Jayden Carter の小説・ストーリー

She wanted to believe he was, but that won't solve anything, She'd fallen for him and he still belonged to his ex. Was that what he was sorry about though? She took him in again, noticing that it was his left hand in his hair now, he used the right one just as often as he did that one, ambidexterity. That reminded her of the thought She'd banished from her head. It still lingered there somehow, the words of the man from that phone call. Zayn Carter, his brother. And that makes him Jordan Carter and She'd known a Jordan Carter while growing up.

He straightened his body, maintaining a good posture. "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Harper. I am Cayden Evans, the firstborn son of Max and Gabriella Evans." Frank nodded as if indifferent. "Yes, I know your father." Cayden nodded too. "Just like my father, I am also interested in design. Therefore, I intend to start a business here as an interior designer." "Aren't you a photographer?" Kara asked, somewhat surprised. "Emily told me about your camera and extraordinary shots."

I change the subject "He has a kid?" His eyebrows raise, "Since when?" He seems shocked "Yeah, his name is Carter, he is the cutest little thing. Even though I haven't seen him in real life, I saw pictures and he looks more like me, than Ryder," I say He chuckles shortly, "What do you do at the gym?" "Gymnastics and my brother is teaching me self-defence. You should fight me," I tell him doing playful karate moves with my hands.

Joey’s voice boomed through the speaker, sounding hyped and energetic. Carter sat up, feeling the tacky sensation of his own cum drying on his skin. "Just... uh, just finished a workout, man. What's up?" "Listen, my parents just cleared out for the weekend. Anniversary trip to the Hamptons or some shit. I’m throwing a massive pool party tonight. Full bar, DJ, and I told the cheer squad to bring everyone. It’s gonna be legendary." Carter’s eyes immediately darted back to the bikini photo still open on his phone. The image of Jessie stepping out of the water flashed in his mind, and he felt his cock…which had only been soft for thirty seconds…give a sudden, violent throb.

The lanky frame was now solid, a wall of muscle under a simple black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing the intricate tattoos that snaked up his forearms. His dark hair was still a reckless mess, and his green eyes—the color of broken sea glass—locked onto mine with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. He pushed off the bleachers and sauntered over, that familiar, infuriatingly confident smirk playing on his lips. “Eden Thompson. Fuck me. You actually showed up.” “It’s Carter now,” I corrected, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be. “And I’m just the designated driver for my mom.”

Just because Jayden and Carlos appear in the same picture does not mean they know each other. So why does my chest still feel so heavy? The answer comes almost immediately. Because Jayden never says he attends those events. He always says he hates hockey, and that he has nothing to do with that world. The sun begins rising outside my window before I finally sit up and move over to my desk. My eyes burn from staring at the screen for so long, but I cannot stop now. If one photograph exists, maybe there are more. I open the school's old website, then the student newspaper, then old social media pages connected to school events.

Dad’s shoulder tenses, but he doesn’t look at me. “Dad…” I try again, the word broken. When he still refuses to acknowledge my presence, I perch on the edge of the couch with my hands still wrapped around my body, trying to stem the trembling. Even I know that this is a losing battle. There’s no way I’m going to win this time. Dad has made up his mind. When Carter reappears, it’s with the two men carrying his things. He grabs his laptop and phone with his good hand and walks out the door without a backward glance.

Grateful that she doesn’t see me like this, jealous that she never has time for us. Jackson grabs a protein shake from the fridge and downs it like he’s in some athlete commercial. I butter a piece of toast, trying to look invisible. And then, of course, the devil himself arrives. Noah Carter. He strolls right into our kitchen like he owns it, helmet tucked under his arm, hair still damp from his shower, all six-foot-two of golden-boy arrogance. He’s wearing his jersey, number 14, stretched across broad shoulders like it was custom made for him.

Fake. And then there was him. Jaxon Carter. Nineteen. Taller than I expected. Lean muscle under a black T-shirt. Not smiling. Not frowning. Just looking at me in this slow, measuring way. Like he was deciding if I was a threat… or prey. “Sienna, this is Jaxon,” Dad said, all cheerful, like he was introducing me to some distant cousin I should be thrilled about. I gave the smallest nod possible. “Hey.” He nodded back. Not one word. His eyes flicked down at my ripped jeans, the band tee I’d slept in, then back up to my face. His gaze had weight.

I almost couldn’t believe my ears. Jeremy Carter was willing to donate his blood for Zayne Greyson so that he could survive?