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by Tessa Bailey
“Rose was in the lead for a while, but Dorothy is back to being my favorite.”
“I’m still a Blanche girl.” Peggy’s excitement drained away and she groaned. “No. We’ll have plenty of time to watch Golden Girls on the trip. Tonight, we’re going to the Liquor Hole.”
Rita barked a laugh. “You’re drunk. That’s not happening.”
“It’s completely happening.” Peggy leaned back on an elbow. “I’ll be your wing-woman long enough to make sure Jasper’s not a creepdog, then I’ll leave you to your road booty.”
“Road booty?”
“Hooking up on the road,” Peggy explained with exaggerated patience. “Knowing Aaron—and myself—this won’t be the last hookup perpetrated by a Clarkson before we reach New York. You should pride yourself on being the first.”
“Forgive me for not cheering.” Rita tugged on her plain, long-sleeved T-shirt. The urge to ask Peggy for something to borrow was strong, but she staunchly resisted. Going out for a beer and possibly running into a man was one thing; dressing up outside the black zone of safety was quite another. She wouldn’t even allow for the chance of road booty. Taking her clothes off and getting sweaty with a stranger was something other people engaged in. Not that she judged those who went out looking for one-night stands, but she’d never understood casual sex. Being naked was about as vulnerable as one could get in Rita’s book—nothing casual about it.
Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to decline Peggy’s offer for wing-woman support, she could still feel Jasper’s breath feathering against her mouth, the outline of his erection where it had brushed her belly. At the time, she’d told herself it was his belt buckle, but no. For some reason, he’d desired her. Some undiscovered part of her wanted to see that desire up close, just once more. Feel the gravitational pull she’d encountered outside the greasy garage, experience the earth tilting in a way that made her stumble blindly in Jasper’s direction.
It was all too fast. Too risky to her self-esteem if something went wrong, or someone else caught his eye instead. But she’d left San Diego for a reason. This was her new start. It was silly to officially begin that fresh start by putting herself into a situation where a random hookup might occur—not that she was allowing herself to hope—but maybe the mere act of going and being available was enough for now.
Rita pursed her lips at Peggy. “One drink.”
Chapter Seven
It just had to be one of those nights, didn’t it?
Every few weeks, the Liquor Hole regulars tended to get rowdier than usual. Drinking one whiskey shot over their usual limit, dancing more suggestively than they would if their mama was watching. There was no explaining or predicting when one of these witchy evenings would roll around. Jasper had even gotten out a calendar and tried matching up the occasions with the moon cycle, but no damn luck. He reckoned it was down to mob mentality of some sort. One regular acting up gave their friends the excuse to follow suit. The ugly cycle usually continued until either punches were thrown or make-out sessions got out of control at the bar, forcing the bartender to spray the couples down with water from the soda gun.
Wasn’t it just his fortune in life that a full moon should be looming tonight, when he’d finally felt interest in a woman and expected her to walk through the entrance any moment? Hell, that was an exaggeration. He didn’t expect a damn thing. That downright unmasculine tightness in his chest was hope, plain and simple. He hoped she’d walk through the entrance. Otherwise he’d have to go knocking on motel-room doors looking for her and that would just be awkward, especially if he located Rita’s brothers first. Not to mention that leaving the Liquor Hole in the hands of his two bartenders—one of whom he suspected was one toke away from a coma—would be unwise.
If the gods were smiling down on him, Rita would show up. Then she’d let him take her out for some goddamn sushi. Jasper had a hunch that eventuality was about as likely as an indoor snowstorm in June, but the only weapon in his arsenal was optimism, so he would use it. Not that it was easy when witchy nights tended to make the female population of Hurley somewhat—twitchy. Up until two years ago, when his personal wake-up call had rung like a four-alarm fire, he would have been the go-to man in Hurley for a good lay. Now that he refused? Well, getting him back into the sack had become something of a challenge for some of his more amorous past conquests. On nights like these he’d taken to locking himself in the tiny back office, only coming out to restock beer or settle disputes.
