Head Over Wheels (Steamy New Adult Romance) Read Online Free Page A
Author: January Valentine
lap.
"Highest grade in the class, Miss Delarosa." Did he eat raw onions every morning?
"Thank you, Jarrod." I felt odd calling him by his first name, but since he insisted ...
College Joe and our hijacked meeting haunted me: his face, her face, my agitation, clumped into a boiling knot in the pit of my stomach. But I couldn't let it eat me alive. If I was getting back in the game, about to deal with a bitch like her, I'd need to grow thick skin ... hard and fast ... show her – no him – who the better woman was.
ME & PETE
A fter class I went straight to work, changed clothes, and nabbed a sticky-finger before lunch. Despite the hectic morning, the afternoon dragged. Maybe it was the nagging disappointment.
I was decked out in finery. Dripping of someone else's money. Strolling up and down aisles, stilettos sinking into three inch thick carpet, I sifted through racks of designer originals: gorgeous fashions I'd love to own, but got to wear for free. It was part of my job. I had to look fantastic so I'd fit in with the wealthy. The wealthy whose clothes covered their inadequacies. Or so my grandma would say whenever I complained about my wardrobe. I'd never forget her words: "Jewelia ... you remember. It's not the clothes that make you who you are. Your beauty is on the skin you were born with ... and also beneath that lovely surface."
My grandmother disputed the adage: "Clothes make the man," with a sharp lifted chin assuring everyone, in Grandpa's case, "Man made the clothes. My man." She'd roll her eyes that sparkled like a moonlit lagoon, laugh until she teared, then turn reverent as she tapped the sign of the cross. My grandma's eyes were like navy blue gems. Most unusual, especially given her heritage. La más bella, [the most beautiful] my grandfather would swoon in Spanish with an adorable German accent.
My grandfather was from the old country; the old country being Germany, where they met when he was a tailor designing clothing for royalty, and she was a Latina beauty. One of Grandpa's clients was a famous artist, and Grandma was one of his treasured models. From the moment he set eyes on her, Grandpa was lost in love. She let him chase her for six months until finally agreeing to a dinner date. The rest was history, and the bloodline that followed.
Yup, she'd scoff at the adage. If that were the case, hands on curvaceous hips she'd insist, department store dummies would be real-life supermen. Her reasoning always made sense, and stuck with me. And here I was today, remembering, agreeing, missing them so much.
My grandparents were the most in love couple I'd ever known in my entire life. Totally opposite in ethnicity and disposition, they were mad about each other until the day they died, three months apart. I wondered if I'd ever find a love so strong that I'd want to die, like my grandpa did, if I lost my true soul mate.
"Always make sure he loves you more." I remembered Grandma telling me with a nod and wink. By surrendering to death so close to hers, my physically fit grandpa proved he'd loved her more than life. I sighed and wiped a brimming tear from my duct before it had a chance to trace the curve of my nose.
Following my reverie, I felt a pang and needed a change of scene, so I took the escalator to the second floor, pausing to admire a rack of slinky dresses recently added to a spotlight display. After fingering silk, sequins and tulle, I moseyed into the hair salon where I grabbed a natural bristle hairbrush, then picked up a striking red lipstick instead. Thanks to AMA I'd become an impulse buyer. I had more odds and ends in my room than I had space for. Four p.m. finally rolled around and I was on my way home – in my own clothes and ballet flats, running for the bus.
When I walked through the door, Emma was in the kitchen making a stir fry. It smelled delish, but since I was eating out with Pete, I had to pass.
"Save me some leftovers. I'm taking a shower."
"You look beat." Her eyes
"Highest grade in the class, Miss Delarosa." Did he eat raw onions every morning?
"Thank you, Jarrod." I felt odd calling him by his first name, but since he insisted ...
College Joe and our hijacked meeting haunted me: his face, her face, my agitation, clumped into a boiling knot in the pit of my stomach. But I couldn't let it eat me alive. If I was getting back in the game, about to deal with a bitch like her, I'd need to grow thick skin ... hard and fast ... show her – no him – who the better woman was.
ME & PETE
A fter class I went straight to work, changed clothes, and nabbed a sticky-finger before lunch. Despite the hectic morning, the afternoon dragged. Maybe it was the nagging disappointment.
I was decked out in finery. Dripping of someone else's money. Strolling up and down aisles, stilettos sinking into three inch thick carpet, I sifted through racks of designer originals: gorgeous fashions I'd love to own, but got to wear for free. It was part of my job. I had to look fantastic so I'd fit in with the wealthy. The wealthy whose clothes covered their inadequacies. Or so my grandma would say whenever I complained about my wardrobe. I'd never forget her words: "Jewelia ... you remember. It's not the clothes that make you who you are. Your beauty is on the skin you were born with ... and also beneath that lovely surface."
My grandmother disputed the adage: "Clothes make the man," with a sharp lifted chin assuring everyone, in Grandpa's case, "Man made the clothes. My man." She'd roll her eyes that sparkled like a moonlit lagoon, laugh until she teared, then turn reverent as she tapped the sign of the cross. My grandma's eyes were like navy blue gems. Most unusual, especially given her heritage. La más bella, [the most beautiful] my grandfather would swoon in Spanish with an adorable German accent.
My grandfather was from the old country; the old country being Germany, where they met when he was a tailor designing clothing for royalty, and she was a Latina beauty. One of Grandpa's clients was a famous artist, and Grandma was one of his treasured models. From the moment he set eyes on her, Grandpa was lost in love. She let him chase her for six months until finally agreeing to a dinner date. The rest was history, and the bloodline that followed.
Yup, she'd scoff at the adage. If that were the case, hands on curvaceous hips she'd insist, department store dummies would be real-life supermen. Her reasoning always made sense, and stuck with me. And here I was today, remembering, agreeing, missing them so much.
My grandparents were the most in love couple I'd ever known in my entire life. Totally opposite in ethnicity and disposition, they were mad about each other until the day they died, three months apart. I wondered if I'd ever find a love so strong that I'd want to die, like my grandpa did, if I lost my true soul mate.
"Always make sure he loves you more." I remembered Grandma telling me with a nod and wink. By surrendering to death so close to hers, my physically fit grandpa proved he'd loved her more than life. I sighed and wiped a brimming tear from my duct before it had a chance to trace the curve of my nose.
Following my reverie, I felt a pang and needed a change of scene, so I took the escalator to the second floor, pausing to admire a rack of slinky dresses recently added to a spotlight display. After fingering silk, sequins and tulle, I moseyed into the hair salon where I grabbed a natural bristle hairbrush, then picked up a striking red lipstick instead. Thanks to AMA I'd become an impulse buyer. I had more odds and ends in my room than I had space for. Four p.m. finally rolled around and I was on my way home – in my own clothes and ballet flats, running for the bus.
When I walked through the door, Emma was in the kitchen making a stir fry. It smelled delish, but since I was eating out with Pete, I had to pass.
"Save me some leftovers. I'm taking a shower."
"You look beat." Her eyes
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