over my whole heart. I am in _so_ much trouble.

And that's probably why this hurts so badly. I have no idea what she really feels. We haven't exactly talked about it. And I come from a long stream of pointless hookups so I've never had this conversation. I wouldn't even know how to bring it up.

_"Uh yeah, are we like, dating?"_

That wouldn't be very charming.

I sigh and let my head rest against the side of the shower wall. This is going to drive me insane if I don't get answers soon. I've been trying to be kind and respectful, especially since I know she's worried about not hearing from her mom. But now it's at the point where thinking about Keanna hurts more than it feels good.

Because I've got some major feelings for this girl and if she doesn't feel the same, it'll crush me.

After my shower, I towel off and pull on a blue shirt because two days ago she said I looked hot in blue. I throw some gel in my hair and rush out of my room, almost forgetting my phone. All I want to do is be near her.

I refuse to worry that her not being on my porch today was a bad sign.

Becca opens the door for me when I arrive. "Hey, kid," she says, letting me in. "You here for Key?"

I nod. "Is she in her room?"

"Yep. You staying for dinner?"

I shrug. "I dunno. I might take her out."

"Okay, well let me know."

I smile and head across their vintage house to the guest bedroom. I knock softly, realizing that my entire body is now just a nervous sack of skin and organs.

The door opens and she is so beautiful I can't help myself. "You're hot," I say, leaning against the door frame.

She smiles and steps back, letting me enter her room. "How was work?"

"Work was work," I say, taking her face in my hands. "I don't wanna talk about that, I want to kiss you."

She smirks. "Then do it."

When we kiss, my anxiety melts away. I hadn't realized how scared I was about her not being at my house after work until her kiss takes it all away. Maybe she was running late or something. I slide my hands through her hair and try not to let on to how much I love when her boobs graze against my chest. "I missed you," I whisper between kissing her perfect lips.

"You always miss me," she teases, dropping down to her normal height. She'd been up on her toes a second ago and now she feels so far away.

"Yeah, but you never say you miss me." I make a pretend puppy face and hope to god that she'll tell me something I want to hear.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," she says, that frighteningly adorable smile still on her face.

"You kill me, you know this right?" I say, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close to me. She's still wearing those cut off shorts I love so I slip my hands in her back pockets and revel in the feeling of her being so close.

My heart is aching with all of the questions I have—does she like me? Is she messing with me? But I don't even care right now. I just need to be near her.

"Hey, can I ask a favor?" she says, peering up at me with this serious expression.

"Of course. Anything."

She bites on her bottom lip. "Could I use your phone?"

I take it out of my back pocket and hand it to her. "Thanks," she says as she dials a number from heart. She puts the phone to her ear and turns around, walking to the window that overlooks the fields on the other side of the road.

I follow, giving her some space while she waits. Finally, she lowers the phone and turns back around, holding it out to me.

I take the phone and frown. "Your mom still not answering?"

She shakes her head and looks at the floor. "It's driving me crazy."

"I'm sorry, Key." I wrap her in my arms and hold her tightly, lowering my chin on top of her head. We stand like that for a long time and then she finally breaks away.

"Sorry I'm in a crap mood," she says, her eyes full of sorrow. She points to the bed where one of Becca's old laptops sits. "I've been looking up police news, accident reports, everything. I can't find any sign of my mom. I even looked up craft fairs to see if she was listed as a vendor. I just hope she's alive, you know?"

I take her hand. Here I was spending all day freaking out about if a girl liked me or not, and she's got real issues to deal with. God, I'm a dick. "I'll help you look," I say, pulling her with me to sit on the bed. "We can drive down to Corpus Christi if you want. Ask around for her?"

She considers this a moment and then shakes her head. "I don't even know the name of the company she was interviewing for. For all I know maybe that was a lie."

"Have you called hospitals?" I ask.

She nods. "Yep. I even hacked into her email account and it hasn't been used in months."

I squeeze her hand in mine. "I'm sorry. I'm here for you, though. Anything you need."

Just when I think we're having a moment, she shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. It's not your problem, it's mine."

That hard look is back on her face. The one from the night I first met her. She's built her walls up again and is shutting me out.

"Okay well, I don't care what you say. I'm still here for you."

She shakes her head and stands up, dropping my hand. "What do you want to do tonight? Or are you busy?"

"I'm doing whatever you're doing," I say with a smile that doesn't make anything better. She's still shutting me out and I still hate it. "We should go get you a cell phone."

She snorts. "I can't afford it. Plus, you have to be like eighteen to sign the contract, I think."

"You don't need a contract. They have prepaid phones and stuff. We should get you one because I've been dying to text you. I'll pay for it."

"What would you text me? We're always together."

"Not always," I say, feeling some of the flirty vibes come back in between us. "When I'm in bed at night all alone, I wish I could text you."

"Ah, so you want dirty pictures," she says, glaring at me. "Can't you just use the internet like every other guy?"

I open my mouth, looking offended. "Totally not what I meant. I just want to talk to you. We should get you a phone. It can be camera-less if you want."

She rolls her eyes. "I'll think about it."

"Let's go now," I say, tugging on her hand.

"I don't really want to go anywhere now." She frowns. "I'm worried about my mom and I'm super worried about work. Tomorrow is my first day on the job without Becca."

I steal a kiss on her forehead before I speak. "Well you're in luck because I'm off work tomorrow so I'll just hang out with you."

"That actually makes me more nervous."

"Psh," I say, poking her in the stomach. "I'm awesome."

"Keep telling yourself that."

God, I want to kiss her so bad. I swallow and try to play it cool since she's obviously not in the mood. "Hey, I have an idea. After work tomorrow, some of my friends are hanging out at the lake. We should go."

"Another one of those lake parties where you drive girls home crying?" She says, lifting a skeptical eyebrow at me.

"They're not normally like that," I say. "My friend D'andre wants to meet you so I told him we might stop by."

"I don't know," she says, looking down. She steps forward and grabs my pockets, slipping her thumbs under the waistband of my shorts. "I'll think about it."

But I don't really hear what she says because her thumbs draw a line across my skin and my body is on fire with the need to touch her. Her hands slide up my chest and I grab her, lifting her off her feet as we kiss and for now, all of my worries don't matter. Because for now, she's mine.

