Falling for Colton (Falling #5) Read Online Free
Author: Jasinda Wilder
car but I hear him leave the barn; hear his feet crunch on gravel drive.
Except for the buzz of the fluorescent lights the barn is awash in silence.
He’s serious, deadly serious. Either I go to an Ivy League college, or I’m disowned.
What kind of choice is that?
Chapter 2: So Much For Choices
I graduated, passed all my classes except the reading for dummies bullshit. And I didn’t apply to any colleges, obviously. And I spent the summer cruising in my Camaro, working for Mr. Boyd—the Automotive teacher and the only adult who I’ve ever actually liked—with his summertime hobby, helping him restore a classic car. I learned a lot from him and he paid me pocket money, which I saved. Well, except for cigarettes and pints of whiskey and pot.
It was a good three months. Dad was gone most of the time, trips to Washington for who knows what reason. Mom left me alone and Kyle was away at football camp for most of the time, so I was on my own, which was cool with me. I kicked it with Lacey Myles for most of the summer. Hot stuff, that girl. Dumber than a box of rocks, but hot. Mouth like a Hoover. Apparently she had no problem with the fact that I’m a rougher sort of guy. Maybe it was the reason she kicked it with me in the first place—to get a taste of the wild side and stick it to her rich-ass parents. I mean, it wasn’t because of my stellar sweet-talking skills, that’s for damn sure. I was an asshole to her most of the time and that never changed from day one, so she can’t say she didn’t know it going in. I basically just picked her up at her house, watched her big juicy titties bounce around as she hopped down those four steps from her fancy front door to the sidewalk, and watched her hips sway as she approached my car. She always did this thing where she bent over at the waist, leaned into the open passenger window and gave me weird little wave where she wiggled her fingertips at me. I liked it, though, because she basically fell out of her shirt while she did it.
We would grab a bite to eat—another reason I liked Lacey is that she didn’t give a shit about things like chivalry, so she paid for meals seeing as she was loaded, even though I always said I’d get it because, despite being an asshole, I’m not a complete asshole—and then we’d cruise around in the Camaro. Maybe head way down to Woodward Avenue for a while, or Gratiot. Eventually, we’d find a quiet spot somewhere and she’d help me with my belt and I’d help her with her shirt, and she’d swing over and ride me like she was practicing for barrel racing at the rodeo.
Honestly, she was a sweet little thing. Never gave me shit. Never expected anything more from me than what I was offering, which was a ride in my car, a swig off my whiskey and a puff of my dope, and a ride on my cock. We didn’t talk much. We just cruised, smoked, drank, and fucked. But when she did talk she was sweet. She was just…ditzy. Not actually stupid, I don’t think, just…a bit of a space cadet—the reason there’s a stereotype regarding blondes.
But all good things come to an end. Lacey got ready to head off to MSU, probably to major in fellatio and journalism. Dad came home for the last break before the congressional season really kicked into gear in September. My complete dismissal of his demands for college apps three months ago teed off our big rumble. I knew I’d bitten off a pretty big chunk by refusing to apply to college; I was choosing disownment. Sucks. I was going to lose the Camaro, too, and that was, honestly, the hardest part to swallow.
At least they weren’t selling it to some jackass, though. Dad clearly respected my skills, even if he didn’t approve of them for “a Calloway”, since he’d decided to give my Camaro to Kyle when he turned sixteen.
I even have a little talk with Kyle about it. I’m working in my shop, tweaking things here and there, and in comes Kyle, fresh from football camp. Skinny
Except for the buzz of the fluorescent lights the barn is awash in silence.
He’s serious, deadly serious. Either I go to an Ivy League college, or I’m disowned.
What kind of choice is that?
Chapter 2: So Much For Choices
I graduated, passed all my classes except the reading for dummies bullshit. And I didn’t apply to any colleges, obviously. And I spent the summer cruising in my Camaro, working for Mr. Boyd—the Automotive teacher and the only adult who I’ve ever actually liked—with his summertime hobby, helping him restore a classic car. I learned a lot from him and he paid me pocket money, which I saved. Well, except for cigarettes and pints of whiskey and pot.
It was a good three months. Dad was gone most of the time, trips to Washington for who knows what reason. Mom left me alone and Kyle was away at football camp for most of the time, so I was on my own, which was cool with me. I kicked it with Lacey Myles for most of the summer. Hot stuff, that girl. Dumber than a box of rocks, but hot. Mouth like a Hoover. Apparently she had no problem with the fact that I’m a rougher sort of guy. Maybe it was the reason she kicked it with me in the first place—to get a taste of the wild side and stick it to her rich-ass parents. I mean, it wasn’t because of my stellar sweet-talking skills, that’s for damn sure. I was an asshole to her most of the time and that never changed from day one, so she can’t say she didn’t know it going in. I basically just picked her up at her house, watched her big juicy titties bounce around as she hopped down those four steps from her fancy front door to the sidewalk, and watched her hips sway as she approached my car. She always did this thing where she bent over at the waist, leaned into the open passenger window and gave me weird little wave where she wiggled her fingertips at me. I liked it, though, because she basically fell out of her shirt while she did it.
We would grab a bite to eat—another reason I liked Lacey is that she didn’t give a shit about things like chivalry, so she paid for meals seeing as she was loaded, even though I always said I’d get it because, despite being an asshole, I’m not a complete asshole—and then we’d cruise around in the Camaro. Maybe head way down to Woodward Avenue for a while, or Gratiot. Eventually, we’d find a quiet spot somewhere and she’d help me with my belt and I’d help her with her shirt, and she’d swing over and ride me like she was practicing for barrel racing at the rodeo.
Honestly, she was a sweet little thing. Never gave me shit. Never expected anything more from me than what I was offering, which was a ride in my car, a swig off my whiskey and a puff of my dope, and a ride on my cock. We didn’t talk much. We just cruised, smoked, drank, and fucked. But when she did talk she was sweet. She was just…ditzy. Not actually stupid, I don’t think, just…a bit of a space cadet—the reason there’s a stereotype regarding blondes.
But all good things come to an end. Lacey got ready to head off to MSU, probably to major in fellatio and journalism. Dad came home for the last break before the congressional season really kicked into gear in September. My complete dismissal of his demands for college apps three months ago teed off our big rumble. I knew I’d bitten off a pretty big chunk by refusing to apply to college; I was choosing disownment. Sucks. I was going to lose the Camaro, too, and that was, honestly, the hardest part to swallow.
At least they weren’t selling it to some jackass, though. Dad clearly respected my skills, even if he didn’t approve of them for “a Calloway”, since he’d decided to give my Camaro to Kyle when he turned sixteen.
I even have a little talk with Kyle about it. I’m working in my shop, tweaking things here and there, and in comes Kyle, fresh from football camp. Skinny
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