If Rita actually showed, the local women who’d been trying to coax him out of the office and his self-imposed celibacy would only see his showing interest in Rita as a challenge to try harder.
You reap what you sow had never rung more true than it did tonight.
If Rita showed. And that was a mighty big if.
Hell, maybe this bone-deep necessity to have Rita see him as something other than Hurley’s orgasm machine was useless. Maybe he should have just kissed her that afternoon. Hesitation had never been part of his genetic makeup, but her big, wary golden-brown eyes had made any leftover game at his disposal seem like laughable bush-league bullshit. At least if he’d just let his mouth drop another inch this afternoon he would know how she tasted. Maybe he wouldn’t have an incessant itch between his shoulder blades from wondering if she might actually leave town without him finding out. The reality was, she would leave town. Probably tomorrow. Which did nothing to decrease this edginess in his bones. A restlessness that made him think not seeing her before her Suburban vanished into the sunset would be a missed opportunity.
Jasper plowed a hand through his hair. “Nate, grab me a beer, would you?”
“Yeah, boss.”
Nate dragged a Budweiser out of the ice, popped the top, and slid it down the bar, right into Jasper’s waiting hand. “You feel the air in here, Nate? It’s feeling real close, ain’t it?”
“I don’t feel anything.”
Jasper made a sound of disgust and drew on his icy-cold beer. “Yeah, I reckon you don’t.” Wondering if he could find a hidden vantage point to watch for an unlikely Rita appearance, Jasper turned and surveyed the bar. Already Eleanor Nesbit was doing that dance. The one where she lifted her arms, closed her eyes real tight, and ground her hips on some imaginary pommel horse. Things like tempo or beat didn’t matter to Eleanor—she just kept on keepin’ on with that infamous move. Meanwhile, her friend Gina switched it up constantly. Just trying out a new move every four seconds or so, not committing to a single one. They made quite a pair.
“Hey, Jasper Ellis.” Gina said his name the way most people say cherry pie. “You’re thinking of joining us. I can tell.”
Eleanor sent him a wink, breaking back into the same dance. Jasper had to admire her loyalty to the technique, but that was about as much admiration as he could muster. They were both attractive women, close to his age, and he felt exactly nothing but hollow when they spoke to him in that overdone cherry-pie manner. Beer bottle tipped to his lips, Jasper turned from the dance floor—
Just in time for Rita to walk into his bar. She brought a cool breeze in with her, a relaxing energy that thrilled at the same time. Her sister was in tow, for which Jasper was grateful. Hurley was safe enough, but he didn’t like the idea of her walking to the Liquor Hole by herself in the dark.
Rita looked the same as this afternoon, hadn’t gone and dressed herself up—thank God. She had, however, rid herself of all that makeup, and Jasper liked her unpainted face. The way it called Saturday mornings to mind, when the only stain on her lips would be from fresh strawberries. Her clothes might be plain, but they were form-fitting enough that he could see the taunting curve of her bottom. That’s exactly what an ass like Rita’s was. A taunt. It said, Don’t even try it, fucker. But at the same time, her long-sleeved shirt, complete with thumbholes, made him think of long stretches on the living room floor while rain pelted the roof. The shirt would mess her hair up when it slid over her head, but they wouldn’t give a shit on account of it be
ing Saturday.
What the hell is in this beer?
Jasper gathered his far-fetched thoughts and rounded the bar in Rita’s direction, remembering at the last minute to smile. Odd, since smiling typically came natural to him. Intense wasn’t a description anyone in town would associate with him, but Rita seemed to coax it to his surface. The closer he came to their seats, the more anxious she appeared. As if she might jump out of her skin at the mere idea of talking to him. Laying that kiss he’d promised on her in lieu of hello was out of the question, because something told him he wouldn’t stop, and he was determined to keep things slow and steady. Good thing slow and steady appeared to be what Rita needed, too.
“And here I was doubting you.” Jasper made eye contact with Nate and nodded toward the ladies. “Buy them a drink on me, Nate. They’re mourning a fan belt tonight, God rest its soul.”