# Chapter 21

Keanna

* * *

There's no dress code for working at the Track. Becca had told me to dress comfortably and I guess that makes sense, for a place whose official business name is The Track. I guess I shouldn't have expected some lame uniform or anything.

I throw on my cut off shorts, the only pair of shorts I have, and a white tank top with little sequin sparkles along the collar. Becca had given me the tank top the other day, claiming that it was too small on her. I think she's just trying to secretly give me stuff in ways that won't make me feel like a charity case. I appreciate it though, even though it _does_ make me feel like a charity case. At least I can wear something cute on my first day of work. And who am I kidding? The only person I want to impress is Jett Adams.

Ugh.

I don't even know what I truly think about the boy. Just that I'm crazy about him, about this place, this atypical summer vacation. It's so much better than anything I've ever experienced. Better than stargazing at the Grand Canyon with Dawn. Better than that time my fifth grade teacher invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner because my mom was stuck working and I got to eat not only one plate of food, but two, along with a huge slice of pumpkin pie.

Jett makes me feel alive. I am fully aware that this is temporary. Maybe that's why I like it so much. He is so hot and so nice. He holds open doors and he kisses like some kind of sex god. Sometimes I think he really likes me, _like_ , likes me. The kind of like that middle school girls obsess over. But then I have to bring myself back to reality and remember that Jett is a player. He is sexy and perfect and I am just the flavor of the month.

But who cares? I'm along for the ride and I love every second I'm with him. When I'm in Jett's arms I play this game with myself. I pretend I'm his girlfriend and that the guest bedroom is my own room and that Becca and Park are my parents. I feel a _little_ guilty about that part, but it's not like Dawn will ever find out about the fantasies in my head.

Every day I spent with Jett erases a hundred bad memories of my shitty life. And I know it's all as temporary as my room at Becca's house, but I hold onto it anyway. I'm embracing each day, every second of happiness. Because one day it'll be gone and all I'll have left is the memories.

I pull my hair back into a ponytail and then stare at myself in the vanity mirror in my room. "You're going to be fine," I say, willing the nerves to dissipate.

It doesn't really work.

Becca left last night, taking a plane to Louisiana and leaving me with a list of responsibilities at the track. It's my first official day of work and I'm getting paid to hang out in the front office and help customers all day. It's a real job and I don't even know what I'll do with the money I earn. I was going to save it and try for a motel on my own, but now that I'm having so much fun with Jett, I really don't want to leave.

I've been making sure to be an excellent houseguest for the Parks since I've been staying there. I keep my room spotless and I do the dishes and laundry even though Becca says it's not necessary. The other day I found her duster and dusted the whole house. Anything I can do to keep myself from being a burden, I do it.

When I can't prolong going to work anymore, I leave my room and head outside. Park is already at work and had asked me to lock the door behind myself, so I do.

My nerves reach epic proportions by the time I make it to the track and I tell myself to freaking chill. I can handle this job, but it's the fear of disappointing Becca that makes me so worried.

I walk inside and a familiar smile greets me front behind the front desk. "Good morning, beautiful."

Jett leans in on his elbows. "Ready for work?"

Happiness spreads from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes. I can't even remember what being nervous felt like now. "What are you doing here?" I say, turning to the left to flip on all of the lights. They turn off half of the lights when they close at night. That's one of the first parts of my job, and I remembered to do it, so yay.

"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 screw 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

Jett

* * *

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 shown 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

Keanna

* * *

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.

When I'm finally as cute as I can possibly get, I say goodbye to Park who is doing work in his office and then I slip out the front door, locking it behind me at Park's request.

The bleachers aren't a long walk from here and I gaze out, wondering which loud dirt bike on the track is Jett's.

Then I see him, sitting on his bike in front of the bleachers. I stop in my tracks and watch as he talks to some girl. No, not some girl. That same girl he was making out with in Becca's art closet. She's wearing short shorts and a flimsy sheer top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. She grabs his arm and tilts her head up at him and although I have no idea what they're saying, it's pretty obvious she's still into him.

My heart flip-flops in my chest. Warm tears sting at my eyes and I curse to myself. _Why are you so stupid, Keanna? Stop getting sad over a guy you knew would cheat on you._

But it's not really cheating, is it? We aren't exclusive. We're just a fling, I'd said as much myself. I've spent every single night lying in bed, telling myself not to get too attached to this guy.

So why does this hurt so bad?

Drawing in a deep breath, I turn and head back to Becca's house. I need a shower. A hot, scalding shower. And a good cry.

I do exactly that. Since Becca is out of state and Park is still working, I don't even care when the tears start flowing the moment I walk in the back door. I walk up to the guest bathroom and turn on the water as hot as it'll get and then I just stand there, crying into the shower. Like the loser that I am.

I told myself not to get attached. I knew he was bad news. My whole life lately is like a Taylor Swift song and the most pathetic thing is that I let it happen.

I'm supposed to be smarter than this, stronger than this. Jett was supposed to be the hot guy I messed around with this summer. No strings attached, no feelings to hurt, no heart to break.

So why are my feelings hurt and why is my heart broken?

Why am I so stupid?

When I've been in the shower long enough to feel guilty about all the hot water I'm wasting, I get out and throw on some pajamas. They're also a gift from Becca. Black leggings with hot pink diamond print and a pink tank top with a massive black sparkly diamond in the center. They're really cute and kind of ironic because nothing about how I feel is cute.

I towel dry my hair and then crawl into bed and pull the comforter up to my chin. It's only six in the afternoon on a Friday and I'm in bed. Maybe when Park gets home I'll ask if he'll take me to get some ice cream and then I can truly wallow around in self-pity.

I grab my phone and try calling Mom again, but it goes straight to voicemail as if her phone isn't even turned on.

I don't remember what the five stages of grief are, but pretty soon I sit up in bed and feel nothing but pissed off.

How can I just sit here and cry about some stupid boy? What is wrong with me?

I throw the covers off and I climb out of bed and walk over to the window, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I am better than this, dammit.

You know what? I deserve an explanation. I should walk right up to Jett's stupid gorgeous face and ask him why he told me all those lies about wanting me when really he's still dating other girls.

I'm sure he'll just tell me another lie, but it'll be pretty awesome to watch him squirm.

