Burnout (Jack 'Em Up Book 0)
formatted by
E.M. Tippetts Book Designs
To those who believe in the power of first love.
Dear Reader,
I am over-the-moon excited to be starting this new, sexy series! I hope you’ll enjoy every story in Jack ‘Em Up. Burnout is a story of first love . . . true love . . . and the pain and struggles that threaten it. I hope you fall in love with Blake and Delilah, just like I did, and will continue to follow them in Book One of this series, Crank, coming this winter.
I thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking a chance on me and reading. Any and all honest reviews are always appreciated. I’d also love for you to follow me on social media, and please feel free to sign up for my Angel Kisses Newsletter for all the latest news on my books and some fun giveaways!
Happy Reading!
~Shauna
Angel Kisses Newsletter Signup
The Cupid Chronicles
Inked by an Angel
: Book I
The Halo Effect
: Book II
Wounded Wings
: Book III
Cupid’s Last Stand
: Book IV
Charlie’s Angel
: A Novella
Standalones
Circle of Redemption
: A Tre Donne Anthology
Coming Soon in the Jack ‘Em Up Series
Crank
: Book I (Blake and Delilah Continued)
Torque
: Book II (Jesse and Rachel)
Throttle
: Book III (Trace and Tori)
Rev
: Book IV (Micah and Jewel)
Blake
I
slapped at my relentlessly buzzing alarm clock and rolled over with a groan, tugging the pillow over my head. One week left until Christmas break. I could do it.
But I hated my life. School sucked. My mom was dead. My dad was a complete fucking asshole.
Not to be dramatic, or anything.
Maybe if my buddy, Micah, hadn’t talked me into joining the Marines with him after graduation, I’d have already blown this shitty town. Baybridge, Texas was nothing but a pit stop anyway. A dot on the freakin’ map, that’s it.
“Blake!” my dad pounded on the door, his words a bit slurred. “Get your lazy ass up for school!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I hollered back. “I’m up.”
My bedroom door swung open and I rolled to face my father—stringy hair, bags under his eyes, the distinct scent of cheap alcohol rolling off him. “Sure you are,” he deadpanned. “Get the hell up and don’t be late for school. We can’t have them calling the cops again.”
Of course not.
“I said I’m up.” With a sigh, I sat up and swiped a hand down my face. Would I have time to shave?
Dad huffed and shuffled away, wearing the same wrinkled clothes he had on last night. Had he even slept?
My feet hit the thread-bare, worn carpet of my small room just as a shiver rolled up my spine. Shit. Was the heating out again?
God. Graduation couldn’t come soon enough.
I rolled up into the Baybridge High School parking lot two minutes before the tardy bell. I parked my pride and joy, my ’69 electric blue Chevy Camaro SS, between Micah’s POS Nissan and a shiny BMW, then loped into school and down the hall to Government.
I shot Mrs. Dunbar a smug grin as I took my seat just as the bell rang. She rolled her eyes and started the lesson while I settled in for a nap.
A couple minutes later, the door to the classroom squeaked open and Mrs. Dunbar stopped talking.
“Sorry,” a small voice said. “I just came from the office and they’ve switched me to this class.”
I slid my heavy eyes open and took in Delilah Jackson showing the teacher her schedule. Hot damn. Deep, dark brown hair that curled nearly down to her ass. Big blue eyes. Smokin’ body. She was the perfect little rich girl with the perfect little everything.
And she was the Sheriff’s daughter. The same sheriff who had just announced his candidacy for Justice of the Peace in the next election.
Yeah, she had ‘untouchable’ written all over her pretty porcelain face.
But looking wouldn’t hurt, right?
I kept my face passive, taking her in as she took back her papers, hiked her backpack up on her shoulder, and made her way down the aisle toward the only empty seat . . . across from me.
She didn’t make eye contact as she slid into her chair and pulled out a notepad. Of course she’d take notes. She probably made straight A’s.
As my eyes raked over her, and her sweet, almost cinnamony scent reached across the aisle, I couldn’t help but appreciate her mile-long legs wrapped in denim.
She glanced over and caught me staring. I smiled the one-sided grin that most girls liked. Apparently not her. She quickly looked away and hunched over her notes.
Whatever.
Delilah Jackson was way out of my league.
In Auto Shop, the last period of the day, I thought about bringing in my Camaro for an oil change, but in the end, I stuck with the assigned brake job. I could do this stuff in my sleep, and I was tired.
Mr. Dixon ambled up behind me and inspected my work over my shoulder. I knew he was there, I could smell his ever-present coffee, but I didn’t turn around. I just kept my head down and my hands busy. Mr. Dixon was the one teacher I didn’t want to make angry . . . honestly, this was my favorite class. The only one that wasn’t a chore. It also didn’t hurt that my other buddy, Jesse, was in the class, too.
