by Jamie Shaw
On one side of the table, it’s Leti, Kale, Kit, me. On the other, Ryan, Mason, Bryce. Under the table, my fingers twine into the denim threads barely covering Kit’s knee, and when I glance over at her, her cheeks are a pretty pink that makes me slide my hand even higher.
“So Shawn,” Mrs. Larson says, and I jerk my fingers away from Kit’s thigh so fast, Kit almost laughs the spaghetti right out of her mouth. “Do your parents both have dark hair?”
I clear my throat and shift in my chair, making sure that my napkin is positioned where it needs to be. “Yeah. It runs in my family.”
Mrs. Larson beams. “Oh, that’s perfect.” She takes another sip of her water and continues smiling at me. “I always imagined a whole houseful of dark-haired grandbabies.”
“MOM!” Kit and Mason bark while Ryan, Leti, and Kale all chuckle and Bryce continues slurping up his spaghetti.
“She’s like twelve years old!” Mason adds.
“I’m not saying right now!” Mrs. Larson scolds him with a severe crease between her eyebrows before turning another sweet smile on me. “I’m just saying . . . I mean, you do want kids someday, right Shawn?”
“Oh my God.” Kit’s face is a sheet of white when I look over at her, her big eyes and gaping jaw directed at her mom.
“I, um . . . ” I scratch a hand through my hair and almost laugh when Kit’s expression swings to me, panic flash-firing in her wide, dark eyes.
“You don’t have to answer that,” she rushes to say. “Don’t answer that.”
I’m about to answer that when Leti says, “Personally, I think Kale and I would make the cutest babies.” He props his chin on his fist and gazes lovingly at Kale. “Your hair, your eyes, my toes.”
“What’s wrong with my toes?” Kale asks through a smile.
“Dude,” Bryce says, “I know you aren’t making fun of Larson toes.”
I brace myself for Kit’s wrath before I look at her and say, “Is that why you always wear your boots?”
She laughs and swats at me while her dad chuckles and insists they got them from their mom. Mrs. Larson chucks a piece of garlic bread all the way down the table, and my arm drapes around Kit’s chair.
“They come in useful!” Bryce insists.
“Like when you’re outside weeding but don’t feel like bending over?” Leti quips, and Bryce shrugs and nods, which makes even Mason start to laugh.
In the commotion, while everyone else is arguing about the pros and cons of having hands for feet, I lean over and plant a kiss against Kit’s temple. She melts into it, and I whisper, “I love you.”
“Even my toes?” she whispers back.
“Especially your toes.”
THAT NIGHT, AS I turn my ignition off in front of my apartment building, Kit opens her door and slides out of the passenger seat before I can get out and open it for her. “I still can’t believe my mom did that,” she says over my trunk as we circle behind the car to meet each other halfway.
I think about holding her hand, stop myself, and then reach out and do it anyway. “What, you don’t want to give your parents a tour bus full of grandkids?”
Kit’s cheeks blush an adorable rose-petal pink as we cross the parking lot to my building, and she turns her chin up to wrinkle her nose at me. “A tour bus?”
I grin and thread my calloused fingers with hers. “How many then?”
“Are we seriously talking about this?”
I tug her backward when she reaches out to open the door, opening it for her and smirking at the way she pretends to be irritated, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Why not?” I ask.
In truth, I’d never thought about kids or a family or anything else—not before Kit. But now, during nights when she’s lying in my arms, sometimes I think of the kind of diamond ring she’d wear, of big weddings with tons of family, of how she’ll look with crow’s feet, gray hair, and a guitar still molded to her lap. And I fall asleep smiling, breathing in the scent of her hair and holding her tight against my chest.
At the end of the hall, Kit hits the button to the elevator and then stares at the glowing white light while nibbling the inside of her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t know. Maybe one or two . . . someday. Not anytime soon.” She pauses for a long time before lifting her eyes to mine, and I’m sure my palm starts to sweat at the way those eyes make my heart trip in my chest, but Kit holds on tight. “What about you?”
