Page 7 of Winging it with My Ex
I wanted to be Jett Monroe, the normal high school kid. Not Jett Monroe, the kid with the alcoholic father. The kid with a dad who couldn’t keep a job. The kid who had to work to keep the mortgage paid.
“You deserved better.”
I don’t even think. My hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing her skin like I’ve got a right to. My heart hits triple speed. My brain short circuits or something because before I can even register what my body is doing, I’m leaning in for a kiss.
Apparently,herbrain is still working just fine because she leans back to dodge me.
The next thing I know, I’m flailing. Arms circling like I’m a helicopter. I do the most logical thing to keep myself from falling into the pond.
I grab her.
It’s a stragedy.
You know, a strategy that ends in tragedy.
Instead of keeping myself out of the pond, I’ve now doomed us both.
She already wants to kill me. Now she might do it with her bare hands.
five
. . .
hadley
This is exactlyhow I wanted to start the school year.
Not!
I break the surface of the water, gasping, hair plastered to my face, and obviously, soaked. And I stink. Sheesh, this water is disgusting, and the bottom is… squishy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think The Swamp Thing calls this body of water home.
Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of the color of the blouse I wore.
White. I wore white.
Instantly, I wrap my arms around my chest. I’m mortified. My face is flushed. The kids think it’s absolutely hilarious. They’re laughing like hyenas.
And I’m completely frozen.
Jett pushes through the water, pulling his soaked t-shirt off. “Are you okay?”
All I can do is look at him for a second. Holy jalapeños, he’s hot. His muscles are on full display, and they have expanded toinclude pecks and abs and all sorts of other muscles my fingers ache to touch.
“Hadley? Are you okay?” His eyebrows knit with concern.
I’m very okay.
Maybe the water’s short-circuiting my brain. Or maybe it’s leaking out of my ears. Either way, I can’t speak. I just stare at him. He was always the most beautiful boy—now man—I’ve ever seen.
His hands wrap around my upper arms, and he draws so close that when he says, “Hadley…” I can smell the Wrigley’s on his breath. Minty and sweet, and that scent is in every memory of kissing him.
Which I want to do right now.
Only, no. “Yes, no, I’m…” I growl.
I try to pull away, and he wraps his arms around me.
“Stay still.”
