Hot Ride (Summer Lovin’)

Chapter 5

Scarlett

The hum of the Mustang's engine fills the heavy silence stretching between us as Jett guides the car down the endless ribbon of highway with the confident ease of someone who's spent countless hours behind the wheel.

His hands are sure and steady, one resting lazily on the wheel while the other dangles out the open window. He looks completely at ease like he was born to ride the open road.

Probably comes with being a rock star, I guess. Must be nice.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, trying to be subtle. The way the late afternoon sun plays across his chiseled features makes my heart stutter.

Damn him. Even after all these years, Jett still has the uncanny ability to tie my insides into knots like it's his job.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a little bit envious of how calm and collected he seems, cool as a damn cucumber, while I'm over here squirming in my seat, a ball of nervous energy.

I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body, making my skin prickle with awareness.

Frustrated, I shift around, trying to find a position that doesn't make me feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin if he so much as breathes in my direction.

I'll be damned if I let Jett “too sexy for his own good” Silver get under my skin.

Jett's voice breaks the stillness, startling me. “You know, I sold the car once? Stupidest decision of my life.”

The undercurrent of regret in his voice surprises me. I thought Jett lived life without a backward glance. “What happened?”

Jett caresses the wheel with almost reverent tenderness. “I needed the cash, but I never stopped thinking about this car. As soon as I had the means, I tracked her down. Restored every inch myself.”

The revelation casts Jett in a new light. It's a far cry from the reckless, devil-may-care attitude I associate with him.

“Enough about my checkered past,” Jett says, his tone lightening. “There's this little pie shack up ahead, just off the highway.”

I blink, unsure if I've heard correctly. “You? At a roadside diner?”

“Just because I can afford caviar doesn’t mean I don’t crave a little small-town flavor now and then.” His eyes dance as they lock onto mine, daring me to disagree. “Trust me, darlin', this place is worth the detour. Best damn pie in the whole state.”

His enthusiasm draws me in, melting my defenses like sunshine on snow.

“Okay,” I give in, letting out a dramatic sigh and ignoring how his use of endearment makes my heart race.

“But this better be some life-changing, orgasmic, slap-your-mama good pie, or I swear to God, Jett...”

“Oh, it will be,” he promises with a wink, and I feel a flush rising to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the summer heat.

The pie shack is exactly that—a tiny, ramshackle building that looks like it was cobbled together from scraps of wood and corrugated tin, standing stubbornly against the test of time.

Jett pulls the Mustang into the gravel parking lot, tires crunching and kicking up a dust cloud hanging in the air like a hazy veil.

But the moment we step inside, I'm hit with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked pastries and rich, fragrant coffee. The scent wraps around me like a warm hug, and I breathe deeply, feeling the tension melt from my shoulders.

The place has a rustic charm, with gingham curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open windows and mismatched chairs scattered around worn wooden tables. It's like stepping back in time when things were less complicated.

An elderly woman emerges from the kitchen, her face lighting up at the sight of Jett. “Well, look what the cat dragged in!”

Jett returns Maggie’s warm grin, his entire demeanor softening. “Wouldn't miss a chance to eat one of your pies for the world, Maggie.”

The woman pulls Jett in a motherly hug, leaving a dusting of white powder on the shoulders of his leather jacket.

“That boy's got good taste,” Maggie stage-whispers to me with a conspiratorial wink. “And who might you be, honey?”

Before I can respond, Jett interjects with a casual ease, “This is Scarlett–Danny's little sister.” There's a hint of teasing affection in the way he says my name that makes me want to bristle.

“Well, aren't you a pretty thing!” Maggie exclaims, giving me an appraising once-over that makes my cheeks flush. “Let's get you two settled.”

We settle into a booth, the vinyl creaking beneath us.

“Can I suggest–” Jett begins, but I cut him off with narrowed eyes.

“I can order for myself, thanks,” I say, reaching for the menu.

Maggie returns with two steaming mugs of coffee and a generous slice of pie each topped with a dollop of freshly whipped cream. “There you are, dear. My signature cherry pie.”

The crust is golden and flaky, the filling a luscious red that practically gleams.

Jett watches me expectantly as I take my first bite, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

The first bite is an explosion of flavor–the perfect balance of sweet and tart, the buttery crumble melting deliciously on my tongue. A soft moan of surprised pleasure escapes my lips before I can stop it.

“Well?” Jett prompts, looking far too smug. “Worth the detour?”

Jett's knowing smirk fuels my irritation. It also kicks off an unexpected fluttering low in my belly which I refuse to acknowledge.

“Not bad, I suppose,” I mumble, taking another bite to hide my smile. Damn him and his infuriating ability to get under my skin.

