by Ali Dean
“To get you! You cannot miss this concert, Shay, seriously. Jack Kingston is incredible, and it’s only five minutes away at the Happy Hollow. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Quick, get dressed, I got an Uber waiting outside.” When I don’t respond quickly enough, she brushes past me into the laundry room and starts throwing clothing at me from a hamper of clothes I pulled out of the dryer earlier. Seeing I haven’t moved, she yells, “Shay, come on, get naked. I’ll never be able to fully enjoy this concert if you aren’t there. I’ll be talking about it for the rest of my life. When we’re old and our boobs hang to our knees. And you won’t be able to reminisce with me because you were in your pajamas, pining over Julian Reed – who, by the way, will not be your husband at this point in our lives because, I know you already know I don’t like him, at least not when it comes to you, but let me just tell you in case I haven’t really come out and said so. Have I come out and said so? Well, I think he’s an arrogant ass who, yeah, is hot or whatever but isn’t good enough for you. Not even close.”
Kick is hyper-drunk and it’s not even that late. When Kick gets like this, it can slide into crazy-drunk which can lead to some very poor choices.
“Where’s Bea? And didn’t a bunch of others go with you?”
“Yeah, we got split up. Half the campus was trying to get into the show.”
Also when Kick is drinking and excited about the night like she is right now, she tends to not pay attention to anything and often wanders off by herself, hanging out with random people.
Knowing all this about my sister is enough to get me out of my pajamas and into the tight ripped jeans Kick’s tossed my way. Five minutes later, I’m in an Uber, and it’s not until then I realize I forgot to grab my phone.
“By the way, I think you only get boobs that hang to your knees if you have big boobs to begin with.”
Kick looks down at her chest. “Ours are what, average? I mean, I hate to be average in anything, but I really think they are pretty normal.”
We discuss our boob size for a few minutes, and thankfully the driver is a female. It’s relatively safe territory for discussion with a drunk Kick.
My sister is in rare form as she pushes her way to the front of the packed space. Kick’s always been into music. I like music, who doesn’t? But I’m not the first one to know about every up and coming new band like Kick. She has a knack for spotting talent, too. Before some of the hottest bands are hot, she calls it. And she’s rarely wrong. So I don’t doubt that Jack Kingston and his band are the real deal.
Apparently, a lot of people already know about Kings of Sound though, because my ears ring with the wild screams of excitement. This isn’t exactly a big venue, but every inch of it is jam-packed. Kick says they’re local, from a nearby suburb, and they just signed their first record deal.
When the band comes out and I see the lead singer – Jack Kingston – my sister’s hype makes a lot more sense. Before the dude even opens his mouth, the only way to describe him is, hot rock star. Unruly curly hair, sinewy arms wrapped in leather bracelets, and snug jeans that have just enough give not to qualify as skinny jeans. With a guitar slung over his shoulder and blue eyes so clear I can see their intensity from twenty feet away, even I have a little crush on him. And Julian Reed is really the only guy I’ve said that about. Jett doesn’t count because… a crush sounds way too benign for a force like him. I really need to stop thinking about Jett Decker. And then Jack opens his mouth, and I’m pretty sure my sister whimpers beside me. Yeah, she totally wore the red lipstick for him.
We’re in the very front, and Kick remains entranced for the entire show. As soon as it’s over, she’s dragging me through the crowd, insisting on finding Jack. She didn’t drink the entire show, as far as I could tell, so she’s gone from way too drunk to safely buzzed, which means I don’t have to try to drag her home against her will. “He’s probably outside. It’s so hot in here, and did you see how sweaty he was?”
My body is still humming from the aftereffects of hearing good live music. Kick was right – Kings of Sound are incredible, and nice to look at too. Kick nudges me. “Pretty epic, right?”
“Yeah,” I concede.
Around us, everyone’s talking about the music and Jack Kingston, and I know Kick’s going to have her work cut out for her tonight.
When we go through the side door and Kick confidently swerves through people toward the back alley, I see I’m right. Despite being hidden from the masses, there are several women crowded around two guys who lean against the wall, beers in hand. It’s Jack and the drummer.
It’s comical though, watching the two guys’ reactions when they notice Kick marching their way. Eyes light up and take her in, postures straighten. The girls notice the guys’ reactions and look our way. I’m always tempted to bail when Kick stakes her claim – too much sexual tension and jealousy swirl in the air – but this is when she needs me to stick around. Just in case.
Jack pushes off the wall and grins. Kick introduces herself, and it’s obvious to everyone these two are totally on the same page. The other girls shift their attention to the drummer. And, my work here is done.
It’s not until I’m standing on the sidewalk in a crowd of drunk people that I remember I don’t have my phone. I’m looking around for someone on the team or someone who looks like they might be willing to share an Uber when I feel him. There’s a looming presence behind me and somehow, my body knows it’s Jett Decker.
“Shay.” His voice is low and smooth.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and look up, forcing myself not to ogle him this time. My eyes meet his and I try for a casual smile. “Oh, hey.”
His brow furrows. “I got your text.”
“Yeah, I left my phone at my place by mistake,” I tell him. This conversation is not what I’d been imagining for our second encounter.
