Yeah, there’s that . . .
My heart races for a whole different reason when Jet puts his car in park and gets out and comes around to where my father and I are standing. His dark, shaggy hair is still damp from his shower, and his black tank top under a leather jacket makes him look more dangerous than ever. All he needs is a motorcycle to round out the picture of the quintessential bad boy.
“Jet Blevins,” he says when he reaches us, nodding to my father and extending his hand.
My father returns the gesture. “Royce Wilson, Violet’s father.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
After a few seconds of unnerving silence, my father speaks again, letting me off the hook. “Well, I’d better get to work, hon. Two hours?”
I smile, my body flooded with relief. “Two hours.”
Dad kisses me on the cheek, grabs his pruners, and walks away, leaving me and Jet standing side by side, watching him go.
“So, what’s two hours?”
“He had some car trouble this morning. I’m gonna give him a ride back home in two hours.”
“What will you be doing in the meantime?”
I shrug. “Heading back to Greenfield, I guess.”
“Big plans for the day?”
I shrug a second time. “Not really.”
“Why don’t you save yourself some gas, then, and let me buy you a cup of coffee?”
I want to say yes. I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to spend the morning with Jet. But my biggest concern is that I shouldn’t want to, but even that’s not as compelling a reason as the one that brings a burst of heat to my cheeks.
“Um, I’d love to, but . . . ummm, I uh . . .”
“Yesss . . .” Jet prompts.
“Well, it’s just that I . . . I mean, I didn’t have time to . . .” I feel my face get hotter.
How embarrassing.
Jet smiles. “Wow, this must be really good.” He crosses his arms like he’s settling in for a great story.
“What do you mean?”
“It must be a really good excuse in the making.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I assure you. It’ll be very . . . obvious that it’s true.”
“If you tell me, that is.”
I give him a sassy grin. “You want it? Fine. I haven’t showered yet this morning. Dad called and woke me up at Tia’s and I had to leave straightaway and get him. This is last night’s hair and makeup, and I’m sure you’ve already recognized the clothes.”
Jet’s smile widens. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He waves me off, reaching for my hand. “Come on. You look better in day-old makeup than most women do after a day at the salon.”
I resist, tugging on his hand. “Seriously, I’m a mess. I can’t go out in public like this!”
Jet doesn’t even pause; he just keeps dragging me toward the curb, toward my car. “We’ll hide in a corner then.”
I hate to admit, even to myself, how appealing that sounds. How appealing and how . . . intimate.
“Jet, I really don’t—”
He reaches in to cut off the engine and pull my keys from the ignition. He grabs my purse from the back floorboard, locks the door, and slams it shut.
He finally stops to look at me and give me his full attention as he hands me my purse. “I can tell by looking at you that the only thing you need right now is coffee.”
“And a shower,” I add.
Jet’s voice is low and his eyes are warm. “I’m trying not to think too much about you in the shower. Mind taking it easy on a guy?”
I feel hot and breathless at his insinuation, and it’s all I can do not to let it show on my face. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“God,” he whispers, taking my hand and turning away. “We gotta get out of here.”
I don’t argue anymore. There’s no point, and I don’t really want to anyway.
Jet opens the passenger side door for me, closing it snugly behind me once I’m inside. As I buckle up, I watch Jet through the windshield. I try not to pay attention to the smooth way he walks as he rounds the hood, or to the way his low-riding jeans sit on his lean hips, but it’s impossible not to notice.
When he slides in behind the steering wheel, he gives me a mischievous grin. “There’s no escaping me now,” he says, shifting into gear and easing out into the road. “For the next two hours, you’re all mine.”
As we speed off down the street, I can’t help thinking that I don’t mind the sound of that. Not one bit.
SIXTEEN: Jet
I know I made the right decision the instant I sit down across from Violet in the back corner booth of the little locally owned coffee shop I picked. It’s not nearly as busy as the bigger-name ones, and it’s twice as intimate. The coffee’s not bad either.
I watch Violet as she takes a hesitant sip of her frothy drink. She smacks her lips a few times, tasting the blend, and then looks up at me with wide, pleased eyes. “This is really good.”
I smile, feeling it all the way into my balls when she drags her tongue along her upper lip to lap up the sweet foam residue there.
“I’m glad you like it,” I finally say.
She taps the end of the tiny straw sticking up from the other side of her cup. “Wanna taste?”
I lean forward, narrowing my eyes on her. “Do you do that on purpose?”
She frowns. “Do what?”
“Ask me things like that? Knowing that I’d love nothing more than to have a taste?”
Nervously, Violet tucks her hair behind one ear and takes another sip of her coffee. “Sorry. That sounded bad.”
“I wouldn’t say that. At least not bad in a bad way. It sounded bad in a good way. A very good way.” Her cheeks turn pink, something I’m quickly becoming incredibly fond of. “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That blush. I love it when you blush.”
“Why? I hate it.”
“It reminds me of other things I like about you. Things that are different from other women.”
“Like what? A crippling social ineptitude?”
“That might seem like the case, but I happen to know differently.”
“You do? And how is that?”
“You forget, I know your secret. I know what you’re hiding behind that blush.”
“Maybe I’m not hiding anything.”
“I doubt it. Everyone’s hiding something.”