Hot Ride (Summer Lovin’)

Chapter 3

Scarlett

Iuntie my apron and toss it onto the counter at Sweet Things, Finley's bakery.

The sweet aroma of freshly baked pastries lingers, comforting yet making me painfully aware of how much I will miss this place.

Finley gives me a knowing look. “It's going to be okay, Scarlett. Wait and see.”

Before I can respond, the bakery door swings open, and Jake, Finley's boyfriend, pokes his head inside.

“Hey, Scarlett. A guy is waiting for you outside. He looks pretty interesting.”

My brow furrows as I grab my purse and head for the door, Finley's gaze burning into my back.

My gaze sweeps the street, seeking something flashy and expensive—a cherry-red Ferrari or a sleek Lamborghini screaming “rock star.”

That's when I see a classic red Mustang parked at the curb, utterly out of place among the sleek, modern cars lining the street.

There is no blaring music, no bodyguards, and no fanfare.

Jett pushes his aviators up, raking a hand through his messy hair. That smile hits me like a sucker punch--cocky, familiar, and infuriatingly attractive.

It's been years, but my stomach does the same stupid flip.

Jett's older, his edges are sharper, but damn if he isn't hotter than ever. I want to hate how good he looks. Instead, I'm fighting back a grin.

“Jett,” I greet him, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“Hey, Scar.” His smooth voice washes over me, that old nickname rolling off his tongue like no time has passed. “Ready to hit the road?”

I swallow hard, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach as I approach the car.

“Nice ride,” I say, keeping my tone casual as I run a hand over the cherry-polished hood, still warm from the sun.

“I figured you were more Ferrari or Lamborghini these days. Fast and flashy like your–”

I bite my tongue before 'sex life' slips out. Oh hell.

Jett pushes off the car, his lean frame unfolding as he steps closer.

The faint scent of his cologne, slightly musky with hints of citrus, transports me back to high school hallways and stolen moments.

“What can I say?” He flashes that cocky grin I know all too well. “I'm a sucker for the classics.”

“You always were,” I murmur, my gaze trailing over the familiar curves of the Mustang.

That's when recognition clicks, and my eyes widen.

“No freaking way. This the same old bucket you and Danny nearly killed yourselves 'fixing up' before senior year?”

I make air quotes, arching an eyebrow.

Now it's Jett's turn to arch a brow, that infuriatingly smug smile tugging at his lips.

“The very same. Fixed up for real this time.”

There's a gleam of pride in his eyes as he pats the fender.

“This old thing brings back memories,” I say.

“Good memories, I hope.”He flashes a smile.

I can't help but admire the grit and authenticity behind restoring this classic American muscle car from the ground up.

Garish displays of wealth and fame might not impress me, but this? This speaks volumes.

I avert my gaze as Jett hoists my suitcase into the trunk, those toned arms flexing beneath the snug fabric of his vintage tee.

Heat creeps up my neck, and I fiddle with my purse strap, hoping to mask how my cheeks have gone splotchy.

Real smooth, Scar.

Why not just throw your panties at him while you're at it?

“You did good work on her,” I mumble, forcing my eyes to meet his.

I watch as Jett hoists my suitcase into the trunk, unable to tear my eyes away from the flex of muscles beneath his vintage tee.

There's something almost mesmerizing about the simple, masculine movement.

“Careful with that, rock star,” I tease, aiming for a lighthearted tone to mask the undercurrent of awareness thrumming through me. “That’s my entire life in there.”

His voice, rich and amused, pulls my wandering gaze back up to meet that smoldering stare.

“Don’t worry, Scar. I’ll take good care of it.”

A beat passes before he adds, “And you.”

The suggestive lilt makes a rash of heat prickle along my skin.

Damn him.

Jett's answering chuckle tells me he's well aware of the effect he's having. But he surprises me.

“Hey, I got this, okay? We’ll make it to that wedding in one piece. I promise.”

His gaze lingers, warm and reassuring, and despite my best efforts, I glimpse echoes of the guy who teased me mercilessly but always had my back.

Jett opens the passenger door with a flourish. “Your chariot.”

My heart flutters as I sink into the passenger seat.

The familiar scent of aged upholstery and lingering hints of Jett's cologne transport me back to high school—cruising around town with the windows down, the radio cranked up, and we belting out every word to whatever rock anthem was popular that summer.

Jett folds his long frame behind the wheel, and when our knees brush, an involuntary shiver ripples through me, electricity skittering across my skin.

I fidget in the passenger seat, smoothing my skirt over my thighs, willing my racing pulse to slow. “I, uh, really appreciate you doing this, Jett. Driving me all that way, I mean.”

His mouth quirks in a half-smile. “No sweat. What are friends for?”

“The whole flight mix-up and my credit card on ice because of that fraud alert,” I offer, compelled to justify the burden I've placed on him.