“I called you right after I got your text.” He sounds almost accusatory, and I straighten up.
“Sorry. My sister dragged me here right after I texted you.”
He lets out a nervous chuckle and looks away. “Yeah, okay. It’s just, I’d been waiting for you to call me all week, and you finally did, and then you ignored me. I thought you were playing games. And I don’t like those kinds of games.”
I let out my own nervous laugh. “Um, no games. At least, not from me. You’re the one throwing me for a loop here, especially given how we met.” My cheeks instantly flame up as I refer to that night.
He struggles to hold back a smile. “We never did actually meet. I’m Jett.” It’s a little too late for handshakes, and he doesn’t bother to offer one.
“Shay.”
“Want to get coffee or something?”
My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“What?”
“Aren’t we doing this a little backward? Do you really mean coffee? Because after Mirage, I just figured if I called you then you’d skip everything and invite me to your room.”
Now his eyes widen. “I didn’t take you for that kind of girl,” he says quietly. And a huge wave of relief hits me at his words. Despite how wanton I was on the dance floor, he somehow realizes this isn’t my norm.
“I’m not. Usually.”
We study each other in silence for a beat before Jett takes a step closer, his hands grazing my arms. “So, let’s do this the right way. I take you to Margie’s Diner, we talk, get to know each other, yeah?”
His proximity makes it hard to think. “Yeah,” I breathe out. That sounds nice. Really nice. Totally not what I was expecting.
“Yeah? Come on.” He reaches for my hand like it’s nothing and I take it. As he cuts across the street, I can’t help but notice a few heads turning, and then some whoops from the crowd we’re leaving behind. I look back and see a group of athletic guys grinning and shouting, “Yeah, see you later too, Decker.”
“Sorry, just ignore them.”
“Your teammates?”
“Yeah. Subtlety isn’t their strength.” Jett’
s lips curve into a smile as he says this and I can feel the warmth he has for his teammates.
He unlocks a pickup truck and helps me into the passenger seat before jogging over to the driver’s side.
From what I can tell, he’s totally sober, but I check anyway. “You’re good to drive?”
“Yeah. I don’t drink.”
He starts the engine and I notice the truck is a stick shift. Why is it so sexy when guys drive stick? I have to work hard not to stare at his hands, arms, legs... “It’s a little late for coffee, but Margie’s has killer Belgian waffles,” I change the subject.
“You’re hungry?” He glances over at me as he asks, sounding surprised by the idea.
“Always,” I admit.
The clock on the dash tells me it’s one in the morning, but I’m not the least bit tired. Energy courses through me and I know it’s not from the music anymore. Speaking of – “You were at the concert?”
“I was. I saw you up front with your sister but lost you after it was over.”
“How’d you know she’s my sister?” I’m curious since most people can’t tell we’re related by looking at us.
“My friend told me,” he says easily.
“Have you been asking around about me?” I tease.
He nods, not the least bit embarrassed. “I didn’t have to ask much. My teammates knew all about the Spark sisters.”
“What?” I’m genuinely shocked. Is he teasing me or is he for real? Kick might be a party girl but I rarely interact with anyone outside the swim team. And there are nearly 50,000 students at this school. I feel a little panicky, wondering if there are rumors out there and if his interest in me has something to do with what he’s heard. If those guys were trash-talking Kick...
“The most beautiful girls on campus are hard to miss,” he states like it’s a fact, but I roll my eyes. Kick is the head-turner, and apparently, I’m known by association.
He pulls into a parking spot and hops out to open my door before responding to my question. Helping me down, he doesn’t release my hand as we walk inside. The comfort level between us is kind of alarming. But then again, nothing about my interactions with Jett Decker has been normal.
Margie’s is filled with college kids. It’s open 24-7 and I’ve never been here when it’s not busy. There’s an empty booth in the back and we slide in, facing each other.
A waitress pauses in front of us and her eyes drink in Jett. “What can I get ya?” she asks him, ignoring me. She’s cute and her boobs are ginormous, so I appreciate it when Jett doesn’t stare and instead looks at me for direction.
“Belgian waffles with...?” he starts, letting me finish.
“Syrup, strawberries, whipped cream,” I respond immediately without thinking. How else are you meant to eat waffles? Duh.
“How many?” the waitress asks, finally tearing her gaze from Jett to look in my direction.
I ignore her and keep my eyes on Jett, across from me. “Are we sharing?” I ask.
His face lights up at my question. He nods his head slightly and turns his focus to the waitress. “Can we get three?” he asks.
“Four,” I clarify. I always eat two, minimum.
“You got it.”
She throws Jett a wink and spins around before sauntering away.
“What else did you mean, that everyone has heard of the Spark sisters?” I try to keep the defensive tone out of my voice as I watch my index finger sliding up and down the side of my water glass.
Jett doesn’t answer right away and I finally raise my eyes to meet his. He’s looking at me with amusement. “You didn’t believe my answer?” He raises his eyebrows. If he’s trying to imply that I’ve got self-esteem issues because I don’t believe I’m beautiful, I’m not taking the bait. I’m cute, I know this. Kick is gorgeous. I know that too. It is what it is. We don’t need to hash it out. That’s juvenile.
