Fighting for Flight JB Salsbury (room on the broom read aloud .TXT) 📖

lip, staring at the mysterious mirrored door. Just one peek won’t hurt.

I cautiously pull open the door as if something might jump out at me: deodorant, shaving cream, razor, all the typical man stuff. Grabbing his cologne, I press it to my nose and take a deep breath. My eyes almost roll back in my head at the woodsy smell that his skin has hinted at before. He never smells coated in fragrance, more like an underlying flavor that runs beneath his natural scent.

Snooping complete, I move to close the door when a gray box catches my eye. I squint and lean forward to read the label: condoms. Wow, extra-large, lubricated, jumbo pack. I slam the door shut and stare at my reflection.

“Well, what did you think you would find?” I hiss to myself. “You know his reputation.” I stand back and shrug. “You need to tell him.”

Hey Jonah, guess what? Now that you know my mom’s a hooker and my dad’s a pimp, I have one more bomb to drop on you. The V-bomb. Surely if he can look past the first two bombs that last one should be no big deal. It’s not as if I’m not open to eliminating the issue. Candy’s words come flooding back. Stupid little girl.

I push the feelings of unworthiness to the back of my brain and head for the shower. Stripping down, I hear my inner fourteen-year-old fan-girl screaming, You’re naked in Jonah Slade’s bathroom! Squee! She’s not wrong, I think while covering my mouth to stifle my laughter.

Stepping under the water, I close my eyes to enjoy the calming spray. After a minute or two, I grab Jonah’s body wash and take a deep breath. It smells like citrus and spice and man all mixed together. I wash up slowly, taking the time to enjoy being covered in his smell and nothing else. While rinsing my hair, I notice just how different our realities are. He has a rain shower head and marble tile, and all my shower boasts is mildew stains and a slow-moving drain.

After towel drying, I finger comb my hair and slide on a fresh pair of panties from my backpack. I pull Jonah’s t-shirt over my head. It’s huge and hits me just above the knees. I pull on the worn sweat pants, and they slide back down my legs. Frowning, I pull them back up and roll the top in an attempt to tighten them. Still too big. The shirt covers enough, so I ditch the pants.

Slipping out from the bathroom into Jonah’s room, I’m met with a vision that has me locked in place. He’s shirtless with his back against the headboard. His navy blue pajama pant-covered legs are crossed at the ankles, and the remote is in his hand. He exudes casual confidence.

My eyes consume his body from his colorful arms to his bulging chest and settle on his face. He’s staring at me with a hunger that charges the air between us.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” His eyes narrow on my bare legs.

“The pants were too big.” I tug at the hem of the shirt.

Silence.

“So, I decided the shirt would be long enough.”

Still silence.

“I thought it covered as much as a dress would, so—”

“You look amazing in my shirt.” I shift uncomfortably at the gravely sound in his voice. “You’re safe with me.”

I let his words wash over me as my shoulders relax and I take a deep breath.

“You want to watch some TV?” He gives me a one-dimpled smile that sucks the breath from my lungs.

Forcing my gaze to his enormous television that hangs on the wall, I step closer to see what he’s watching. “Sure. What—” I gasp and race toward it, stopping only a foot away from the screen.

“Raven—”

“That’s Chip Foose!” I point at the screen while looking back at Jonah who is smiling huge. “I’ve read about this show in Car and Driver Magazine. It’s called Overhaulin’. They take old cars from people . . .” The sound of Chip Foose’s voice calls my attention back to the show. “’57 Chevy, Bel Air, two door, hardtop,” I mumble to myself, captivated by automotive brilliance.

A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. “Come back and sit on the bed, baby. You can watch it from there.” A hint of humor laces his words.

Flaming embarrassment. Here I get the chance to be in bed with Jonah, and I’m stuck to a television screen, watching a reality show about cars. How very sexy and feminine of me.

He pulls me a few steps backward to the bed. I don’t take my eyes off the screen as he hauls me to the headboard, tucking me into his side. My head against to his chest, I slide my hand over his bare abs and bite my tongue to keep from Oooing. His hand moves up my arm and stops to toy with my hair. I sigh in contentment, but quickly remember the heavy weight I need to get off my chest.

“Jonah?”

“Hmm?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

He lifts the remote, pressing a button that freezes the screen.

“I know your, um, reputation.” His body tightens beneath my cheek and his hand stills in my hair. “Nikki told me that you’ve never had a girl over. Is that true? It’s just, you’ve obviously had your fair share of, um, female companions, so I assumed—”

“Yes. It’s true. You’re the first girl I’ve had in my bed.”

I take a deep breath and try not to chicken out. “Um . . . well, there’s something you should know about me.”

He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t see his face, but his chest has stopped moving.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shove the words out. “I’m a virgin.”

Holding my breath, I bite my lip and await his reaction.

I’m not a total prude. I dated Billy Dryer, and he was the most popular kid in school. We made out a few times until he broke up with me. Guess his parents told him who