Believe in Me (Jett #1) by Amy Sparling Read Free Book Online Page A

around the various bonfires.
    “When are you gonna settle down, man?”
    I tilt my head back and chug the last of my beer. I’ve only had one beer tonight so it’s definitely too early to be talking about crap like this. “Uh, never?” I crunch up the can and toss it in the back of D’andre’s truck. I know he recycles them for something like sixty cents a pound so I don’t feel bad for basically littering in his truck.
    “You know, some guys would give their left nad to get as many girls as you do, and you don’t even want to keep them.”
    “Dude if you’re gonna start feeling sorry for yourself, you’re gonna have to do that somewhere else,” I say, pointing off into the distance to give him an idea of where he could go. “Tonight’s supposed to be fun, not a pity party about why your ugly ass can’t get girls.”
    He clenches his chest in mock pain. “Harsh, Adams.”
    “Um, Jett?”
    The voice is soft, feminine, and catches both of us off guard. I turn around and see Maria Gonzalez standing next to D’andre’s truck, a beach towel wrapped round her body.
    “Like fuckin’ clockwork,” D’andre says, shaking his head. He reaches for another beer. “Girls can’t stay away from this dude.”
    “Shut up, man,” I say low enough that I hope only he can hear. Maria is a quiet girl who takes dirt bike lessons from my dad. She’s not usually the type to try and hook up with me, and besides, the look in her eyes tells me something is wrong.
    I hop off the tailgate and follow her around to the front of the truck, where it’s not quiet thanks to the thumping rap music blasting from D’andre’s speakers, but at least it’s private. “What’s up?”
    Maria studies me for half a second and then bursts into tears. “I’m sorry.”
    “Whoa,” I say, reaching an arm out to her shoulder. “Don’t apologize. What’s wrong?”
    She sniffles, wipes the tears from her eyes. I can tell it’s taking a lot out of her to keep her composure right now. “Maria.” I try again. “What is it?”
    “Could you maybe take me home?” she whispers, her Spanish accent thicker now that she’s crying again. “Please? I’m so sorry. I don’t live far away.”
    “Sure, it’s not a problem,” I say, doing some mental math. I’d only had one beer. I can drive. “Let’s go.”
    I wave goodbye to D’andre and don’t bother offering him an explanation. Maria climbs into my truck, turning to the side to kick the sand off her bare feet before she closes the door behind her. She holds the beach towel tightly around her chest.
    “Are you . . .” I begin, not really knowing how to finish the sentence without sounding like an ass.
    She shakes her head. “I’m in my bathing suit.”
    I nod. “Okay. Cool. Where to?”
    “County road thirty,” she says, holding back another sob. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to bother you, I just didn’t know who else I could ask and you seem like a nice guy so . . .”
    “Hey, what did I say about apologizing?” I turn to her and try to lighten the mood. “Party was lame as hell. I don’t mind leaving.”
    We drive in silence for a few minutes. Some goofy pop song comes on the radio and I sing along, totally off key and missing most of the words and this gets a laugh out of her, which makes me feel like some kind of hero. She points out her driveway and I turn into it, a long gravel strip that leads to a small house.
    “Thanks again,” she says.
    “It’s no problem. Have a good night.”
    I wait in the truck until she’s safely inside her house and although I’ll probably never know why she left the party crying, I hope it’s not because of some guy.
    I hope I’ve never made a girl cry like that. A sudden stabbing guilt presses into me, as memories of all the times I’ve drunkenly made out with random girls around the bonfires at parties come back to me. I’ve certainly never seen girls cry in front of me, so that has to be a good thing, right?
    Maybe