Yeah.

I swallow and straighten my shoulders, feeling braver by the second. I'll just go ask him. I deserve an answer. We're friends first, right?

I slip on my flip-flops and catch a glimpse in the vanity mirror. My hair is tussled and half wet, my makeup is all washed off and I'm wearing pajamas.

Oh well.

I'm going over there now.

The long walk between the Parks' backyard to Jett's house starts making me calm down. I start thinking maybe it was all some misunderstanding. I mean it could be, right?

I know the chances of him saying something that'll make me feel better are slim, but I figure Jett at least owes me an explanation.

I cut through the Track's parking lot on my way to Jett's house and there are still a few people in the parking lot which makes me a little insecure about my clothing. But screw what everyone else thinks. I need to find Jett and get an explanation from him. At the very least, maybe he'll apologize.

A car door opens as I'm walking past it and someone steps out. "Man," a girl's voice says, "I am exhausted."

I turn to the right and see the same blonde girl who was talking to Jett on the bleachers. Her hair is tousled and her lip gloss smeared off.

I keep walking.

"Wait," she says, walking up to me. "Are you going to see Jett?"

Before I can say anything, she gives me this lopsided smile, like she's about to confess to a crime. "You might wanna wait a little bit," she says, giggling. "You're that other girl he's sleeping with, right?"

Again she doesn't wait for my reply, not that I can think of one right now if I wanted to. She clutches her chest and gets this dreamy look in her eyes as she gazes off into the distance. "We just hooked up a few minutes ago so if you're looking to get laid, too, you might want to wait a bit." She touches my arm like we're friends and gives me a wink. "Let him get his energy back, sweetie."

And then she turns and gets back into her car, waving at me while she drives away. I'm stuck in the middle of the parking lot, wondering what the hell just happened.

Jett just hooked up with her? He'd said sex wasn't everything and that he wanted to wait with me. My jaw clenches. I guess waiting is easier when you're sleeping with someone else.

I swallow the lump in my throat and turn around. There's a hollow pain in my chest and I tell myself to ignore it. There's really no point in talking to him now. No explanation for him to give me. He's sleeping with that girl and he's stringing me along as well.

I make it all the way back home and I haven't cried yet. I tell myself I am strong and that I'll get over this.

And then I turn off my phone and crawl back into bed.

# Chapter 24

Jett

* * *

Keanna never meets me on the bleachers and after another fifteen minutes of waiting around, I go look for her in the office. The door is locked and the lights are off so I press my face to the glass but the front desk is empty. I pull out my phone and text her, letting her know I'm going to shower so she should meet me at my house.

I put my bike back into the storage garage and hang up my helmet.

The overbearing scent of Emma's perfume hits me as I'm closing the garage door. I draw in a deep breath and turn around.

"What?" I ask.

She stands there, arms crossed over her chest, pouting at me. I think she thinks that look makes her attractive but really it's annoying as hell. I like a fun, playful girl. Not a whiney princess bitch.

She cocks her head to the side. "Jett, we should talk."

I step around her. "There's really nothing to talk about."

"Yes there is, oh my god why are you such a jerk?" She rushes to catch up to me and her voice seems to echo loudly in this narrow hallway between all the dirt bike storage rooms. It's like a storage facility but with narrow stalls where people keep their bikes and the last thing I need is for a client or their parents to see the track owner's son back here with a pissed off girl.

I fold my arms over my chest and glare at her. "I thought I made it clear that you and me are done. Why are you still here?"

"Look, I'm sorry I got upset about your new girl, but I realized I'm cool with it, okay? You can have both of us." She grins like she's the greatest thing in the world and then bats her eyelashes at me. "See? I'm not unreasonable. I'm happy to share you. After all, it's no strings attached, right?"

Damn, I almost feel sorry for her. She's so desperate it's sad. I know a ton of guys who would be happy to date her. I'm about to tell her that when she launches forward, throwing her arms around my neck. She slams her lips into mine, forcefully trying to make me kiss her back.

I grab her hands and pull them off my neck, keeping my mouth stiff and unresponsive to her surprise make out attack.

"Dude," I say, trying to peel her off me.

She gives me this seductive look and grins, then reaches for my crotch.

"You know you want me," she purrs, lifting up on her toes to lick my neck.

I'm not trying to hurt a girl but I shove her off, holding her by the shoulder so she can't get any closer to me. "You're getting a little too desperate, Emma," I say, trying like hell to keep my voice down since everything echoes in here. "I don't want it to come to this, but if you don't leave me the hell alone, I'm going to call the cops on you."

She huffs and tries to flip her hair over her shoulder like she always does, only now it's all messed up and not nearly as smooth as before.

"You'll be back," she hisses. She turns on her heel and heads toward the parking lot leaving me wondering what the hell just happened.

I mean I guess I should feel like some kind of awesome guy who is so desirable it makes girls go crazy, but really this is just creepy. Now I'm starting to wonder if Emma has the capability to try to harm me, or worse, Keanna.

I take deep breaths as I walk in the opposite direction, back to my house. I'll have to explain all of this drama to Keanna soon, before Emma does something even worse.

All I wanted tonight was a fun night with my girl on the lake, introducing her to my friends and showing her off like the angel that she is.

As I shower and get dressed, I tell myself to put thoughts of Emma away for now. I'll explain it all to Keanna later. But tonight I just want to hang out with my girl.

Keanna doesn't reply to my text by the time I'm ready, so I call her. It goes straight to voicemail. I smile because she probably forgot to charge her phone again. I can't even begin to explain how refreshing it is to be with a girl who isn't attached to her phone like it's some kind of vital body part.

I hop in my truck and head over to Park's house. His truck is still at the Track so he's probably still working. Dad had come home on time and now he's going on a dinner date with Mom.

Knowing that our house will be empty tonight kind of makes me want to bail on the lake party and take Keanna back to my room instead.

I let myself into the house and head to her bedroom. The door is closed so I knock.

"Key?" I say, leaning against the door frame. "Are you ready for an awesome night on the lake?"

She doesn't reply so I tap on the door again. "Did you fall asleep? Are you naked? Because I'm coming in."

The door swings open so quickly it makes me jump back. Keanna is in pajamas and she's glaring at me like I'm a serial killer. "What the hell do you want?" she snaps.