“I didn't have many options for getting to the wedding on time.”

Jett waves a dismissive hand as he turns on the radio, the opening chords of a familiar rock ballad filling the car.

“Like I said, it's no problem.”

“Right, well, thanks. I owe you one.”

His grin widens. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Dark curls tease his nape, tempting my fingers. I wrench my gaze away from Jett, focusing instead on the passing scenery.

Trees blur into a kaleidoscope of greens and golds as the miles unspool.

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep, steadying breath. The car's engine hums beneath us as we speed down the highway.

Hitching a ride with Jett for this cross-country road trip definitely wasn't my brightest idea.

It's been years since we've seen each other face-to-face, but his presence still manages to get under my skin in that maddening way it always has.

I can't let him rattle me, no matter how that heated gaze makes my pulse spike.

“It’s been how many years, Scarlett?” he asks suddenly, as if reading the turbulence in my mind. “Six? Eight?”

I blink, surprised that he’s kept any sort of track. “Seven and change,” I murmur, hating how breathless I sound.

“Time flies.” He shakes his head, mouth quirking.

“I don’t want to sound lame, but tell me what you’ve been up to. I keep up to date through Daniel, but I’m sure there’s more to you than what you tell your brother.”

I’d usually rise to the challenge but I’m not a girl anymore, so easily riled.

I keep my expression carefully neutral. “Work, mostly. Keeping my head down.”

I leave out the part about my firm downsizing my department, not ready to open up that particular wound.

“We’re on a mini-break right now, though. I don’t want to talk about work. I’m actually looking forward to this road trip.”

“Glad to hear it, Scar.” Jett’s grin widens, eyes crinkling at the corners in that achingly familiar way.

“I was half afraid you’d bail and leave me to make awkward small talk with Siri.”

A surprised laugh bubbles up from my chest before I can stop it–a bright, genuine sound that I haven’t heard from myself in far too long.

“Oh trust me, I’d pay good money to hear you try having deep, philosophical conversations with your GPS. But hey,” I shrug, tone turning wry. “No work talk for a bit. Deal?”

There's a flicker of something raw and real in Jett's eyes—a glimpse of vulnerability that catches me off guard.

For a fleeting moment, I'm transported back in time, remembering the boy who once looked at me with that same earnest intensity.

But I quickly shake off the nostalgia, reminding myself that this is not the same Jett I knew back then.

Too much has changed.

My chest tightens, a familiar tide of emotions rising. I take a shaky breath, trying to push them down to regain control.

I’m hyper-aware of everything about him. From the faded t-shirt stretched across his shoulders to the corded veins in his forearms.

God, it's maddening how gorgeous he still is.The chiseled jaw, those incredible cheekbones that could cut glass.

I'm torn between wanting to stare and needing to look away, my skin tingling.

I shake my head. Get it together.

It's only physical proximity and nostalgia, nothing more.

When Jett shifts gears, the back of his hand grazes my thigh, and I suck in a sharp breath, cursing the fluttering deep in my belly.

“You alright there, Scar?”

His voice is all innocent, but I catch the wolfish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I answer quickly, perhaps a little too sharply. “Watch the road, hotshot.”

He tosses me a two-fingered salute and a wink. “Yes, ma'am.”

I force a smile, hoping it doesn't look as brittle as it feels on my face.

He studies me, his gaze piercing even in profile.

Then, with a rueful twist of his mouth, “Scarlett, if this is too weird for you, being stuck in a car with me for hours on end, I can figure something else out. Get you on a flight or?—”

“No,” I interrupt, surprising us both with my intensity. “No, it's fine. Really.”

But the weighted silence that stretches between us says otherwise. I trail off, unsure how to put the tangled mess of my feelings into words.

How do I explain that it's not him I'm afraid of, but myself?

My traitorous heart seems determined to ignore the glaring warning signs, begging me not to go down this road.

Jett is silent for a long moment, his fingers flexing. Then he sighs, a twist to his lips. “I get it. I do.”

Something in his tone, a hint of old hurts, makes me want to know more. But I don't ask because that would mean opening up in return.

So, I deflect instead, same as always. “Careful, rockstar. You're beginning to sound like a grownup.”

Jett barks out a laugh, the sound rich and warm in the confined space.

“Bite your tongue, woman. I'll have you know I plan on being an immature ass well into my golden years.”

“I don't doubt it,” I drawl.

Jett taps his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the classic rock song.

I zone out until Jett's deep voice brings me back to the present. “Remember when you put a rubber snake in Mrs. Perkins' letterbox?”

I snicker, picturing her wrinkled face contorted in horror, the snake dangling from her bony fingers.

“I thought she was going to have an aneurysm when she saw that thing.”

Jett laughs, a deep rumble in his chest.

“Remember how high-pitched her scream was when she found it? I thought dogs would come running.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Oh god.”

