Change Rein - Anne Jolin Page 0,52

is a sweet old lady who likes to smoke more than her fair share of Mary Jane and doesn’t seem to mind the endless partying.

I pull the handle of the front door, and in typical J’s fashion, it’s unlocked. Martha, Jamison’s black pit bull, is waiting for me on the other side wagging her tail like I'm her favorite person in the world.

"Hi, pretty girl," I say and give her a scratch behind the ear.

Martha is named after Martha Stewart. Jamison’s first love is making acoustic guitars, but his second love is cooking. The day he rescued her, she ate an entire slow-cooked pork roast. We all tried to tell him it was just a dog thing to do, but he was adamant it was because she had exquisite taste in food and thus named her Martha.

I finish saying goodbye to Martha and head for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Jackson’s room is the closest to the top of the stairs, and if I’m fast, I can get in there before any of the drunken party goers saw me. I hit the top step, make a sharp left turn, and scurry into Jackson’s room, slamming the door behind me. Success!

I drop my bag on the floor and reach for the hem of my dress. I can’t wait to get out of this thing and into a pair of jeans. I’ve begun to inch my dress up when I hear his voice. I freeze as the smooth, deep baritone rolls over me and my knees involuntarily clench together. Who the hell is behind me?

I spin slowly and nearly hit a fever pitch when I see him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, but even then I can tell he would tower over me. Beautiful tattoos start at both wrists and disappear underneath the sleeves of his black White Chapel T-shirt. It is impossible not to notice that his shirt does little to hide the muscular chest underneath it. I lick my lips. His dirty-blond hair is buzzed shorter than his five-o’clock shadow, and his eyes are the palest color of blue I’ve ever seen in my life. Holy fucking shit! He looks just like Charlie Hunnam! I blink just to make sure that I’m not hallucinating, but he is still here, smirking smugly at me from the bed.

“Hi,” he says for the second time, shooting me a panty-dropping grin.

Oh God. I could do without the grinning Mr. Hunnam. It feels like my skin is on fire. If he grins again, I’m going to spontaneously combust. What the hell is wrong with me?

“You’re not allowed to be in here,” I stutter, tripping over my own words. Smooth. Really smooth. Wait, who cares if I am being smooth? I have a boyfriend.

“Jackson said I could borrow his computer.”

I look around the room, and to the left of him I see Jackson’s laptop lying on the bed, closed. “Well, it would seem as though you’re finished with it. So, do you think maybe you could get out now so I can change?”

He doesn’t answer me right away. Instead, I feel his eyes move up my bare legs and stop at the hem of my dress. I instantly curse myself for not pulling it back down before I turned around. I feel completely exposed. His eyes continue their lazy stroll up my body. My long auburn hair is falling in waves down my back, and he seems to appreciate the way my full chest is rapidly rising and falling. When his blue stare meets my green one, I feel like my entire body is buzzing with an electrical charge. This is what it must feel like to be on drugs, I thought.

He lets another slow, cocky grin spread across his face as he stands, engulfing the small room. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He winks at me before closing the door behind him.

I stand against the wall, rooted in place as my chest continues to heave. Mary, mother of God, what in the name of all things holy just happened? My brain is working overtime trying to process the last few minutes when a loud laugh from the hallway startles me out of my daze and I quickly set about getting changed. Jackson will be wondering where I am by now, and I need to get my butt out there. I slide into a pair of old jeans and pull a white flowing tank top over my head. This will have to