Page 84 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

“Ugghh.” Tessa stomps away.

Standing at the back of Dad’s pickup truck, tailgate down, water jugs filled, I swear my heart is racing when the last bale disappears in the hay mow, and the elevator stops. I grin at Tessa before shifting my eyes back on the prize.

First Alex, then Mark, Frankie, Ryan, and finally Tommy make their way down, with Lucas following. I ignore the glare from Ry’s brown eyes and focus on the guy smiling with not just his seriously thick lips, but his whole face. Tommy Lane, my Tommy Lane —well, technically, not mine… yet warms my entire body even after the frost Ry puts off.

After the notes in my locker, the stupid little smiles across the hallway, the way he somehow manages to find reasons to peek into whatever classroom I'm in. The fact that he sits next to me in the two classes we have together and at lunch, I feel like I'm allowed to think he’s mine. Not out loud, of course, just in my head.

He jumps off the elevator, and I immediately forget every single thing I was supposed to be doing. He looks hot. Really, really hot.

His dark hair is damp with sweat, pushed back from his forehead, and there is dirt streaked across his cheek. His T-shirt clings to his shoulders and chest, his track pants are dusty, and his sneakers look like they've spent the afternoon living in a hay wagon. And somehow, he has never looked better. No work boots needed for this guy to look the part.

I feel cold water against my hand and realize I just clenched the red plastic cup I poured for him and remember I’m not just out here to check out the hay help and head his way.

Tommy Lane's smile widens as I head toward him, and my stomach flips in a way it only has for one other person. I hated that my stomach did that, but now I really, really love that my stomach does that.

He says something to Lucas, but his eyes stay on me for another second before he finally looks away.

I catch myself smiling bigger too as he runs a hand through his hair. This is ridiculous. I've known this boy for a few days, not for almost all my life. He’s made it impossible not to feel that way. I've read his notes so many times I practically know them by heart. I've shoved every single one into the back of my top dresser drawer because throwing them away feels wrong.

I've spent entire classes wondering what he's going to write next. I've caught myself smiling at absolutely nothing because I remembered something he said. I've replayed conversations with him in my head while pretending to listen to my teacher’s lectures, lessons, and assignments. Now he's standing in front of me covered in hay, sweat, and dirt, and this feels even more… personal.

This is bad. This is really, really bad in a good way. Because I don't care about the heat, the hay, the water jugs, or the fact that I have so much homework.

I hand him the cup of water. And what does he do? He pours it over his head, then shakes his hair as he pulls his drenched shirt off.

Gotdayum.

“Much better.” He laughs.

“Totally.” I agree looking him over.

I've seen Tommy shirtless many times. The first time was briefly at the pond, and not because I wanted it that way, but because Tessa was so red in the face, I thought her head might explode if we didn’t leave immediately. Several times after football practice, I've seen him in tank tops and sleeveless practice shirts plenty of times, so none of this is exactly new. So why does it suddenly feel like I've been hit in the chest with a hay bale?

Because he’s cute? Fine not just cute, gorgeous, actually, but whatever…

Because now it's different. Now I know he likes me. I know because of the notes. The smiles. The way he keeps finding reasons to be wherever I am. The way he looks at me when he thinks I won't notice he’s there

Standing this close to him, sweaty and shirtless, feels completely different. My eyes travel over him again. His shoulders are broad, his arms thick from football but veins more prominent from doing hay, with a sheen of sweat across his chest and stomach. His skin is flushed from the heat, his dark hair damp and pushed back from his forehead. Dirt streaks one side of his ribs, and his jeans are covered in dust from the hay wagon.

Warmth rushes through me, a feeling that I have never felt before, but what I do know is it could be very… dangerous.

My eyes drop to his stomach, dark hair trailing down below his belly button...

I snap my eyes back to his, and he asks, “You okay?”

“Perfect.”

His eyebrow lifts. “Perfect?”

I pretend that didn’t just slip from my lips but why? “Yep.”

I take a sip from my own cup because apparently, I need something to do with my hands.

His laugh is softer, deeper… hotter.

I clear my throat, suddenly dry, and ask, “Thirsty?”

He leans in just a little closer, and my heartbeat kicks up; then he whispers. “You trying to get me in trouble, pretty girl?”