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  Blowback

  by

  Stephanie Summers

  Blowback

  by Stephanie Summers

  Blowback

  © 2015, Stephanie Summers

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Kris Pittman at C&K Creations

  Edited by Cynthia Shepp

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to Kiki Chatfield and the ladies at The Next Step PR. I can never say thank you enough for the work you’ve performed. You ladies rock!

  To Ruth Martin, thank you for being such an awesome PA and friend! You’ve made life so much easier for me.

  Thank you so much to Kris Pittman for the gorgeous cover.

  To Cynthia Shepp, your input, advice, and editing expertise is always appreciated.

  To Beth, what can I say? You’ve become one of my rocks, and I cherish our friendship. Thanks for helping me step back from the ledge more than a time or two!

  To my friends, family, and readers who have been nothing but supportive along the way, you mean more to me than you can ever know. I’ve had to learn a few hard lessons on this journey, but your support has made it easier to keep going. Much love!

  Other books available by Stephanie Summers:

  The Take Me Duet

  Take Me On

  Take Me Home

  The Willow Creek Vampires Series

  Craving

  Haunting

  Awakening

  The Bludworth Chronicles

  Origin

  Bloodlust

  CHAPTER 1 – EVIE ADAMS

  One tiny moment in time. That’s all it takes to cause a life to go to shambles or to bring another out of the darkness. Everyone has that one thing that slammed into life as they knew it and hurdled them onto a different path, maybe even one they were never really meant to go down. The one that completely changed who they are and the person they would’ve become. Looking back on that moment can become so clear and so focused that it drags you back in time as if you’re reliving every second of it. All the joy, sorrow, anger, bitterness, happiness, smiles, tears… All of it’s there, just like it was the first time around.

  The second my life changed was the day Jet Flanagan decided to speak to me for the first time. It was a simple request that very easily could’ve passed without another thought had anyone else made it, but because it came from him, my life was forever changed. For better or worse, I couldn’t say, but definitely changed.

  I met Jet in study hall my junior year of high school. The class was given some bullshit fancy name like Learning Skills Lab but it was really just a filler class. A more suitable name would have been social skills lab or something equally as ridiculous because socializing was the only thing that ever seemed to be accomplished. But for me, it was a catch-up-on-reading class. I was far too shy at the time to strike up a random conversation with someone I didn’t know very well and since only one of my friends had taken the class, that left me alone on days when she was absent or busy talking to someone else.

  Jet was a senior and the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. It wasn’t unusual for his gunmetal gray eyes to be framed in a thin line of black kohl and his hair to hang around his face in a sexy, leave-me-the-fuck-alone sort of way, almost like it was a shield meant to keep everyone from seeing the real him. He was a little bit goth and just edgy enough to stand out from all the other boys who seemed to blend together.

  Of course, his reputation helped set him apart, too. He was known to be someone you didn’t fuck with lest you wanted an ass beating or sacrificed to Satan or some other crazy rumor made up about him because of his looks and the heavy metal band Tshirts he wore. Most gave him a wide berth. Maybe I should have, too, but that was the thing about the past. It can’t be changed, no matter how clearly we can see the consequences when we look back.

  I stole glances at him as often as I could, always trying to be discreet. When I got to class before him, I’d catch a glimpse as he walked through the door. My stomach would flutter every single time. He would walk past me to get to his seat, the fresh scent of Irish Spring lingering in the air, and I’d think to myself that I needed to get my parents to buy some just so I could smell him any time I wanted. Watching him from across the lunchroom had become a favorite pastime of mine, too. I could get a good eye full without him ever noticing me.

  For all the looking I did, the thought of speaking to him made my stomach twist into tight bundles of knots. I’d often found myself fantasizing about running my hand through his silky, black hair, imagining how soft it would be against my palm and tangling around my fingers. Picturing myself playfully tugging on the chain that led from his wallet to his belt to get his attention, I could almost feel how warm his lips would be if they gently touched mine as he leaned in for a much-desired kiss. Actually opening my mouth and letting something as simple as hello come out? Nope. That didn’t cross my mind at all.

  When I wasn’t daydreaming about Jet, I usually found myself flipping through a magazine or jotting thoughts down in my journal to waste the sixty-minute class away. On a particularly boring day, I pulled out an issue of Metal Mania and opened it to an interview with my favorite band. Eager to dive straight into the meat of the article, for once, I was oblivious to my surroundings until a whisper tickled my ear from somewhere behind me.

  The vibration of his voice coaxed the fine hairs on my skin to prickle. “Hey… Can I see that when you’re finished?” His voice—much richer and deeper than any boy I’d ever spoken to—sent a shiver rolling over my flesh.

  I turned to find him looking at me with a slight grin on his face. His eyes, more blue than grey that day, focused intently on me, and the rest of the room melted away. The chatter faded, leaving only Jet and me.

  I cleared my throat, which had immediately gone dry. “Oh, yeah… Sure.”

