Hot Ride (Summer Lovin’)

Chapter 8

Iblink awake. For a moment, I forget where I am, but then I feel Scarlett's warmth beside me, and everything comes rushing back.

I watch her sleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath. I could count each of her eyelashes if I wanted to.

I can't remember the last time I felt this peaceful. Normal. No screaming fans, no paparazzi, no managers breathing down my neck. Just me and Scarlett, in this quiet bubble of tranquility.

“Morning,” Scarlett mumbles, her eyes still closed but a smirk playing on her lips.

Scarlett's eyes are flecked with gold, the irises dark as onyx. “Morning, Sunshine. Sleep well?”

She stretches, cat-like, before finally opening her eyes. “Surprisingly, yes. Though I'm not sure how I feel about waking up next to you.”

“Ouch,” I clutch my chest in mock pain. “You wound me, Scar.”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile. “I'm starving. Please tell me there's food in this place.”

“Your wish is my command,” I say, rolling out of bed. I pad to the kitchenette, rummaging through the cabinets. “How does cereal and pop-tarts sound?”

Scarlett groans. “Gourmet breakfast, courtesy of Jett Miller. I'm swooning.”

I return with the food, settling onto the bed. A warmth spreads through my chest. This is nice and easy like we're teenagers again.

“Remember when we used to sneak pop-tarts at your place?” I ask, grinning at the memory.

Scarlett nods, her eyes sparkling. “Good times.”

An hour later, we pull into the parking lot of a small supermarket. “Snack run,” I announce, killing the engine. “Can't road trip without proper sustenance.”

Scarlett raises an eyebrow. “By 'proper sustenance,' I assume you mean chips and candy?”

“You know me so well,” I wink, climbing out of the car.

We wander the aisles, tossing various snacks into our basket. I can't help but notice how domestic it feels, shopping with Scarlett. It's such a mundane activity, but it fills me with a strange sense of contentment.

A young cashier keeps stealing glances at me. I pull my hat lower, keeping my expression neutral, detached.

We're almost in the clear when a voice calls out from across the store. “Holy shit, you're Jett Silver!”

I whip around to see some douchebag with a shit-eating grin, phone already raised, snapping pictures. “Can I get a photo, man?”

I nod, used to the routine. I pose for a quick selfie, hoping that will be the end of it. But the guy doesn't get the hint. He fires off question after question about my music, my band, my next album.

“A couple more? My friends will never believe this!”

“Listen, I appreciate the support, but I'm kind of in the middle of something,” I say, trying to keep my tone friendly.

The guy doesn't back down. I feel my patience wearing thin.

I'm acutely aware of Scarlett watching the interaction, and something in me snaps. “I said no, alright? Back off!”

“Whoa, just wanted a picture, no need to be a dick about it.”

The words come out harsher than I'd intended, and the fan recoils. I immediately regret my outburst.

“Jett.” Scarlett's hand finds the crook of my elbow, squeezing in a clear warning. I can feel her disapproving stare boring into the side of my head, but I can't bring myself to look at her.

“Let's just go,” she murmurs, already tugging me toward the exit.

I allow her to pull me away, but not before shooting one last venomous glare over my shoulder. The douchebag is typing furiously on his phone, no doubt getting ready to plaster my outburst all over social media.

Terrific.

The drive is tense and silent. Scarlett keeps darting these loaded glances at me that prickle against my skin. I can sense the question coming even before she finally voices it once we're back in the privacy of our room.

“What the hell was that back there?”

I blow out a harsh breath, raking a hand through my hair as I struggle to find the words. “He was out of line, ambushing me like that.”

“He was just some guy asking for a photo, Jett. Like that kid and his grandmother at the motel, remember?”

The kid at the motel. Right, when she'd praised me for how good I was with kids. My jaw ticks as the hypocrisy of the situation sinks in.

“Yeah? Well this was different.”

“How?” She crosses her arms, eyes narrowing. “Because this time you didn't get what you wanted?”

Ouch. Her bluntness stings more than I'd care to admit.

“You don't get it,” I mutter, turning away to avoid her accusing stare. “That guy wasn't just some random fan. He was a fucking paparazzi piece of shit, looking for a moment to exploit.”

“And that gives you the right to treat him like trash? To blow up at him like that in public?”

I wince. She's not wrong. My behavior was shitty. Shame washes over me. “You're right.”

Scarlett's posture softens. “Look, I know your life isn't normal. That there's a bunch of craziness you have to deal with every day because you're famous. But that doesn't excuse taking out your frustrations on people.”

Her words hit home, and I feel a surge of shame. She's calling me out, and I hate that she's right. I hate even more that I'm proving to be exactly the kind of asshole she probably thought I was.

“I just... sometimes it gets overwhelming, you know? Everyone wanting a piece of you, all the time.”

