Romans & histoires Jace Carson

Jace POV I watched the beauty leave while still with a raging hard-on. I don't know why I decided not to fuck her. Although I gave her an answer but deep down I know it wasn't entirely because of that. After pondering for a while I shook my head and headed out of the room. I'm Jace Lorrid, currently twenty-six years and the owner of the Lorrid group of companies, and the owner of Passion.

Elena raised a brow. “If it’s about another one of your conspiracy theories involving the royal family and alien lizards, I’m turning this car around.” “No,” Jace said, clutching his cup. “Better. Man. Hot man.” Elena snorted. “I need specifics. Height? Hair? Estimated emotional damage?” “He’s tall,” Jace sighed, looking dream drunk already. “Dark hair. Probably early thirties. Handles code like a literal god. Saw him at that coworking space I go to sometimes. He was debugging like…” Jace pressed a hand to his chest. “Like art.”

“I thought maybe we could play some cards or something.” He laughs because I never challenge him to cards. I stopped doing that years ago when I learned there was no way in hell to ever win. Jace is a master at cards, and he never loses. He’s built a career around it, and it’s a damn good one. The man’s brain is an absolute enigma. It’s like he has some sort of psychic ability or something. It’s uncanny and impressive as hell to watch. “Maybe some other time,” he says, making me bite back a growl. I know what he’s doing, and I don’t fucking like it.

What is our business is the way the guys showed up. Carter’s a wall solid, immovable. Derrick never misses a chance to deliver the official response, usually paired with both middle fingers and a very enthusiastic, “Get a life, dickhead.” Jace is my favorite, though. He wants to be intimidating like Derrick, but that’s not who he is. When reporters corner him, he stammers out, “Get a life, p-please.” It’s the p-please. Kills me every time. Kills Tyler too.

Cain Jace doesn’t see me until I’m already close. He’s leaning against his car in the far corner of the parking lot, hood up, phone out, jaw working on something. The kind of satisfied that sits on a person’s face when they’ve been replaying a good memory. He looks up at the sound of my footsteps and the ease drops out of his face. “Russo.” He straightens. Pockets his phone. “The fuck do you want.”

"Cal? He's not that young is he?" Jasper chuckles. "Everyone's young to me." Suddenly, he sets me down. Stretching, I look through the trees. I can see the lights of Grayson's house close by. How did time pass so quickly? "Even Kaden?" This time, Jasper laughs aloud. "Kaden's great, great..." He pauses. "Great, great grandparents didn't even exist when I killed by father." Startled, I look up to meet his gaze. "Remember, I'm not really alive."

Valerie’s long-time rival in the behind-the-scenes fashion war. Standing next to Valerie, they looked like a storm waiting for ignition. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, Sinclair,” Jace drawled, voice smooth like a record that never scratched. “Not your usual scene.” Valerie didn’t bother looking at him. “Try not to assume you know my scenes.” Jace smiled at Luna instead, offering his hand. “Jace Serrano. I’ve heard of you, obviously, but that performance, that was a resurrection.”

There was no way that Jace Storme was staring at me. Jace Storme was the hottest guy in the world and possibly the entire universe. He had a slender athletic body, sparkly turquoise eyes as bright as the sun, shortly cropped brown hair that he enjoyed to spike and a smile that could light up even the darkest of nights. He was the captain of the soccer team, football team, dance team, and he was the lead in the school's musical. He was the most popular junior at Macintyre High, easy. He would never be caught dead talking to me, much less gazing at me. It was probably just the stupid glasses not working for me.

Mind & Heart by Tristan Barton plays softly, the melancholy melody filling the car. I lift my hand, gently placing a finger under Jace’s chin, guiding his face toward me. His eyes, once brimming with confidence and arrogance, are now sunken and haunted. In this moment, he’s not the Jace Adkins I know—the bold, self-assured man—but a lost little boy, burdened by the pain of visiting the graves of parents who were stolen from him.

Had a crush on Luca when they first meet. His favorite thing about Nixon is his hair. Likes vanilla ice cream with salt and vinegar chips. Likes sweet potatoes but doesn’t like sweet potato pie. Nixon- Prefers cold showers but takes hot ones for Harper’s sake. Hates wearing shoes and socks. (But he does) His favorite color is really pink but he always says black. Hates pickles but likes fried pickles. His favorite thing about Harper is the small scar he has on his hip. (Harper fell out of a tree when he was a kid)