“Maybe one or two,” I say, my answer coming more easily than I thought it would. “Someday.” I echo Kit, thinking of what her mom said—of little kids with Kit’s dark hair. And maybe with my green eyes. And I can tell Kit knows what I’m thinking, because the pink in her cheeks deepens and her free hand begins fidgeting with her pocket. “Not anytime soon though,” I add before our palms get too slick to hold. “I have my hands full with Adam.”
She laughs and steps onto the elevator when it opens, dragging me with her. “Want to know something super embarrassing?”
She drops my hand to back up against the wall and brace both of hers on the metal railing lining the elevator. Her knee bends, poking through the gaping hole in her jeans as she plants a combat boot against the wall.
“About you?” I say with a grin as I lean against the wall opposite her. “Do you even need to ask?”
Kit drums her fingers against the railing—and drums and drums—until she blurts, “I may or may not have written ‘Kit Scarlett’ down in a notebook a few dozen times in junior high.”
She immediately covers her face with both hands, and my laughter fills the metal box. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
The elevator dings, and she doesn’t wait for me before taking quick steps into the hallway. But I catch her before she can get too far, pulling her back against my chest and pinning my chin in the crook of her neck. “That’s adorable,” I say, smiling against her skin.
Held tight in my arms, she huffs out a breath and says, “I can’t believe I told you that.”
“I think Kit Scarlett has a nice ring to it.”
When she turns her face to the side to stare at me, her skin is that kissable pink that’s quickly becoming one of my favorite colors. “You do?” Her voice is a quiet, timid thing, in complete contrast to the rest of her.
I smile as I press a big kiss against her neck. “I do,” I say, when what I’m really thinking is, someday.
I let go and lead her the rest of the way to my apartment, unlocking the door while she’s still too busy blushing to see that the tips of my ears are as red as her cheeks. And then I head toward my room and stop her before she can follow me in. “Wait out here, okay?”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because you want to.”
“Since when?”
She narrows her eyes at me as I spin her around and nudge her toward the couch, and then I slip into my room and wipe my clammy palms on my jeans. Adam and Peach are gone for the night, just like they swore they’d be, and I have something special planned—something I’ve been planning for a while.
The night I took Kit’s virginity, I was a half-drunk high school senior who had no idea what he was doing. I gave her a night she couldn’t forget instead of a night she’d want to remember. And ever since I found that out, it’s bugged the hell out of me. That night should’ve involved candles and rose petals and . . . I don’t know, at least me giving her her first fucking orgasm. But that guy wasn’t me, not back then, and now all I can do is try my hardest to make up for it.
It takes me two tries to light the lighter in my hand, and then I touch it to scented candle after scented candle, setting them on my shelves, my dresser, my nightstand. I pull a bag of red rose petals from a cooler and feel like an idiot as I sprinkle them throughout the room and over my dark green comforter. I grab a sheer red cloth from a plastic shopping bag and drape it over my table lamp. And then I look around the room and ta
ke a deep breath.
This is so fucking corny. This is the corniest, nerdiest, lamest shit I’ve ever done.
Kit had better love it.
When I open the door and call her over, she does exactly what I thought she’d do: she takes it all in and giggles, and that sound makes all my embarrassment worth it.
“Seriously?” she says while I smile like the love-struck teenager I should’ve been for her six years ago.
“This is what I should’ve done for your first time.”
Kit’s rosy grin gives her away—she loves it, just like I knew she would. “You’re so corny.”
“It’s your fault.”
“No music?”
I hit a button on the remote to my stereo, and Brand New pours through the speakers. She bursts out laughing.
“This isn’t exactly Marvin Gaye, Shawn.”
“I know, but it’s your favorite.”
Her arms wrap around my neck and her fingers curl in the back of my hair. “It is.” She lifts onto her tiptoes and kisses me softly. “You’re my favorite.”