Scarlett's expression softens slightly, but her eyes remain stern. “I get that, Jett. But that fan in there? He wasn't asking for a piece of you. He was just excited to meet someone he admires. And you crushed him.”

Her words are like a punch to the gut. I see the fan's hurt expression in my mind, and the guilt washes over me anew. “You're right,” I say, swallowing hard. “I screwed up.”

“Yeah, you did,” Scarlett agrees, but there's no malice in her tone. Just honesty.

We drive in silence for a few more minutes, the weight of our conversation hanging between us. I can feel Scarlett's eyes on me, studying me. It makes me squirm in my seat.

“Why does it bother you so much?” she asks finally, her voice softer now. “The fans, I mean. Isn't that part of the job?”

I let out a long breath, considering her question. “It is,” I admit. “And most of the time, I love it. I love connecting with fans, hearing how my music has affected them. But sometimes...”

I trail off, struggling to find the right words. How do I explain the suffocating pressure, the constant scrutiny, the fear of letting people down?

“Sometimes it feels like I'm not a person anymore,” I finally say. “Like I'm just... Jett Miller, the rock star. A product. And everyone wants something from me, all the time. It gets... exhausting.”

Scarlett nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. “I can see how that would be tough,” she says. “But Jett, that guy in the store? He wasn't asking for the rock star. He was just hoping to meet the real you.”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. She's right, of course. Again. I've been so caught up in my own frustrations that I've lost sight of why I started making music in the first place – to connect with people.

“I've been a real jerk, haven't I?” I say, glancing at her.

Scarlett's lips quirk up in a small smile. “A bit, yeah. But at least you're self-aware enough to admit it.”

The miles stretch on, and the silence in the car feels heavier with each passing minute. Scarlett's gaze is fixed out the window, her body angled away from me. I can practically see the wall she's built between us, and it kills me.

I want to say something, to bridge this gap, but every time I open my mouth, the words die on my tongue. What can I say? That I'm sorry for being an ass? That I'm trying to be better? It all sounds hollow, even in my head.

My mind drifts to Daniel. What would he think if he saw us now? His best friend and his little sister, barely speaking, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The thought makes my stomach churn. I've always valued Daniel's trust, his friendship. The idea of disappointing him, of causing trouble between him and Scarlett... it's unbearable.

I glance at Scarlett again. Her jaw is set, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm on her thigh. She looks... conflicted. Like she's wrestling with something internally. I wonder what's going through her mind. Is she regretting agreeing to this trip? Regretting giving me a chance?

The thought sends a jolt of panic through me. I can't let this continue. I can't let one stupid moment ruin everything.

“Scarlett,” I start, my voice hoarse from disuse. “I?—”

“Don't,” she cuts me off, finally turning to look at me. Her eyes are guarded, but I can see a flicker of something else there. Hurt? Disappointment? “Just... don't, Jett.”

I swallow hard, nodding. Message received. But I can't just let it go. I can't let her think that this is who I really am.

Taking a deep breath, I pull the car over to the side of the road. Scarlett looks at me, surprise and wariness warring on her face.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I turn in my seat to face her fully. “I'm sorry,” I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I know I acted like a jerk back there. I know I disappointed you. And I'm sorry.”

Scarlett's expression softens slightly, but she doesn't say anything. I forge on, determined to make her understand.

“I've been defensive for so long,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “Always on guard, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's exhausting, and sometimes... sometimes I lash out. But that's not an excuse. I know that.”

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “I'm working on it, Scar. I promise. I want to be better. I want to be the kind of person who deserves your friendship, who deserves Daniel's trust.”

Scarlett studies me for a long moment, her gaze searching. “Why are you telling me this?” she asks finally.

“Because...” I pause, considering my words carefully. “Because your opinion matters to me. Because I don't want you to think that's who I really am. And because... I like who I am when I'm with you. The real me, not the rock star persona.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Scarlett's lips. “The real you, huh? And who's that?”

I feel a glimmer of hope at her softening expression. “Just a guy who loves music, who values his friends, and who's trying his best to navigate this crazy life. A guy who sometimes screws up, but who's always trying to do better.”

Scarlett nods slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “Okay,” she says softly. “I can work with that.”

Scarlett's words hang in the air between us, a tentative olive branch. I feel the tension in my shoulders ease slightly, but there's still something off about her demeanor. She's fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, her eyes darting around nervously.

“Scar,” I say gently, “what's going on? There's something else bothering you, isn't there?”

She bites her lip, hesitating. Then, with a deep sigh, she meets my gaze. “I lost my job, Jett.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch. “What? When?”

“Right before this trip,” she admits, her voice small. “The whole department was retrenched. I... I haven't told anyone yet. Not even Daniel.”