"Whoa." I try to walk into her room but she blocks the door, her fingers turning white on the door frame. "Key, what's wrong?"

"Don't call me that," she says, her jaw clenched. "And if you came over here to get laid for the second time today, you can forget it, okay? I'm not into getting STDs."

"Whoa, okay. What the hell is this about? What happened to my normal girlfriend?"

"I am _not_ your girlfriend." She tries to close the door again but I hold out my arm and keep it open.

"Keanna, please talk to me. Why the sudden change? I thought things were good between us."

She looks up toward the ceiling and then shakes her head. "Look. You and Emma can do whatever you want but I'm done being your summer fling, okay? I'm just done."

"Key, I didn't do anything with Emma. I haven't done anything with her since that day you saw us in the closet."

She rolls her eyes. "I thought you didn't lie to me, remember?"

I swallow. "I'm not lying."

"So you weren't the one who got her hair all ruffled up a few minutes ago?"

I falter, because yeah, I was, but it's not like she thinks it is. Also, my fears are now confirmed: Emma got to Keanna before I did. My shoulders fall. "I can explain."

I probably shouldn't have said those words. She slams the door in my face and locks it before I can get it back open. "Keanna," I call out, leaning my forehead against the door.

I can see her shadow at the bottom of the door, so I know she's still standing right there on the other side. "It's not what it looks like," I say. "She came on to me and I turned her away."

"Right, that makes sense," Keanna says through the door. "And that explains why you wanted to wait with me. I mean why bother sleeping with me when you're sleeping with her already, right? I guess I was just your make out buddy when she was busy."

"That's not it at all," I say. Leaning into the door as if I could somehow slip through it and be on the other side. "Please open the door and talk to me."

"No."

"Please, Keanna."

"Stop saying my name. Look Jett, I don't want to be friends anymore. I thought I could handle being your fling but then you said all those lies about liking me as more than a fling. It's my fault for believing it, I guess. Just go away."

I watch her shadow fade away from the door and I sigh. "Please open the door. I'll explain everything. Then you can hate me if you still want to but please just let me talk to you."

She's quiet for a moment. "Have you had sex with Emma?" she finally asks.

My chest constricts. The truth is supposed to set you free but all it does is dig me deeper into this hole. I want to lie, I want to say no and make her like me again. But I promised I wouldn't lie to this girl and even if she hates me, I won't break my word.

I press hands against the door.

"Yeah. But it's been a long time."

"That's all I need to know," she says, her voice sounding soft and far away. "Don't ever talk to me again, Jett. We're done."

# Chapter 25

Keanna

* * *

My pillow fills up with tears. There are so many of them, so many painful drops that I didn't know I was capable of crying. I never cry. Maybe when I fell and hurt myself as a kid, but crying over physical pain isn't nearly as earth-shattering as crying from a broken heart. This is way worse. I'd take a million broken bones over the pain in my heart right now.

Why did I fall so hard for this boy?

Part of me really wanted to let him inside and hear what he had to say. I'm not sure what he _could_ have said that would have made any difference, but I wasn't quite ready to send him away. I did, though. I kept my dignity and I was stronger than I've ever been. I made Jett leave and now I'll never talk to him again.

I turn on my phone and call Mom's number. She doesn't answer, so I call back again and again. I can never bring myself to leave her a message though. I've been wanting to tell her about my new phone number, send her a text and tell her to call me back at this number. Maybe even tell her I have a job and that we can settle down here. But something keeps stopping me from admitting that I have a phone now. Deep down, I'm afraid that if Mom knows I'm being taken care of here, that I have my own phone and everything, that she'll stay gone longer. So I hang up and never leave a message. I hope she'll start to worry about me, or want to check in. She may be an artist who loves to travel the world, but she's still a mom. Moms have that motherly intuition, right?

And even though it's kind of implausible, I am still holding onto the hope that Mom fell and hit her head and she's in some recovery room waiting for her memories to come back.

Maybe she'll show up soon and take me away and we can go back to our normal lives. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be reminded of the boy who broke my heart and made me feel like the biggest idiot in the world for falling for him.

Sure, my life with Mom was shitty.

But at least my heart wasn't broken.

# Chapter 26

Jett

* * *

I chug the beer in a few seconds, then crunch the can in my fist and toss it toward the old plastic trashcan. "Hand me another one, will you?" I call out to whoever wants to comply.

The air smells like bonfire and cigarettes and D'andre's lawn chairs in the sand make a perfect place to sit and forget about everything that's gone wrong in my life.

Someone hands me another beer. A girl, I think, and I take it and pop open the top, chugging as quickly as my body will allow. I know I should thank this beer deliverer, but I don't really care. I don't care about anything right now, especially something as stupid as politeness.

All around me people are having a blast. It's a lake party after all. Music is bumping and the bonfire is roaring, warming up the cool night air. Girls squeal in the lake when guys splash them and camera flashes go off every few seconds.

I don't care about any of it.

I'd driven out here after Keanna kicked me out of her life. I had nowhere else to go, except maybe home but home was the last place I needed to be. My parents were out on a date and the house is too big and too empty. I needed to clear my head and fill it up all at once. I needed a distraction.

So I came here.

The third beer goes down easily, and I find the ice chest next to me so I reach in for another one. I can't seem to drink it fast enough. I just need the buzz, the sweet dizzying feeling of being carried away from it all. The girl I love kicked me out of her life, all because of my past. My stupid ass choice to sleep with some girl I didn't even like. It's ruined everything.

"Dude," D'andre says, dragging a lawn chair across the sand to sit next to me. "You look like shit."

"You just noticed that?" I say with a snort.

"Kind of, yeah. I've been chatting up Brittany. I think she's into me but she has a ten o'clock curfew so she had to leave."

I nod and down some more alcohol. "Cool."

"Man, what happened to you?" he says, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees while he studies me.

I shrug. Drink some more.

"The girl?" D'andre guesses.

I nod.

"What happened?"

I crunch the beer can and reach for another one. A girl in a hot pink bikini is sitting on the ice chest so I touch her leg instead of the lid. "Oh," I say, seeing her there. "Sorry. I need a beer."

"Another one already?" she says, but she's being flirty, not judgmental.

