There’s Wild, Then There’s You (The Wild Ones #3)(50)
Author: M. Leighton

“You’ll let ’em know?”

“All right, man. See you tomorrow.”

When he hangs up, he glances over at me and smiles a crooked smile, but says nothing. I return the gesture the best that I can before, once more, turning to look out the window at the dead, lifeless night passing me by.

Less than an hour later, Jet is pulling up at the curb in front of my tiny house. I don’t know why it feels so depressing when he shifts into park, but it does. It tells me that he’s not planning on staying. Or even coming inside. It tells me that he’s anxious to get away.

I don’t wait for him to come around and open my door. I get out quickly, reaching into the backseat for my overnight bag and my purse. When I straighten, Jet is there beside me, closing the door and taking the bag from my shoulder.

He walks me up the steps and takes my keys from me to unlock my front door. As I turn on the entry light, he leans in to set my bag in the floor by the console table against the wall. When he straightens, he’s still on the outside looking in.

From less than a foot away, I look up at Jet, watching him, trying to figure out what went wrong, and feeling heartbroken over the fact that it did. My chest gets tight and I feel tears threaten as my eyes scan his handsome face and his politely interested expression. Even though I’ve only ever had it happen once, I know when I’m getting ready to be gently dumped.

My smile is tremulous and my voice unsteady when I speak, facts that I wish more than anything that I could take away.

“Thank you for showing me New Orleans,” I say simply.

Jet is silent for well over a minute. Then he surprises me by stepping forward. Cupping my face in his hands, he bends to brush his lips over mine. My heart, my soul, everything that I am melts into a puddle like butter on a hot stove.

When he raises his head to look down at me, I’m certain I’ve never seen something more beautiful—and more gut-wrenching—than his face.

“Thank you for coming with me. I had an amazing time.”

He smiles down at me. In the gesture, I read the words THE END.

I swallow my emotions in one difficult gulp.

“I did, too.”

“I’ll call you,” he says, already backing away.

I nod, unable to force one more syllable past the lump in my throat.

Jet taps the doorjamb, near the dead bolt, as he pulls my door shut. “Lock up.”

Again, I nod, determined to keep my smile in place until he’s out of sight.

Out of sight, out of mind, I think wistfully.

Unfortunately, I know deep down that the age old adage will not apply to me. Jet will never be out of my mind.

Never.

THIRTY-SIX: Jet

As many shitty days as I’ve had, I can’t think of a time when I’ve felt worse. About everything.

Looking back over the last couple of days, I can pinpoint several great things. But now, less than forty-eight hours later, every single one of them has gone to hell.

I got a call from Kick Records on Friday, a call that I knew might change my life. This afternoon, I got another call from them, letting me down easy.

I had just gotten out of the shower with Violet, which was a helluva good thing, when I saw the message light blinking on my phone. It was that ass**le Rand telling me that, although I have some talent, I’m just not what they’re looking for.

That started a cascade of other shitty things, the first of which was the realization that I’ll have to either play more gigs with the band until I can get some interest elsewhere, or I’ll have to give up music altogether and finish school. I don’t like either of those options.

But that wasn’t even the worst part of it. As I stared at the closed bathroom door and listened to Violet humming happily in the shower, I thought back to her confession. I wasn’t even mad about it anymore, which is good because I had no right to be. No, I thought about how brave she was for telling me, about what a good person she is. Deep down, she’s a really good person—unlike me. I’ve done some pretty despicable things, and I don’t even have the decency to confess them to her. Because I’m a bastard and I don’t deserve her. I can’t bring one good thing to her life. Not one. I’m a piece of crap for messing around with her to begin with.

But the worst part was how I felt about my decision to go forward. Rather than doing the decent thing and leaving her the hell alone, or doing the conscionable thing and telling her what she deserves to know, I decided I’m going to keep seeing her. I’m going to keep my secrets, because she’d hate me if she knew. And, in the end, I’d rather risk hiding things from her than giving her up. I can’t let her go.

Because I’m a bastard.

Still, it’s a jagged pill, and I found myself choking on it more and more as the day wore on. So here I am, walking away from Violet, yet promising her I’ll call. Which I shouldn’t do. But I know I will.

Because I’m a bastard. And I want her. More than anything, including my soul, which will surely burn for doing this to her.

But will it stop me? No.

Why? Because I’m a bastard.

THIRTY-SEVEN: Violet

“Are you kidding me? What an ass**le!” Tia blusters.

“I should’ve seen it coming. I mean, how stupid am I? He’s a twenty-six-year-old playboy. He’s even in a rock band. And he’s a sex addict, for God’s sake!”

“But he seemed like such a nice guy . . .”

“I should’ve known better.”

“Violet, you can’t refuse to take any kind of risk on the off chance you might get hurt. That’s ridiculous! You can’t live like that.”

“Why not? I’ve gotten along just fine for twenty-two years.”

“Oh, yeah right. And what a spectacular life you’ve led.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my life, Tia.”

“Of course there’s not. It’s perfectly normal to have only one friend. It’s perfectly normal to surround yourself with broken people that eat up your time being unfixable. It’s perfectly normal to have zero social life to speak of.”

“You make it sound like I’m some kind of freak. I’ve dated. I’ve gone to bars. I’ve done things. But it’s never worth the aggravation. Avoiding it isn’t pathetic, Tia. It’s prudent.”

“I didn’t say you were pathetic, Vi,” she says, her tone rife with regret. “You’re far from pathetic. But I know you well enough to know that you’re miserable.”

I feel my chin tremble. “I didn’t used to be.”