  I faced forward, prepared to continue reading the magazine. My hands trembled a little, causing the pages to rustle. It sounded as loud as rapid gunfire to my ears, though I doubt anyone else noticed. I drew in a quick breath and held it there a few seconds too long. The dizzying feeling left me as soon as I exhaled and took another breath. It was clear to me that I was too worked up to finish reading the article. My eyes only roamed over the words. None of it sunk in at all or made any sense to me, so I turned and handed the magazine to him with a smile. “Here… I can look at it later.”

  “Thanks. I hardly ever get to read these anymore,” he said, sliding into the desk next to me.

  My heart pounded while I alternated tapping my index and middle fingers against my thigh. As my fingers kept their tapping up, I wondered what about his life had kept him from reading a magazine. I couldn’t imagine not having the time to at least flip through one at the store, even if I didn’t feel like buying it right then, but then not everyone had been blessed with a family that did well for itself. Maybe he couldn’t afford to buy one. Or maybe he worked outside of school and really didn’t have the time. Or maybe I was overthinking the whole stupid thing to begin with. Did it really matter why? Whatever the reason, it’d caused him to speak to me, and that’s all that really mattered right then.

  Suddenly aware of my nervous tic, I grabbed my
journal and started doodling on one of the blank pages. His foot—wearing silver Chuck Taylors—nearly grazed the tip of my combat-boot adorned foot as he turned in his seat and stretched his legs out into the aisle. When he leaned forward to read the magazine, his elbows rested on his thighs and the top of his head was so close to me that the urge I normally had to touch his hair damn near made me embarrass myself by actually doing it. If it wouldn’t have made me feel like a fool, I might’ve actually sat on my hands to keep from acting on my urges.

  A few minutes later, he straightened up and handed the magazine back. Leaning forward again, he said, “It’s cool to see a chick with good taste in music. Do you play or just listen?”

  “I have a guitar, but I’m not all that good at it.” Not good at it was the understatement of the year. In fact, I knew nothing about playing guitar. It had been a gift from my grandparents for Christmas with no lessons to go along with it. The most I’d accomplished was to pluck at the strings here and there or dance around with it in front of my bedroom mirror, pretending I was a kick-ass female rock star like Joan Jett or PJ Harvey.

  “Cool. I play guitar. Maybe I could show you how sometime.”

  Holy Mother of God was what ran through my mind, but, “Sweet,” was all I could manage to say.

  “I don’t really live close to you, but I can usually get wherever I need to be if you want to meet up.”

  The fact that he apparently knew where I lived settled heavily on me, sparking my heart to beat faster to bear the extra weight. Was it possible he’d noticed me the same way I had him? I couldn’t see my cheeks, but I hoped they weren’t turning as bright red as the dyed streaks in my hair.

  “I live on Matteo Street. It’s near the back side of the cemetery,” I said, just in case he had me confused with someone else.

  “Yeah, I know. I used to go over that way sometimes. My friend, Oliver, used to live a couple of houses down from you for a while.”

  “Oliver? I don’t know any Oliver,” I said, searching my brain to figure out who he meant. I finally had a lightbulb moment. “Oh, you mean Big?”

  Big was… well, big. Not fat, just big. Tall and solid, he always wore a scowl on his face. He was nicer than most gave him credit for though, and I’d been a little bummed when he moved away because he walked home from school with me and kept some of the jerks in the neighborhood from bothering me, namely a couple of guys named Preston Payne and Blake Stewart who liked to say vulgar things that made my skin crawl.

  “Yeah, that’s him,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve seen you outside of your house a few times.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t confused, but I sure as hell was. I simply couldn’t comprehend that a boy I had a massive crush on who I thought didn’t even know I existed knew where I lived. And not only that, but he’d also been so close to my house, and I missed out on the chance to look at him from afar.

  “I’m usually home by four. Why don’t you just stop over one day?”

  “Maybe I will…”

  And I waited with bated breath for nearly two weeks before I finally exhaled, resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to show up no matter how many times I willed him to. We’d spoken nearly every day after that first conversation, but it usually involved talking about whichever magazine I had with me at the time or the latest song by whatever band we both liked. Occasionally, he’d draw something in my journal or comment on some of the things I’d drawn. Nothing earth shattering by any means.

  “He’ll show up when you least expect him to,” my best friend Sophie said. “And if he doesn’t, then you can move on to someone else. Plenty of guys to choose from.”

  “If only it were that easy.” I sighed.

  Sophie was the only person who knew just how ridiculously bad I had it for Jet. I had a couple of other friends who knew I thought he was cute, but they didn’t know the extent of my obsession. They didn’t know that my entire world revolved around all things Jet.

  It was a Friday afternoon, and school had let out early. Sophie came over to spend the night like she often did on the weekends, and we sat in the middle of my bedroom floor, lamenting over our crushes while sorting through the clothes from my closet that I rarely wore. She had a small pile next to her of things she decided to claim, and the rest I no longer wanted or needed would be donated.