"You gonna give it to me or should I move you and get it myself?"

Her eyes light up in this flirty way. The old me would have lit up too, jumped into the opportunity to hook up with a random cute chick. But the new me just wants another damn beer.

I hold out my hand and she gets up and grabs another can from the ice chest. "Here ya go, sexy."

I nod. "Thanks."

D'andre is suddenly right next to my ear. "You should hit that," he whispers. "She obviously wants you."

I turn to look at him but he's kind of blurry. It's probably a mixture of being drunk and the shadows of the fire reflecting off his face, but he barely even looks like my friend right now.

"Maybe I will," I say.

The girl reaches over and slides her hand up my knee, resting it on my thigh. Had she heard all of that? I don't even know.

I look over at her and she smiles at me. "You're Jett Adams, right? Your dad's like really famous."

" _I'm_ like really famous," I say, leaning in.

This makes her smile even wider and she scoots closer to me until she's sitting on the very edge of the ice chest. Both of her hands grab my leg. "You wanna get out of here?"

I'll admit, it crosses my mind.

But this girl isn't Keanna. She won't taste the same. She won't feel the same. She'll just be a warm body that leaves me feeling colder than before. Even drunk me knows that.

I lick my lips and lean closer to her, bringing my mouth to her ear. "You don't want to do that," I whisper.

She presses her forehead to mine. "Yes I do," she says, squeezing my thigh. "Believe me, I do."

I stand. "I gotta take a leak."

"I'll be here," she says, waving at me. I turn and walk back toward my truck, which is parked at the end of the sandbar, near the tree line.

I don't really have to piss, I just needed to get out of there. Maybe I'll become a monk for the rest of my life, because hooking up with a girl who isn't Keanna doesn't appeal to me at all.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I reach for it, hoping to god that it's Keanna and that she's changed her mind and wants to talk. The phone falls straight out of my hand and sinks into the sand. I grab it and blow off the dirt. It's a text from a number I don't have saved.

But those numbers in that order look pretty damn familiar.

_Who is this?_

My vision is blurred and my typing sucks but I manage to reply: _Who is this?_

I draw in a breath of warm summer air and lean my back against my truck as I gaze up at the sky. The stars are bright and beautiful way out here and I wish I could reach up and knock them all out of the way. They're too pretty for a night this shitty.

My phone beeps again.

_Do you know Keanna?_

I grit my teeth. Why does this number seem so familiar? It's not her number, I have that memorized and saved in my phone. In my drunken daze, the only assumption I can come up with is that this is some guy who wants her. Someone trying to take my girl from me.

I type back: _This is her boyfriend._

If he wants her, he can go through me first.

The anonymous person takes a long time to reply. I've almost dozed off while standing against my truck and when the phone vibrates again, I startle.

_Great. I'm glad she has you. Tell her I won't be coming back. I have an opportunity in Spain and I had to take it. She's almost eighteen anyway so she's practically already an adult._

An overwhelming feeling of doom crashes into me. This can't be right. Her freaking mother wouldn't do this to her only child. Right?

I type back: _tell her yourself._

Followed by: _wtf is wrong with you?_

The reply is nearly instant. _Can't. Don't want her to be mad at me. Tell her I love her. Bye._

I swallow but my throat is as dry as the sand beneath my bare feet.

Keanna's mom just left her for good and made me become the bad guy who has to tell her. I _need_ to tell her though. She may hate me, but I love her and she needs to know.

She needs to know right now.

I pop open my truck door and climb inside, not even bothering to kick off the sand from my feet. I don't even know where my shoes are but I don't care. I grab the keys from the cup holder and start my truck. Then I look ahead and another sinking feeling overtakes me.

I can't drive.

I'm so drunk I can't even read the fuel gauge.

Dammit, Jett.

I lower my head to the steering wheel. I need to get to her. I need to talk to her. I try calling her phone but it's off, just like it has been all night.

Ah, crap.

As my phone glows in the dark cab of my truck, I realize what I have to do.

The phone rings a few times and then he answers.

"Dad?" I say with a heavy sigh. "I'm at the lake. I need you to come get me."

# Chapter 27

Keanna

* * *

When I've cried so much that no more tears come out, I end up curled up in bed, the TV idly on but there's nothing worth watching on a night like tonight. I don't think I could be more annoyed with myself than I am right now. _Get it together, Keanna._

How could I have let a stupid guy hurt me so badly? What makes it even more embarrassing is that I knew what I was getting into from the start.

I heave a heavy sigh that makes the empty feeling my chest feel better for only a split second and then I pull the comforter up to my chin. The sun has long since set, leaving me in the wake of dark, cold night.

Becca is gone, my mom won't answer her phone, and although Park had knocked on my door earlier to tell me that he'd ordered pizza, I didn't eat anything.

I'd told him I had a stomach ache so he'd leave me alone. And now, ironically, my stomach does hurt because I haven't eaten anything all day.

I think about venturing down to the kitchen to find something to eat, but the second I look at myself in the vanity mirror, I know that's not a good idea. My eyes are swollen, all red from crying all night. Now I get what people mean when they say they have bags under their eyes.

I don't want Park to see me like this. He'd immediately know that I didn't just have a stomach ache and he'd probably ask what's wrong. The last thing I want to do on a day like this is explain my broken heart to the guy whose house I've been using like a hotel.

Or, more like a homeless shelter.

With a groan, I roll over and face the window, holding on to the comforter like a security blanket.

The bright beam of headlights turns off the road and into the driveway, shining right into my eyes. My heartbeat quickens. Is Mom finally back?

I throw off the sheets and run to the window, my heart thudding with anticipation.

Then I catch the Chevy logo and my chest deflates. It's just Jace's dad's truck. My shoulders fall and I walk back to the bed, tucking myself in like all the blankets might protect me from more than just the cold.

I hear the truck door close and then the lights flash through my window as the truck retreats down the driveway.

A few moments later, there's a knock at my door.

"I'm sleeping," I call out, closing my eyes like that'll convince Park on the other side of the door.

The door softly opens and I squeeze my eyes tighter. Someone sits on the edge of my bed and I stiffen. That's not something Park would do.

"Hey."

The voice is soft, tentative. Like he thinks I might throw an atom bomb his way.

