Page 4 of All of My Life

“What’s your name?”

“Jett,” she answered.

“I’m Chasin Carver,” I told her.

She looked mad. “Like the town?”

I nodded. “Like the town.”

She turned to look back down at her picture book, so I asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

Since she wasn’t mad at me, I asked, “Do you want to play with me?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t be your friend.”

That hurt my feelings. “Why can’t you be my friend.”

“Because I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t,” she said again. “You have to be friends with the other kids.”

“I don’t want to be friends with the other kids,” I told her, wanting to know why she was being so mean. Most people wanted to be my friend. “I want to be friends with you.”

“I can’t be friends with you,” she said again.

“Quit saying that,” I said, getting mad.

She looked at me again. “I can’t be your friend, so stop asking.”

“You’re mean,” I said. “You’re a mean girl.”

Her eyes looked like she was going to cry. “I’m not mean,” she whispered.

“Yes, you are,” I said, standing up. “You’re mean, and I’m going to tell everyone not to be your friend.”

“I’m not mean,” she said again.

“I hate you,” I told her before going to make friends with the other kids.

Jett Morgan had become my enemy that day, and I hadn’t stopped going out of my way to let her know it. I could count on two hands how many times I’d spoken to her over the years, and most of those times had been recently.

The amazing thing was that Jett hadn’t cared about not being liked back then. Hell, she still didn’t care about being liked. Since that first day of kindergarten, she’d gone out of her way to alienate herself from everyone, and people had stopped trying to be her friend a long time ago. She spoke to no one unless she absolutely had to, and people returned the favor.

Nevertheless, that hadn’t stopped me from stalking her every day since then. I knew her better than anyone else, and she didn’t even know it. If she knew how much effort that I put into knowing everything about her, she’d run scared, rightfully so. Jett Morgan was an obsession that had only grown throughout the years, and I was irrevocably invested in her for better or for worse.

Her looks didn’t help, either. In my eyes, Jett Morgan was five-foot-three of pure female perfection. She had dark brown hair, but it was a bunch of different shades of brown; dark, light, medium, and every shade in between to give her long locks the look of chocolate silk. It reached the middle of her back, and when she wore it down, it was all that I could do not to just drag her off to my cave by a fistful of it. Curled or straight, having it tangled around my fist was the stuff of dreams.

She also had that classic beauty that reminded me of Natalie Danish. Arched brows, long lashes, mesmerizing hazel eyes, a pert upturned nose, full lips, and if there was ever a girl that didn’t need makeup, it was Jett Morgan. If she had any imperfections, her big eyes distracted you from them. Even the whisps of her long bangs couldn’t hide those eyes of hers.

As for her body, Jett was petite, and her school uniform did nothing to hide those subtle curves of hers. Her neck was a slender temptation, her tits were a perfect handful, her waist was nearly nonexistent, and her hips flared out delicately towards a pair of legs that were short but slim enough to wrap around my waist perfectly.

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