“There are lots of pretty girls on this campus, Jett,” I point out the obvious.
Jett chuckles, shaking his head. “You and your sister are two of the top athletes in the school, and most of the people I know are athletes. So, that’s all it is.” When he hesitates and then frowns, I wait. There’s more.
“I did hear something else about you and there’s something I need to know. It’s a pushy question for me to ask but your answer matters.” I’ve got no idea where he’s going with this. I’ll probably answer anything he wants to know right now, but the sudden shift in tone from playful to intense has me squirming.
He leans forward. “Are you serious with Julian Reed? Are you guys together?”
His eyes bore into mine. The question itself doesn’t shock me. After all, I’ve been hooking up in a non-defined relationship status with Julian for a year now. If Jett was asking around about me, it’s not surprising he would have been clued in. No, what shocks me is his boldness in asking me about it.
Jett’s arms rest on the table in front of me but the rigid hunch of his shoulders and the furrow in his brow are not casual. The answer to his question matters to him. That much is clear.
Thankfully, for the first time since getting together with Julian a year ago, I actually know the answer. “No.” I try to sound certain because I can tell he’s paying close attention. From anyone else, I might be weirded out by his directness, but his curiosity makes sense. If Jett Decker wants to hold my hand, share waffles with me, and dance with me in a club like he did last week... there really can’t be another guy in the picture.
When Jett’s shoulders finally relax, I feel like I just passed some sort of test.
“Is this when I’m supposed to ask you about other girls? Because I don’t really think that’s my place.” I try to ask it in a light tone, teasing, but the thing is, I really do want to know the answer.
“Why not?”
His simple question makes me uncomfortable, mostly because deep down, I know I should have asked this question to Julian a long time ago. And maybe I didn’t because I didn’t care. I haven’t really analyzed it.
I shrug. “You told me your name for the first time less than an hour ago.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
“But I already knew it. My sister recognized you.”
He doesn’t seem surprised by my revelation.
“There aren’t any other girls,” Jett says quietly. The low vibration of his voice makes me want to reach across the table and take his hands. He glances up under long dark eyelashes and looks like he wants to say more, but is holding back.
“I’d ask you a bunch of questions but the truth is, I already know most of the first date type stuff about you from your Wikipedia page, so I’m not sure what to say.”
My embarrassing admission makes me cringe, especially because I’m not entirely sure this is a real date. It feels like one though, and he doesn’t contradict it.
He chuckles at my honesty. “You can ask me what you want to know. I don’t mind.”
There’s one that I’m curious about. “Why did you transfer here for your senior year?”
He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms across his broad chest. “A few different reasons. My family’s here. This is home. Coach Rhodes is the sprint coach and he’s the one who got me into track as a kid. His son Keenan is my best friend. My other best friend, Anthony, is a senior on the team too. I did three years at Florida. I wanted a change for my fourth year.”
That’s basically the same explanation the news release gave. He didn’t even announce he’d be transferring until after the Olympics. I’ve got a feeling there’s more to the story he’s not telling me. It sounds too rehearsed.
“Why didn’t you just go here from the beginning then?”
Jett leans back in his seat like my question was a slap across the face.
His voice isn’t as confident when he replies, “Thought a change of scenery would be good. College is all about new experiences, right?” I nod in agreement, hoping he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. Jett’s eyes wander
around the diner, and I know that’s all I’m getting from him on that.
I want to bring him back, get that eye contact again that makes me feel like I’m the center of attention. But I also want more answers to my questions. I try another one, hoping it’s safer territory. “Why not just ditch college and go pro?”
When Jett leans forward again, relaxing into his seat, I know I’ve succeeded. “I’ve got plenty of time for a professional career. There’s no rush.”
I ask him about his three older sisters next, and that keeps him talking until the waffles arrive. It’s easy to see he’s part of a close family. His eyes don’t wander away from me again, and a small smile plays on his lips as he talks. The three sisters run a hair salon together, already married with kids, and Jett’s mom basically runs a daycare watching her grandkids while their parents are at work.
One brother-in-law works for Jett’s dad’s mechanic shop, one is an accountant, and the other one is a personal trainer. Jett’s proud of his family, that much is obvious, and the simplicity of his feelings as he talks makes my stomach knot up.
“Don’t get me started on my nieces and nephews or I’ll never shut up,” he warns with a grin before he’s shoving more waffles into his mouth.
The plate between us is stacked high and we don’t hesitate to dig in. There are no words spoken, just exchanged grins as we pause briefly between bites. The plate is wiped clean in less than two minutes.
“We should probably order another round.” Jett stares at the empty plate.
“Give it a minute. Usually if I go for more than two I feel kind of sick, so we might be better off stopping.”
“You’re a really skilled eater, aren’t you?” he says with a laugh.
“Absolutely. I should add that to my résumé,” I reply with mock seriousness.
“I’ve never actually had a résumé. Weird, right?”
“Nah, you don’t need one. Have you had a job?”
“Just helping at my dad’s shop when I’m home. It lets me have flexible hours for training. What about you? Seems like everyone at this school has big career plans.”