“And you’re calling me corny?” I chide with my heart racing against hers, and she laughs and slaps my shoulder a second before I toss her onto my rose-petaled bed.
She giggles until I crawl on top of her, and then she stops laughing, I stop smiling, and I kiss her—I kiss her like I wouldn’t have been able to six years ago even if I wanted to. Because back then, I didn’t realize she was my other half. Back then, I didn’t realize I had another half.
Now, I do, and I wrap her in my arms.
Are you new to Jamie’s super-hot rock stars?
Find out how Adam-freakin’-Everest fell hard for Rowan “Peach” Michaels in
MAYHEM . . .
And don’t miss the wild ride that brought
Joel Gibbon and Dee Dawson together in
RIOT . . .
Available now in print and e-book from Avon Impulse.
But the final member of The Last Ones to Know is still single . . .
Watch for drummer Mike Madden’s story coming soon!
Acknowledgments
WHEN I WROTE the acknowledgments for Mayhem and Riot, those books hadn’t been released yet—which makes this the very first time I’m writing an acknowledgments page as a published author, as an author with readers, and it’s you I want to thank first.
You are the reason I write. Before I was published, I dreamed of you, of strangers who would read my books and hopefully love them. And I just want to say—you’ve far exceeded even my greatest expectations. You put a smile on my face every single day—with your emails, your messages, your fangirling over The Last Ones to Know. Thank you for buying my books and loving my rocker boys. You are why I’m able to continue doing what I love—and why I continue loving it.
Big squishy hugs, especially, to all of the amazing readers in my Facebook fan group, Jamie’s Rock Stars. You guys are freaking rock stars, and you blow me away with your support, your enthusiasm, and your ability to make me laugh. You’re the best fans and friends I could ask for, and I hope you know how much I adore you.
And of course, major love to the readers who make it their mission to support books, authors, and this entire community of readers—the bloggers. Thank you for supporting me, my novels, my characters, and my dreams. You are truly some of the most amazing, selfless people I have ever met. Thank you so much for writing your kick-ass reviews, for pimping my books, and for making me cry from laughing so hard when you’ve fought over Adam, Joel, Shawn, and Mike. You guys rock hard, and I appreciate all that you do.
Thanks, too, to all of the authors who have leant me their support while I’ve learned the ropes of publishing—Jay Crownover, Tiffany King, Wendy Higgins, Megan Erickson, Sophie Jordan, and so, so many more. You have all been so ridiculously encouraging and supportive, with your blurbs and encouragement and advice. I feel so extremely privileged to be a part of this community—and to be able to call you friends.
And finally, to all the people who helped make this book what it is—
My critique partners are my behind-the-scenes crew, who get to know my characters long before they’re ever put into print. They’re the gals in my corner, squirting water in my mouth when I’m about to pass out, pushing me in the right direction when I begin to lose focus, and assuring me I can kick this book’s ass when I begin to feel like it’s the other way around. So thank you, thank you, thank you to Kim Mong, Rocky Allinger, Marla Wilson, and my mom, Claudia. Kim, you were Shawn’s very first fangirl, and it’s for Shawn-groupies like you that I knew I had to write his story. Rocky, you keep me sane while I ride the writer rollercoaster, and I have no freaking idea what I’d do without you. Marla, your enthusiasm for these books is the perfect writing fuel, and I’m so glad you joined my Panera dream team. And Mom, thank you for always being my biggest cheerleader. All four of you are incredible critique partners and friends, and I hope you know I’m never letting you go—EVER. I’m sorry, but you’re mine now.
Mushy love, too, to my rock star literary agent, Stacey Donaghy, who knew even before I did that each of my boys needed their own story. Stacey, you know how much I adore you, and I can’t wait to continue this journey together.