“She deserved it, the old battle axe. She used to yell at us for playing music too loud.”

“Yell at you for playing music too loud,” I correct, jabbing a finger into his arm. “I was an innocent bystander.”

“Innocent, my ass,” Jett scoffs. “You were such a little hellion. Who suggested we TP her house on Halloween?”

I gasp in mock outrage. “I did no such thing!”

“Liar,” Jett says, but there's no heat in it. “You bought all that toilet paper.”

“For completely unrelated reasons!”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“God, we were such little shits,” I say, wiping my eyes. “No wonder our parents were constantly getting called to the neighbor's houses.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jett scoffs, but the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “I was an angel.”

I snort indelicately. “Yeah, and I'm the freaking Pope.”

We lock eyes and dissolve into laughter, which leaves your cheeks sore and your belly aching.

It's like slipping into a well-worn sweater, one I haven't felt in years but fits perfectly.

To the outside world, he's Jett Silver, rockstar extraordinaire. To me, he will always be the kid from down the street with the treehouse.

The boy who used to flick boogers at me.

We settle into easy silence, listening to the local radio station's rotation of classic rock.

The music takes me back to my high school days. A faint smile tugs at my lips as memories wash over me.

The opening riff of “Eternal Nights,” the smash hit from Soul Obsession's latest album, suddenly blares from the speakers–jolting me out of my reverie.

“Oh, I love this song!” I exclaim, reaching to crank up the volume without thinking.

Jett chuckles beside me. “You would. It's bloody inescapable these days.”

I shoot him a playful glare. “Jealous their stuff is getting more airplay than yours?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits with a wink. “Though I guess that's the price you pay for selling out arenas instead of stadiums.”

As the chorus hits, I belt out the lyrics, pouring my pent-up energy into the song.

Jett drums his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the thumping bass line and head bobbing, but then he surprises me by adding his rich baritone to the chorus.

When I let loose, Jett matches me beat for beat, his voice raw and powerful.

Our voices blend in a strangely intimate way, the sound filling the car.

The song fades out, leaving us grinning like idiots. “Not bad, rockstar,” I tease, giving him a playful nudge.

Jett shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I do okay.”

An easy silence lapses between us as the next track starts playing.

“I was supposed to see these guys on their last tour, you know,” I say wistfully. “But the tickets sold out before I could snag any.”

There's a glint in Jett's eye as he glances sidelong at me. “I might be able to pull some strings. Get you into their next gig.”

“Sure,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “I bet you're best buddies with every rock star on the planet.”

He shrugs, a smug grin playing on his lips. “Let's just say I know a guy who knows a guy.”

I snort, shaking my head at his blatant attempt to impress me. “Whatever you say, Mr. Bigshot.”

Jett's lips twitch, but he doesn't elaborate further.

I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye. The golden light casts his chiseled profile in sharp relief, catching the faint dusting of stubble along his jaw.

The rough-edged boy from our youth has been transformed into someone confident, almost dangerous in his raw magnetism.

His brow is furrowed in concentration; those full lips slightly parted as he navigates the winding road.

The vintage Mustang hits a patch of uneven road, jerking me out of my reverie.

I let out a surprised yelp as the chassis bounces over the bumps. Instinctively, I reach out to steady myself, my hand landing on Jett's arm.

Jett tenses, his bicep flexing beneath my fingers. I catch Jett's Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

For a moment, we're both frozen, caught in the unexpected intimacy of the touch.

Something shifts between us, the air crackling with a new kind of tension. It's not the uneasy wariness of before but something more profound.

Something dangerous because I'm seeing him in a new light. Not as the reckless heartbreaker, the untouchable star. But as a man.

A man with fears and doubts and hidden depths. A man I could fall for if I'm not careful.

Jett clears his throat, his signature smirk sliding back into place like a well-worn mask.

“Careful there, Scar. I know I'm irresistible, but try to keep your hands to yourself while I'm driving, yeah?”

I roll my eyes to hide the way my stomach flip-flops at the husky rasp of his voice. “Oh good, and here I thought the cocky asshole act was just an urban legend.”

“If you wanted me to take my shirt off, you could've just asked,” he quips, flashing me a wicked grin.

There it is–that spark of playful arrogance that's quintessentially Jett. A strange sense of relief washes over me to see this familiar glimmer peeking through the impassive rock idol veneer.

“Ass,” I mutter, but there's no real bite.

Jett chuckles, eyes never leaving the road. “Come on, you know you love me.”

I roll my eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. “In your dreams, rockstar.”

“Every night, baby.” He winks, and I hate the way my stupid, battered heart stutters in my chest.

For a dizzying instant, our eyes lock. His gaze is hooded and smoky with a look I can't quite place.

This whole situation is destined to be one deliciously torturous temptation after another.

A delicious ache blooms low in my core as it finally hits me?—

The game's just getting started.