We linger at the pie shack, trading bites while Jett regales me with stories of his early days on the road, the dive bars, and greasy spoons that were his regular haunts.

Maybe that's what puzzles me most about his friendship with Daniel. They're worlds apart–my big brother, the perpetual boy next door, and his rebellious best friend, an unapologetic heartbreaker.

What cosmic force drew these seeming opposites together and kept them tethered through life's wildly divergent paths?

Although the pie is long gone, our playful back-and-forth continues. The relentless teasing has me in stitches and I find myself relaxing, the tension ebbing from my shoulders.

Jett leans back, eyes drifting to the window, lost in thought. His fingers trace the rim of his coffee mug in slow, deliberate circles.

Part of me relishes this stolen time with Jett. Yet the sensible part, warns me not to venture too close to the flames.

“So, Daniel's tying the knot, huh?”

I glance at him, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. “Jessica's good for him,” I say, thinking of my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “She balances him out.”

Jett's eyes lock onto mine, their sincerity startling. “I'm proud of him, you know? He's found something most of us spend our whole lives searching for.”

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. My brother, our rock. Jett's respect for Daniel is palpable.

The wedding looms large, a focal point dominating my life for months. But now it's a delicate thread connecting Jett and me, fragile and charged with meaning.

Jett continues, his expression pensive. “Makes me wonder about my choices. “I've always been chasing the next high, the next gig, the next... whatever.”

“Jett,” I start, but the words catch in my throat. What do you say to someone who is questioning everything they’ve built their life around?

“I thought I had it all figured out.” He pauses, his jaw working as he gathers his thoughts. “I know what you're thinking. Shocker, right?”

I lean in, drawn to his vulnerability.

“There was this girl, Heather, another musician. I thought we had something. But she was using me to boost her career,” he admits, his voice low and rough.

“I'm sorry. That's a shitty thing to go through.”

He glances at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. As if he hadn't expected my sympathy, my understanding. “Lesson learned. Can't trust anyone in this business.”

I shake my head, fierce protectiveness welling up inside me. “That's not true. You can't let one bad experience color your whole worldview.”

The weight of his gaze settles on me like he's seeing me for the first time. Not as Daniel's sister or the annoying tagalong, but as someone who understands. “You're a good person, Scar. Better than most.”

I catch Jett's gaze flicking to my lips. For a heartbeat, I imagine closing that gap, tasting him, proving love isn't always doomed. But the moment slips away.

Jett clears his throat. “Enough about my existential crisis.”

“Careful,” I tease. “Change too much and you might not recognize yourself.”

He laughs, eyes crinkling. “Ouch. Kicking me while I'm down?”

“Someone's got to check that ego,” I grin.

“Ah yes, the image,” he drawls, rolling his eyes. “Can't tarnish the persona, can we?”

The server whisks away the remnants of our meal. I get up to leave, fumbling for my wallet, but brushes off my attempt to pay with a grin and a shake of his head.

I blink in surprise as Jett slips Maggie a thick wad of cash. It looks like enough to stock her fridge for a week. Maggie's eyes widen, and she refuses, but Jett plants a kiss on her weathered cheek, and mutters something about 'taking care of the regulars.'

My chest tightens, admiration and something deeper stirring inside me. But as quickly as that warmth spreads, a painful truth lodges in my chest, sharp and unyielding.

Despite this newfound connection, we're separated by a vast chasm, no matter how much my traitorous heart wishes otherwise.

On one side is Jett, the reckless dreamer, and on the other is me, ever the pragmatist craving stability and predictability.

I reach for the door handle, but something stops me, a question burning on the tip of my tongue. “Jett?”

His expression is unreadable in the fading light. “Yeah?”

“Do you ever wish things had been different? That you'd chosen a different path?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I hold my breath, afraid of his answer.

Jett is silent for a long moment, his gaze searching mine. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Every damn day, Scar. Every damn day.”

The raw honesty in his confession catches me off guard, causing the carefully constructed walls around my heart to crack, letting in a glimmer of something new.

Jett's hand rests over mine, the contact igniting a spark that travels up my arm and straight to my chest. I inhale sharply, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to lean into his touch.

“We should probably get back on the road,” Jett says, his voice husky. “Still got a long way to go.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As we walk back to the car, I can't shake the feeling that something has irrevocably shifted between us. The air feels charged, the silence heavy with emotion.

I slide into the passenger seat, my skin tingling from Jett's touch. As he starts the engine, I steal a glance, my heart racing.

Despite my best efforts, I'm not immune to Jett's charms. And that is going to make this road trip a whole lot more complicated.