  “Oh, cute skirt,” Sophie said, folding the just-above-knee-length, black garment carefully and placing it on her pile. “You know, Preston can be a jerk, but I think it’s because he likes you.”

  “I highly doubt that. I don’t think sexual harassment is a healthy way to express that you like someone.”

  “He’s just an idiot showing off for his friends. When he’s by himself, he’s actually kind of sweet. Blake is the real weirdo in that friendship. You know, Jenny told me he wanted to do nasty things to her when they dated. That’s why she dumped him.”

  “What kind of nasty things?” I asked, mildly intrigued by whatever taboo thing he’d wanted to do. I hadn’t even kissed a boy, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t interested in the things people do in private.

  “I don’t know. Butt stuff I think.”

  My mother poked her head into my room with a cheesy grin spreading over her face. She stood there silently peering at us like a lunatic.

  Sophie and I looked at each other with widened eyes, wondering if she’d heard our conversation.

  “What?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. My mother was sometimes prone to acting goofy, so it was entirely possible she hadn’t heard a word that we said. I always found myself prepared for the unexpected with her. This time, though, she delivered exactly what I’d been expecting for two weeks.

  “Oh, not much… Just some boy at the door asking for you. Those are some of the most interesting gray eyes I think I’ve ever seen. The guy-liner really suits him.”

  “Oh my God,” Sophie exclaimed. “I only know of one boy that fits that description.”

  I couldn’t find the words to express myself, so I sat there, unmoving, as her words sank in. At least my best friend was there to deliver the excitement I felt.

  “Is this the flavor of the week? Mr. Dreamy McHotPants?”

  “Mom,” I said, giggling. “He’s just someone I go to school with.”

  I finally found the strength to stand, making my way to the bedroom door.

  “Uh, huh… Well, he’s very handsome, but he looks like a smartass,” she said, putting her hand up on the door frame so I couldn’t leave the room just yet. “Don’t take any shit from him, you hear me? And take this one with you,” she said, tipping her chin to my best friend, who now stood at my side. “Don’t let her go stupid when she looks at him,” she said to Sophie.

  My mom dropped her arm and went down the hallway to her office. The two of us headed down the stairs. The journey from the top to the bottom progressed in slow motion, each step taking an eternity to complete, like my legs each weighed a ton and it took every ounce of force I could muster to move them. A million thoughts ran through my head, all muddled together into one big ball of static, but there, in the middle of it all, was Jet Flanagan in all of his sexy, bad-boy glory. The only thing he was missing was a bad-ass tattoo or twenty.

  He stood on the other side of the screen door with his arms crossed, peering out into the yard, seemingly oblivious to me approaching. But then, that was one of the things that always fascinated me about him. He rarely seemed to care what was going on around him, living in his own mind most of the time. I wanted to crawl inside him just so I could hear what was going on in his head, secretly hoping I made regular appearances there.

  I turned to Sophie, and whispered, “Do I look okay?”

  She nodded and gave me a nudge forward. Opening the screen door must have caught his attention because he turned to me, and the butterflies in my stomach started up full force. The corner of his lip turned up and fell back into place as his gaze shifted past me and onto Sophie.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you had
company… I’ll go,” he said, taking a step off the front stoop.

  “No,” Sophie exclaimed.

  “You aren’t interrupting anything. We’re just hanging out,” I added to her outburst.

  “You sure, darlin’? Cause I can go,” he said, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder. He’d only called me that three times in the short amount of time we’d been talking, but there was never a word to set my heart beating like the way it sounded when it passed over his lips. Really, he could’ve called me just about anything, and I would’ve thought it was wonderful as long as he meant it in a nice way.

  His eyes met mine, sending a plethora of tiny little sparks dancing over my skin. It was amazing to me how just one look from him could make me feel.

  He stood there in silence, his gaze turned toward the ground. I took a deep breath and tried to search for something—anything—to say, but my mind came up blank. All my hopes for what would happen if he ever showed up at my house were dying by the second. My careful planning of just how it would go and what brilliant and witty things I’d say faded. If I didn’t pull us out of this awkwardness, it’d all be over before it started. He’d never come back, and he’d probably never speak to me at school again.

  “You didn’t bring your guitar,” was all I could think to say.

  “My guitar?” he asked, his eyebrow cocking as he looked at me as if I’d spoken a foreign language.

  “Yeah, you said you could show me how to play.”

  “I guess I forgot to grab it. Don’t really need it though as long as we have yours.”

  We. I loved the way that word sounded falling from his lips.

  “I’m not sure today is a good day for it anyway. I mean, we aren’t busy, but I’m sure it’d be boring for Sophie. She’s not into the music we like.” The word was just as grand coming from my mouth when referring to the two of us.

  “No problem. I can come back another time.”

  “You guys can go ahead and do that. I don’t mind,” Sophie said, nudging me in the ribs with her elbow.

  “You wouldn’t be bored?” I asked and gently swiped my hand over my side where she’d poked me.