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I didn’t know it yet, but my night with Caleb Sorensen would be one of the only times someone wanted me as Jet—some non-famous twenty-year-old who wrote music and craved fame. Everyone else I’d meet would want me because I was Jay, the lead singer of Radioactive.
Ollie leans in and mutters under his breath. “If you think you’re getting away with that boy band knowledge scot-free, you’re mistaken.” So close.
My gaze lands on Jet, and I notice he’s as overjoyed about it as I am. Maybe the answer to my burning question for him lies in his downcast eyes and the small pout of his lips. He might’ve fallen in love with someone else, but I know that look. I’ve worn that look before. Jet’s not here because of nodes. He’s here because he’s heartbroken.
All the love in the air is making me choke. I can deep throat like a champ, but love and romance? That I gag on.
Not being able to be with the person you love is not romantic. It’s painful.
Caleb Sorensen caring about me is the last thing I need right now because the stupid kid with love hearts in his eyes is fighting to make an appearance again.
Under your spell, Living in hell, You say I’m perfect, Too good to be someone’s reject, But that’s what you did when you walked away, You left me to find myself Something niggles at me. Whether it’s the way he’s singing it or that we both relate to it, I don’t know. It’s like he’s singing it to me. About me. Then he finally raises his head and holds my gaze just as he sings a telling line. You said I was perfect … Perfect for someone else.
“You guys are playing with fire.” “Yeah, well, I light fires to feel joy.”
“Age has nothing to do with maturity. Look at those two.” I point to Talon and Miller who are skating around competently, Miller behind Talon and holding his waist while Talon holds his arms out screaming, “I’m king of the world!”
“Just because this isn’t leading to sex, that doesn’t mean I can’t show you what I want. I want to kiss you, and touch you, and worship the goddamn ground you walk on. I don’t want to be your distraction, Jet.” “What do you want to be then?” he croaks. Your everything.
I’ll never say it out loud because he’d want to kick my ass for suggesting it, but underneath Jet’s sarcastic confidence is a precious boy wanting to be loved.
In a selfish world, voices get drowned out by everyone trying to out-woe each other.
“Damn it. Why’d your boyfriend have to be nice?” “He’s Canadian. He can’t help it.” “Sorry.” Soren shrugs.
“Yeah, well, anyone with eyes would be able to tell that I’m in love with you now, you … you … I’ll use language your Canadian ass will understand, you big, dumb hoser!”
