Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Give it your all. Leave everything you’ve got on the field every damned game because none of us know if we’ll get to play another.
See the Northern Lights if that floats your boat. Learn Japanese if languages are your thing. Be nice, for fuck’s sake because there are too many mean people in the world and that sucks.
But you know what sucks more?
Regret.
My sister and I always used to say, Live without regret.
That’s the last thing I want for Ruby—regret. But I can see that’s where she’s headed. She’s in a rut, the dangerous, dream-killing kind. That’s why she needs this list. Now. Before any more time goes by. Before she wakes up ten years from today and wonders what things might have been like if she hadn’t let herself get stuck and stay that way.
Ruby deserves better than that. She deserves every fucking drop of joy she can squeeze out of life.
Because she’s . . . Ruby.
Ruby.
The one who got away.
Except she was never mine.
No matter how easy it would be to fall in love with her, I’ve never let it happen, though I’ve come dangerously close a few times.
But that’s item number one on my “To Don’t” list.
Never ever fall in love with Ruby Valentine.
I’d be the wrong guy for her.
There is no list, no shared experience, and no road trip that can ever change that.
Especially when she learns what I’ve done.
HER PROLOGUE
I do not have a crush on Jesse Hendrix.
I have crushes on other things.
Like new watercolor paints.
Ink pens that don’t smear.
Sunsets. Kittens. That pun I wrote in my journal that will be hilarious on a birthday card.
But not my best friend’s older brother.
Please.
What would that say about me?
I mean, aside from the obvious—that I have excellent taste.
Jesse is just stupidly gorgeous, the kind of handsome that, once you’re no longer in his presence, your mind insists you must be remembering incorrectly. There’s no way sandy-brown hair, dark brown eyes, a chiseled jaw, and nicely sculpted arm muscles could combine to create the kind of sucker-punch to the ovaries women everywhere experience when they lock eyes with him.
Old or young, looking for love or happily coupled, no matter their race, color, or creed—one look at Jesse and ladies melt into steamy lust puddles at his feet. Even my friend Lisa swore a few weeks ago that if a woman-killing meteor struck Earth, wiping out all womankind, Jesse is the only man who could tempt her to the straight side of the fence.
And I can’t argue with that.
The man sure as heck tempts me.
Lisa says it’s his “fuck me” eyes. Those eyes that imply that no matter what he’s doing, he’s also thinking about fucking, vividly imagining how he would pleasure any woman he met if they were naked and willing.
His eyes are incredible, but until that conversation, I’d only thought of them as soulful, expressive—fitting the artist’s heart behind his grease-streaked overalls.
But since Lisa said the “fuck-me” thing, every time I lock eyes with Jesse, it’s a struggle. A struggle not to think about him doing bad things to me. Or me doing bad things to him.
I’m equal opportunity when it comes to bad things.
At least, I think I am. Hard to say for sure, though, since it’s been a while. But no matter how long it’s been, friends with benefits isn’t an option when it comes to Jesse.
I’m his little sister’s best friend.
I am, because I refuse to put that part of what we were to each other in the past tense.
I will always be Claire’s friend, just like I’ll always be his friend.
I never expected Jesse to become someone who mattered so much to me. But when my life seismically shifted two years ago, Jesse and I shifted too.
We became friends, good friends, the kind who need each other to survive.
I’m not the kind of person who puts friendships like that at risk, or who crushes on guys who are out of my league.
Jesse is a masterpiece hanging in a museum. I’m a quirky mug someone’s grandmother picked up at a craft fair.
We don’t exist in the same more-than-friends universe.
Even when he gives me a treasure map I didn’t know I was looking for, one that promises to turn my confused, stagnant, shell-shocked life around, I refuse to let my mind go there.
Nope.
Jesse and me? It’s never going to happen.
We’re on two different paths, and that’s not going to change, no matter what happens this summer.
Even if all roads do seem to lead back to him.
1
JESSE
I’m ready.
I park my hands on my hips, survey the garage, and drink in the place that’s been my second home for nearly a decade. Checking out the way this shop looks.
Awesome.
That’s how it looks.
Best in the city, best in the Tri-state region. Hell, let’s be blunt—best in the country.
It’s been dubbed the gold standard by countless magazines and papers, and topped tons of “best of” lists. That’s why my garage was featured in a reality series showcasing kick-ass rebuilt classics.