And more mushy love to my editor, Nicole Fischer, for being a freaking saint while I wrote this book. Nicole, you went above and beyond the call of duty for me, and well . . . I’m kind of in love with you for it. Thanks for always being in my corner, and for responding to emails when the rest of the world was sleeping. You’re seriously the best.
And finally, thanks to my husband, Mike, who loves me even when I don’t shower for days, who brings me food when I’m too busy writing to remember to eat, and who I love more than words can say. Everything I know about true love, I know because of you.
About the Author
Born and raised in South Central Pennsylvania, JAMIE SHAW earned her MS in professional writing before realizing that the creative side of writing was her calling. An incurable night owl, she spends late hours crafting novels with relatable heroines and swoon-worthy leading men. She’s a loyal drinker of white mochas, a fierce defender of emo music, and a passionate enthusiast of all things romance. She loves interacting with readers and always aims to add new names to their book-boyfriend lists.
http://authorjamieshaw.com/
https://www.facebook.com/jamieshawauthor
https://twitter.com/authorjamieshaw
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By Jamie Shaw
Chaos
Riot
Mayhem
Give in to your Impulses . . .
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our newest Avon Impulse books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
CHASING JILLIAN
A LOVE AND FOOTBALL NOVEL
By Julie Brannagh
EASY TARGET
AN ELITE OPS NOVEL
By Kay Thomas
DIRTY THOUGHTS
A MECHANICS OF LOVE NOVEL
By Megan Erickson
LAST FIRST KISS
A BRIGHTWATER NOVEL
By Lia Riley
An Excerpt from
CHASING JILLIAN
A Love and Football Novel
by Julie Brannagh
The fifth novel in USA Today bestselling author Julie Brannagh’s Love and Football series! Jillian Miller likes her job working in the front office for the Seattle Sharks, but lately she needs a change, which takes her into foreign territory: the Sharks’ workout facility after hours. The last thing she expects is a hot, grumbly god among men to be there as witness.
As Jillian discovers that the new her is about so much more than she sees in the mirror, can she discover that happiness and love are oh-so-much better than perfect?
One dance with him and Jillian was pulling herself out of his arms and getting back into the car. She could dance with him and not get emotional about it. He was jus
t another guy. She was not going to let herself get stupid over someone who was clearly only interested in her as a friend.
His hold on her was gentle. He smelled good. She saw the flash of his smile when she peeked up at him. She’d felt shy with Carlos because she didn’t know him. She didn’t have that problem with Seth. She wanted to move closer, but she shouldn’t.
She tried to remind herself of the fact that Seth probably had more than a few friends with benefits, even if he was between girlfriends at the time. He was a guy. He probably wasn’t celibate, and they weren’t romantic with each other. There was also the tiny fact that anything that happened between them was not going to end well.
She was in more trouble than she knew how to get out of.
At first, Jillian rested her head against his cheek. A minute or so later, she laid her head on his chest. They swayed together, feet barely moving, and he realized his heart was pounding. He’d never experienced anything as romantic as dancing late at night in a deserted city park to a song playing on his car’s sound system. The darkness wrapped them in the softest cocoon. He glanced down at her as he felt her slowly relaxing against him.
It’s not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me
Oh, no
It’s just the nearness of you
He took a deep breath of the vanilla scent he’d recognize anywhere as hers. His fingers stroked the small of her back, and he heard her sigh. Slow dancing was even better than he remembered. Then again, he wasn’t in junior high anymore, and he held a woman in his arms, not a teenage girl. There was a lot to be said for delayed gratification. Dancing with Jillian was all about the smallest movements, and letting things build. He laid his cheek against hers.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.
“Why not?” he whispered back.
“It’s not a good idea.”
“We’re just dancing, Jill.”
And if things got any hotter between them, they’d be naked. She didn’t try to step away from him. If she’d resisted him at all, if she’d shown reluctance or fear or hesitation, he would have let her go, and he would walk away. Her fingers tangled in his hair.