And I probably should think about violence but instead all I can do is melt inside. A tear rolls down my cheek.

"Can I talk to you?" Jett asks.

I shrug, keeping my body facing away from him on the bed. "Looks like you're already talking to me."

"Yeah but I want to talk to your face," he says. His fingers slide along my back and I lean into his touch, completely overtaken by my feelings for him.

Damn.

With a huff, I roll over and face him. He's sitting in the middle of the bed, his eyes glazed and hair messy. He smells like bonfire and beer, and this sudden realization brings a bad feeling to my stomach.

"Why are you here?"

"I need to talk to you and I want you to listen and try not to totally hate me for the time being, okay?"

Only his words are all slurred and barely make any sense. I sit up in bed, wishing I could look anywhere else but into his gorgeous eyes right now.

"What do you want?"

He holds up a finger. "First, I want to do something." I watch curiously as he takes out his cell phone and the glow of the screen lights up my room. His thumb slides across the screen and his eyes meet mine. "Just stay quiet, and listen, okay?"

I lift an eyebrow, still not totally sure why I'm even allowing him to stay in here. "Okay, I guess."

He calls someone and puts the phone on speaker. We stare at each other while the phone rings. After a few awkward seconds, a girl answers.

My heart sinks. I recognize the voice the second she says, "Hey there."

"Emma," Jett says. He holds up a finger to me as if to say he's sorry for what he has to do. "Listen, I've been thinking we should get together."

"I knew you'd come around," she purrs.

My stomach tightens and I feel like I could puke even though I haven't eaten anything in hours. I give Jett this wide-eyed look and mouth the words, _are you serious?_

Is he seriously talking to this girl in front of me?

"I can't remember the last time we hooked up," Jett says, staring at me the whole time he says it. "I mean, you ambushed me today and I shoved you away, of course."

"Yeah, like a freaking jackass," Emma says. "But I forgive you. I'm free now if you want to come over."

"Tell me real quick. When did we hook up last? I can't remember." Jett holds out the phone, as if making it a few inches closer to me will make me understand her reply any better.

She sighs. "I don't know, like a few months, I guess? Why does it matter? Let's hook up now."

Jett's face twists into a sinister grin. "It matters because you're on speakerphone and I had to make sure you'd admit that we never did anything today. Now my girlfriend can be sure of that."

"What the hell?" she shrieks.

Jett smiles at the phone. "Don't ever talk to me again."

And then he hangs up and drops the phone on the bed between us.

"What the hell was that?" I say, shocked when I hear the excitement in my voice.

He reaches for my hand and I let him take it. "I needed you to believe me. I didn't hook up with Emma today. Not since I met you. I need you to know that."

I draw in a shaking breath. Relief settles over me in waves. First, the sight of him here next to me, even though I was mad at him just moments ago has healed my heart more than all of that crying did. And now he's pretty much proven that he wasn't lying to me earlier. That Emma's jealous bitch routine had worked, making me run away from the guy I care about.

I stare at our hands as they rest on the bed between us, his thumb running over my palm.

"Okay," I say. "I believe you. Thanks for that."

He blinks a few times and I realize he's trying really hard to sober up from how drunk he is. "How much have you had to drink?" I ask, reaching up and brushing his hair out of his eyes.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Too much. I should have thought of this earlier. I needed you back so bad and I thought drinking would help but it didn't. And now my dad is pissed at me, but I had to call him. I had to get to you."

His chest sinks and he leans toward me. I wrap him up in my arms and we sink down to the bed together. I snuggle against his chest until I can feel the thundering of his heartbeat through his shirt.

He strokes my hair and I close my eyes and everything feels good. He takes a deep breath and lifts up on his elbow. "Babe." He lets out a slow breath and then sits all the way up on my bed, taking my hands in his. "We need to talk."

All of those feel-good feelings I'd had just a second ago disappear into the darkness. My heart pounds and whatever he's about to tell me, I know it's not as simple as the Emma thing.

"What is it?" I say, my voice barely a whisper.

His forehead creases in pain. He squeezes my hands. "It's about your mom."

# Chapter 28

Jett

* * *

She is so beautiful. I love this girl. I love her with all of my heart and I can't tell her that right now. It's totally not the time. And seeing as how I've never told anyone I love them, I'm not sure when it is the time for a thing that powerful. I'm confident that I'll figure it out though.

I want this girl for the rest of my life. I don't care that I'm not even out of high school yet. I know what I want and I'll make sure to keep her happy for as long as she'll let me.

I brush her hair behind her eyes, cupping her chin in my hand. This will be the hardest thing ever, but she has to know.

As much as I want to kiss her and tell her a joke to make her smile, I can't keep this from her anymore.

I try to swallow back the effects of the alcohol and I pray that the right words will come to me as I hold her hand and meet her gaze.

"I got a text from your mom."

Her eyes light up. "Are you serious? What'd she say? Let me call her."

She reaches for my phone but I cover it with my hand. "This isn't easy for me to tell you but, let me talk to you before you look at the texts."

I want to soften the blow somehow, and I'm not even sure that's possible. Keanna's expression is one of total trust and it kills me that I have to tell her something so life-shattering.

"She said she's going to Spain," I begin.

Keanna's eyebrows draw together. "Is she coming to get me?"

I shake my head. I can feel her heart break.

"What else did she say?" Keanna's voice is soft, on the verge of breaking. I can't see her cry. It'll kill me if she starts crying.

I try to smile. "I don't know, I guess she thinks that since you're almost eighteen that you can take care of yourself, so . . ."

"So she left me," Keanna says as tears fill her eyes. She looks down at the bed, at my hand covering my phone to shield her from the coldness of her mother's texts.

I nod. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." Her breath hitches and I dive across the bed, wrapping her in my arms as I hold her close to my chest. Nothing is more sobering than seeing the girl you love crying and knowing you can't make it better.

"But I talked to my dad," I say, holding her tightly as I run my fingers through her hair. "He said you still have your job at the Track and that you can come stay with us if Becca and Park don't want you to stay, but they probably will. They're really nice people and they don't mind that you're here." I keep talking, telling her all about my plans to make this better for her, to lessen the pain and fear of the unknown. "It'll be okay, Keanna."

