Page 104 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
My laugh ended in a deep groan, and the last thought before I all but tackled her ass on the bed was that this was a first, a start—a new beginning—and I couldn’t wait to take this ride.
And buy her a damn tortoise.
About the Author
# 1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling author JENNIFER L. ARMENTROUT (also known as J. Lynn) lives in Martinsburg, West Virginia. All the rumors you’ve heard about her state aren’t true. When she’s not hard at work writing, she spends her time reading, working out, watching really bad zombie movies, pretending to write, and hanging out with her husband and her Jack Russell, Loki.
Her dreams of becoming an author started in algebra class, where she spent most of her time writing short stories . . . which explains her dismal grades in math. Jennifer writes young adult paranormal, science fiction, fantasy, and contemporary romance. She is published with Spencer Hill Press, Entangled Teen and Brazen, Disney/Hyperion, and Harlequin Teen.
She also writes adult and new adult romance under the name J. Lynn. She is published by Entangled Brazen and HarperCollins.
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Sharing Firsts:
A Sharing You Prequel
MOLLY MCADAMS
Kinlee
Present day
THIS COULDN’T BE happening. He couldn’t have just walked out the door—granted, I’d yelled at him to leave, had wanted him to; but now that he was gone it felt like I was fighting for air, fighting to stay treading with my head above water. I needed him back, I needed him to tell me this was all going to be okay. I was hurt, I was scared, and in turn, that had morphed into misplaced anger and ridiculous accusations. I’d been irrational; deep down I’d known that. But I couldn’t have stopped no matter how hard I tried. He was supposed to fix this, he was supposed to help get me through this . . . help us through this. Instead, I’d been stupid and yelled, and he’d walked away from us.
We were supposed to get married in less than a week.
I’d grown up next door to Jace Saco, and there had never been a doubt in my mind that he was the guy for me. We’d both been through so much over the years, and we’d always gotten through our hard times by leaning on each other, but who were we supposed to lean on now?
Jace and I had never even fought before tonight. There had been plenty of disagreements, but we’d never raised our voices at each other, never called each other the names that had just been heard echoing off our walls. And I’d never been left not knowing what would come of our relationship.
Jace had asked me to be his girlfriend when we were in the fifth grade, and while there wasn’t much in way of a relationship when you were ten, we had been the schoolyard crush envy of everyone in our grade. He’d given me my first real kiss—technically, our second kiss—on my thirteenth birthday, and had taken me out on our first date the day after I turned sixteen. We’d dated all throughout high school, and had lost our virginities to each other the night we graduated. A year and a half ago, he’d asked me to marry him, and I hadn’t taken more than a second to throw myself at him, telling him yes over and over between excited kisses.
Looking down at the ring on my finger, a tortured sob burst from my chest, and I stumbled back until I hit the wall in our hallway. Sliding down until I was sitting on the hardwood, I pulled my knees to my chest, and dropped my face into my hands as more tears fell ruthlessly.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered to the empty hall.
Seventeen years ago
I TOOK OFF running for the swing set on the kindergarten playground, knowing that if I didn’t run as fast as possible, the other kids would beat me to it. And all I wanted to do was swing. When I was swinging, I could imagine I was flying. And flying, well, someday I would be able to fly. I just knew it. But for now, the swings were all I had.
Just before I got to the sandpit where the swing set sat untouched in the middle, I tripped over my shoelaces and went tumbling to the ground. More kids went running past me, but no one stopped to help me up. My hands and knees stung as I rolled to my bottom and bit down on the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t cry. My older brothers always told me that crying was for sissies. And I wasn’t a sissy.
Looking down at my red, scraped hands, I brushed them on my pants to get rid of the pieces of blacktop, and brought my hands back to my face. No blood.
“You’re bleeding.”
I looked up, squinting against the sun, and shook my head at Jace. He was my next-door neighbor, and we walked to and from school with my brothers and his older brother every day, but he never talked to me during school. Because he was a boy, and I was a girl, and during school . . . the boys never talked to the girls.
“Am not!”
Turning around, my shoulders slumped and I had to bite down on my cheek again when I saw all the swings were already taken. I’d just wanted to fly.
“Are too. Look,” Jace said, and I looked back to find him pointing at my knees.
My pants were ripped, and red smears stained my knees and the edges of the jeans. I wanted my mommy, but my brothers always laughed at me when I said that too, so I scrunched my face together to keep from saying anything.
“Come on, we’ll find Miss Katy and go to the nurse.” Reaching down, he grabbed my arms and helped me up.