Suddenly, her earlier defensiveness makes sense. She's been carrying this weight alone, putting on a brave face. My heart aches for her.

“Scarlett, I'm so sorry,” I say, resisting the urge to reach out and take her hand. “That must be incredibly stressful.”

She nods, blinking rapidly. “It is. I mean, I hated that job, but it was stability, you know? And now...” She trails off, shrugging helplessly.

I watch her, my mind racing. I want to help, to take away her worry. And then, before I can think better of it, the words tumble out of my mouth: “What if you came to work for me?”

Scarlett's head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

I plow on, the idea taking shape as I speak. “I mean it. You're an accountant, right? I could use someone I trust to help manage my finances, keep track of tour expenses, that sort of thing.”

For a moment, Scarlett just stares at me, her expression unreadable. Then, to my relief, she bursts out laughing. It's a genuine laugh, the kind that crinkles her eyes and lights up her whole face. I can't help but grin in response.

“Oh, Jett,” she says, shaking her head. “You can't just offer people jobs like that.”

“Why not?” I challenge, warming to the idea. “I'm serious, Scar. You're smart, you're detail-oriented, and most importantly, I trust you. That's not easy to find in this industry.”

Scarlett's laughter fades, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “You're really serious about this, aren't you?”

I nod, my heart racing. “Absolutely. Think about it. You'd have flexibility, you could travel if you wanted to, and...” I hesitate, then decide to lay it all out there. “And we could spend more time together.”

The words hang between us, loaded with possibility. Scarlett's cheeks flush slightly, and I feel a surge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she feels this connection too.

“I... I don't know, Jett,” she says finally, but I can see the wheels turning in her head. “It's a big decision. And wouldn't it be weird, working for my brother's best friend?”

I shrug, trying to keep my tone light despite the butterflies in my stomach. “Only if we make it weird. Come on, Scar. At least think about it?”

She studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Okay,” she says. “I'll think about it.”

It's not a yes, but it's not a no either. And as I start the car and pull back onto the road, I can't help but feel like something has shifted between us. The air feels lighter, charged with possibility.

I sneak a glance at Scarlett, catching her doing the same. We both quickly look away, but I can see the small smile playing on her lips. Yeah, something has definitely changed. And I can't wait to see where it leads.

The tension from earlier has dissipated. It’s like we've crossed an invisible threshold, shifting from awkward road trip companions to something else. Something more.

Scarlett's humming softly to the radio, her fingers tapping out the rhythm on her thigh.

“What?” she asks when she catches me looking.

I shrug. “Nothing. Just... this is nice, isn't it.”

Scarlett nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, it is. Who would've thought, huh?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Hey, I'm not so bad once you get to know me, right?”

“Jury's still out on that one,” she teases.

As the miles fly by, I find myself wishing the trip would never end. But all too soon, I spot the familiar landmarks of our hometown on the horizon.

“Almost there,” I say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in my voice.

Scarlett nods, straightening up in her seat. “Yeah. It'll be good to see everyone.”

“You know,” I say, breaking the quiet, “I meant what I said earlier. About wanting to be better.”

Scarlett turns to me, her expression soft. “I know, Jett. And I appreciate that.”

I take a deep breath, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm losing myself in all this. The fame, the expectations. It's like I'm playing a role, you know?”

She nods, her eyes understanding. “That must be hard. Always being 'on'.”

“Yeah,” I agree, relieved that she gets it. “But with you, I don't know. I feel like I can just be me. The real me.”

Scarlett's quiet for a moment, and I worry I've said too much. But then she smiles, a genuine, warm smile that makes my heart skip. “I like the real you, Jett. He's pretty great.”

The words wash over me, filling me with a warmth I can't quite explain. We fall back into silence, but it's different now. Charged with something I'm not ready to name.

As the miles fly by, we start reminiscing about old times. Scarlett recalls embarrassing stories from my awkward teen years, and I retaliate with tales of her dorky phase. We're laughing so hard I have to pull over at one point, tears streaming down our faces.

“God,” Scarlett gasps, wiping her eyes, “I haven't laughed like that in ages.”

I grin at her, feeling lighter than I have in years. “Me neither. We should do this more often.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What, take road trips together?”

“Maybe,” I say, my tone teasing but my heart racing. “Or just... spend time together. You know, if you decide to take that job offer.”

Scarlett rolls her eyes, but I can see the smile she's trying to hide. “You're not going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” I say cheerfully, starting the car again. “I'm nothing if not persistent.”

As we turn onto the familiar street of our childhood, I feel a surge of conflicting emotions. There's a part of me that's sad to see this trip end.

I park the car, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

“Ready for this?” I ask, searching Scarlett's face.

She takes a deep breath, then nods. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

As we approach the outskirts of town, the knot in my chest gets tighter. Everything's about to change, and I'm not sure I'm ready for it.