She sobs into my chest, soaking my shirt with her tears and I just keep holding her.

When I get home, I'll have hell to pay for getting wasted at the lake, but after I'd explained everything to my dad, he'd told me to stay here as long as it takes to make her feel better.

My parents are awesome like that. They know that some things in life are important, and this was one of them.

After a long moment, Keanna turns to the side and plays with the hem of my shirt. I keep my arms around her, my chin resting on top of her head. "Did she say anything else?" she asks.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "She said she loves you."

This gets a snort of sarcastic laughter from her. "Yeah, sure she does. I can't believe she would do this."

"You have me," I say kissing the top of her head. "And you have Becca and Park and my parents, too. We're all here for you. My parents really like you and they're glad that we're together." The moment I say the words I realize the deeper meaning behind them and stiffen. "Well, I mean . . . if you want to be with me, officially. It's no pressure."

She looks up, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine in the darkness.

Overwhelmed with my feelings for her, I can't help myself when I lean down and press a soft kiss to her lips. She kisses me back, her arms squeezing tightly around my stomach. I lean my forehead against hers and take slow breaths. My feelings for this girl are so strong, I worry that my heart may explode inside my chest.

"I love you," I whisper, hoping that this is the right time. That she won't rebuke me, or laugh, or say that she has no feelings for me.

She blinks and then her soft lips kiss mine. "I love you, Jett."

My whole world changes in that instant. The air seems sweeter, the temperature somehow perfect. My entire body is warm and in love and there is no pain and no single thing on this earth that could harm what we have in this very moment.

I can't help but smile as I hold her in my arms. "Everything is going to be okay," I tell her.

She nods. "I know. I believe you."

* * *

♥ ♥ ♥

Thank you for reading Believe in Me! When Keanna's new guardians register her for high school, she realizes there's more to real life than hanging out with your hot boyfriend all day. School sucks, the people are mean, and no one thinks she's good enough for Jett.

Next in this series: Believe in Us

Buy it now or read an excerpt below:

**Believe in Us**

Chapter One

Keanna

Shopping on a weekday is the greatest thing ever. Especially at one in the afternoon when most people are at work. The lines are short and the stores have great sales. It's Tuesday and the mall is nearly empty so Jett and I have circled around it twice already. Each time I find something new to try on, play with, or buy.

I glance over at my boyfriend as we walk toward The Gap.

Okay, I might be going a little overboard. The poor guy is holding six shopping bags in one hand and a big yellow pillow with an emoji face on it in the other hand. Jett wanted to get the poop emoji pillow. I mean, really? I shot down that idea and bought the obvious choice: the two hearts for eyes emoji pillow. It's adorable and snuggly and it was on sale for five bucks so I had to have it.

Of course, Jett whined about the poop emoji so much that I kind of want to sneak back up here and buy it for him one day. I don't exactly have a car though, so I can only go places with Jett or Becca. It's too bad his birthday isn't until December because I'll probably forget about the stupid pillow by then.

"I'm hungry," Jett says, bumping into me with his shoulder. "Does the crazy shop-a-holic want to take a break and get some cheese fries?"

I roll my eyes. "I am _so_ not a shop-a-holic. This is well deserved! Your mom even said so."

Hell, she'd given me fifty bucks this morning when I told her we were going shopping for clothes. I believe her exact words were, _"Honey, you need some clothes. I love you and all, but yeah."_

I've been officially living in Lawson for two? Months now and most of those months involved me living out of a suitcase, getting by with hand-me-downs from Becca and stolen shirts from Jett.

Of course, Jett's shirts are my favorite. But I still need my own stuff. Hence, the epic shopping trip. I've got two months of pay from working at The Track saved up and I'm blowing at least half of it today. Who cares about frivolity? It's fun!

A sparkly tank top catches my attention from the mannequin in front of Forever 21. "Ooh!" I say, wandering over to it.

Jett leans over and whispers into my ear. "Cheese fries." He draws out the words so he sounds like some kind of cheese fry-addicted ghost.

I laugh. "Okay, okay, fatty. Let's go get you fed."

"Mmmmm, food." Jett pats his stomach as if it's a hell of a lot fatter than it really is. In reality he's got a sexy six-pack that he works every single day to maintain. (Sometimes it's annoying how much time he spends in the gym, but I don't tell him that.) We order two large trays of the best thing in the food court: Extreme Fries. They're curly fries covered in melted cheese, ranch dressing, bacon bits and jalapenos. I let Jett eat all of the jalapenos because I'm not a fan of spicy things.

"I'm not sure this counts as a real meal," I say, stabbing into a cheesy fry with a plastic fork. "I can totally hear your dad now, talking about how you need to eat balanced meals to become a pro racer."

Jett licks cheese off his fingers and leans in, giving me a quick kiss. He gestures toward the trays of fries. "This is totally a complete meal. We have potatoes, which are a vegetable. Bacon bits, that's totally protein, and it's a really good protein because of healthy fats . . ." He gives me a wink and continues, "And cheese. That's dairy. Dairy is good for you. Strong bones and all of that."

I laugh and stab into another fry. Unlike Jett's grab-it-with-your-fingers approach, I like to keep a little dignity while eating in public. "I should probably stop eating so much junk with you. I'll get fat. I can't believe I had to buy a bigger size pair of jeans today."

I crinkle my nose. Jett pokes me in the arm with a fry, that luckily doesn't have cheese on the end of it. "Babe you're totally hot. You're even hotter now." He takes a bite of the fry and his eyes travel down my body. "You were a little _too_ thin when I first met you. So whatever you're doing is working."

I snort as an uneasy feeling settles over me. "You mean eating normal food? That's what I'm doing now."

Now that Jett and I are closer, I don't mind sharing certain parts of my life with him. It had taken a while for me to open up, especially about my shady past with Dawn, but now that I have, it's like I can't ever go back. I reach for another fry and feel Jett's eyes on me. "I hardly ever ate when I was with Dawn." I punch him in the arm. "But you can't point out that I'm fat now, Jett! I'm a _girl_ , you can't do that!"

"I never said you were fat, you dork. You're hot. You were hot when I met you and you're hot now. You're hotter now, because I think you look better with some meat on your bones."

I let out a long groan. "Babe! You can't say that!"

He laughs. "Yeah, I realized as soon as I said the word _meat_ that I probably shouldn't say that to a girl." He holds up his hands as if in surrender. "Okay, how is this?" He looks me in the eyes with his dark blues and it sends a shiver down my spine. "Keanna, you are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

I swallow. Whoa.

"Um, thanks," I mumble, turning my attention back to the food. "Seriously though, I need to stop eating the same crap you do. I do _not_ want to buy another bigger pair of jeans in a month."

Jett takes a sip of the large soda we're sharing. "My mom told me something once. We were talking about girlfriends and stuff and she told me about the time she knew that my dad was her soul mate and that she wanted to be with him forever."

My eyes widen. "Oh yeah? Do tell." Jett's parents are the picture perfect example of a flawless marriage. I confidently believe that if every couple on earth loved each other as much as they do, then there would be no war, no divorce or custody battles. There'd be no problems at all.

Jett takes another sip of our drink. "Apparently my mom got fat when she was pregnant with me and she was like freaking out about it." He points a fry at me. "Much like you're freaking out now."

I roll my eyes and he continues. "And I guess my dad had taken her to California to meet my grandparents or something, and she said that at one point he told her he'd love her no matter what, even if she stayed fat or got fatter." He shrugs and eats another fry. "Which is kind of silly because you women are all obsessed with what you look like, but whatever. My mom said that and she knew right then that he was her soul mate and that she could be happy with him forever. When she told me that story, I thought it was—well, you know—dumb, but I guess it makes sense."

"Of course it makes sense," I say, gazing out at the crowd of mall shoppers.

Jett shakes his head. "What I'm saying here is that I understand what my dad meant now. Nothing you can do, short of cheating on me, or like, becoming a serial killer or something, would make me lo—care about you any less."

My heart catches in my throat. Was he about to say _love_? I choke out my reply. "Um, thanks. Same here . . . don't become a serial killer."

He grins and nods toward the half-eaten fries. "Be who you are and don't worry about gaining a few pounds. I mean, who cares? I don't."

"Let's change the subject to something that doesn't make me feel so self-conscious, okay?"

"You're so cute," Jett says with a mouthful of food. "I love everything about you. Even how you think that having serious conversations aren't fun."

"Good, because you're stuck with me," I say, trying to be all light-hearted. In reality, joking around like this terrifies me because I never know if Jett and I will actually be together forever. I just really, really hope we are, but hopes and dreams don't mean anything in reality.

"No, you're stuck with me," Jett says. He leans over and kisses the top of my head and a cloud of his cologne fills my lungs. Even though I spray it on the shirts I steal from his closet to wear to sleep, I don't think I'll ever get tired of the intoxicating scent of him.

"So what else should we talk about?" Jett asks, straightening back up in his chair. The cologne smell goes away and I instantly miss it, but I'm not going to crawl into his lap in the middle of the food court. "School is starting in a few weeks."

I make a gagging sound. "Ugh, no. I don't want to talk about that."

He laughs. "Have you registered yet?"

Since I'm pretty much stuck here for the foreseeable future because my mom has moved to a different country and completely abandoned me, the only logical next step is that I finish out my senior year of high school here in Lawson. Becca has been talking about it lately but I've been trying to avoid the conversation at all costs.

"The other day, Becca said I could look into homeschooling if I wanted," I say, recalling our talk at work last week. "Apparently there's internet programs where you can kind of teach yourself everything."

Jett's brows draw together and his lip curls up. "Ew, no. Don't do that."

I give him a sideways glance. "Why not?"

"Because then you'll be home all day instead of at school with me," he says as if it were obvious.

"You'll be a junior and I'll be a senior so we probably won't see each other."

He shakes his head. "Not true. Have you seen Lawson High School? There's like ten people there. We'll have the same lunch and we can get the same electives and you can ride with me to school, too. It'll be awesome."

"It'll be _school_ ," I say, pronouncing the last word as if it were a curse. "I've been to dozens of schools in my life and they've all sucked. I get made fun of for not knowing anyone or not knowing how to do anything in the stupid school. My clothes get ragged on for being old and worn out, I—"

Jett stops me with a sharp look. "Babe, that was all in the past. You know people now. You know me, and Jacey will totally be your friend, too. Most of the guys at the track aren't in this school district but a few of them are." He points to the heap of shopping bags on the other side of our table. "And no one can make fun of your clothes anymore."

"Okay, you're right about the clothes," I say.

"And Jacey," he says. I nod reluctantly. It's a little weird that a girl my boyfriend used to make out with for fun is now kind of my friend. She is really nice though, and now she has her own boyfriend that she's head over heels for so it all kind of works out. I'm still not about to call her my bestie or anything.

I sink my chin in my hand. "I don't know. It's still scary. You've been at the same school your whole life, right?"

"Yeah," he says with a little nod. "It _is_ easier going back since I know literally everyone. Plus, some of the teachers used to teach my mom and Becca. They don't ever let me forget that, either."

"I know you and maybe a few more people." I give a little exaggerated shudder. "School is not fun for me. It's always scary as hell."

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. "It'll be okay. I'll make sure you have an awesome time. And if anyone tries to be the least bit rude to you, I'll kick their ass."

I smile and reach for another fry. "I don't need a knight in shining armor, Jett."

"Then what do you need?" he asks. There's genuine concern behind his eyes.

I consider it for a moment. "I can take care of myself. But I'd like it if you have my back."

Jett peers at me, a sense of pride in his features. His arm is still around me and he squeezes my shoulders. "Always."

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# About the Author

Amy Sparling is the bestselling author of books for teens and the teens at heart. She lives on the coast of Texas with her family, her spoiled rotten pets, and a huge pile of books. She graduated with a degree in English and has worked at a bookstore, coffee shop, and a fashion boutique. Her fashion skills aren't the best, but luckily she turned her love of coffee and books into a writing career that means she can work in her pajamas. Her favorite things are coffee, book boyfriends, and Netflix binges.

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She's always loved reading books from R. L. Stine's Fear Street series, to The Baby Sitter's Club series by Ann, Martin, and of course, Twilight. She started writing her own books in 2010 and now publishes several books a year. Amy loves getting messages from her readers and responds to every single one! Connect with her on one of the links below.

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