They gave their drink orders. An apple martini for the sister. Rita a pint of their IPA. Gorgeous, sharp-witted, and good taste in beer. Lord have mercy.
Jasper leaned against the bar beside a stiff Rita, but reached to shake the sister’s hand. “I don’t think we met properly today. I’m Jasper.”
“Peggy.” Her smile was warm and slightly giddy, her gaze darting back and forth between him and Rita. Did that mean Rita had been talking about him? He didn’t have a chance to finesse the answer out of Peggy before she hopped off the stool. “You have a jukebox in this place?”
“I surely do. Please avoid Van Halen.” He noticed the dance floor filling up, the couples moving closer to one another. “Tends to get ’em worked up.”
“You got it.”
Just like that, he was alone with Rita. Maybe the heavens were finally smiling on him. Now if he could only get her to look at him. She seemed more interested in the condensation on the pint glass Nate had set down on the bar. Before he could become entranced by the movements of her index finger, Jasper shook himself. “You talk to your sister about me?”
A flash of those eyes made his gut tighten. “It was kind of unavoidable.”
“How’s that?”
She sipped her beer so long he thought she might finish it. “That pay phone didn’t hide much. They saw you…”
“They saw us.”
“Well. But you—”
“Started it. Is that what you were going to say?” Jasper leaned closer, powerless to keep the grin off his face. “That’s the oldest excuse in the book, but I’m going to let you use it. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to finish it, too.” Just the kiss. You can manage one healthy interaction, man. “And you catch more bees with honey.”
She turned until her legs were pointing at him and a blinking sign that said PROGRESS might as well have lit over his head. “Am I the bee in this scenario?”
“You surely are.” Slowly, he swiped a thumb over her knee. “And I reckon you sting when provoked.”
Rita exhaled in a rush of shaky laughter. “Wow. You are very good at this. Do you practice in the mirror?”
He’d already been halfway to irritated with himself before her question, but that brought it safely home. It had taken him exactly ten seconds to fall back into old patterns and habits. Behavior he thought he’d buried, but apparently his colossal attraction to Rita had dredged them right up. Jasper pitched to the side, supporting himself with an elbow planted on the bar. “Damn, can we start the conversation over? You don’t have to walk back outside or anything. But pretend I just asked you whether or not you’d spoken to Peggy about me.”
When she repeated her earlier response without a single hesitation, his desire to kiss her skyrocketed straight to the moon. “It was kind of unavoidable.”
“I’m sorry I put you in that position, ma’am.”
The edge of her mouth tugged. “No, you’re not.”
“No, I guess I’m not.”
Rita laughed. If life had a rewind button, he would have hit it over and over again, the way he’d done with love scenes as a child watching his grandmother’s taped episodes of General Hospital. Until he’d been caught and sentenced to a week of dish duty, anyway. Rita laughed with her eyes. They went a little glassy as her shoulders shook, but the actual sound was what crept over his skin like skimming fingertips, shooting him full of awareness. It was low and intimate, like a bass string being plucked in a smoky jazz club. He wanted the sound back as soon as it faded. Wanted to hear it vibrate against his belly. Go easy, man.
“So.” He plunked his beer down on the bar. “Where were you four headed in that big, rusty Suburban before Hurley reeled you in?”
She looked pensive as her shit-stomping boots started to sway back and forth, bumping the wooden rungs of the stool. “We need to be in Coney Island by New Year’s Day. So we can jump into the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Why—what?” He dropped onto the stool beside her, his drink forgotten on the bar. “That’s pretty high on the list of things I didn’t expect.”
“Oh, I know the feeling.” A beat passed. “It was our mother’s last wish.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded, brushing her hair back in a jerky motion, as if she were uncomfortable having someone’s undivided attention. He’d never had cause to use the word preposterous before, but that was the only way he could describe her lack of confidence. Despite the inappropriate name, the Liquor Hole was his life’s work, and, at the moment, it was nothing more than an unworthy backdrop for Rita. And, God, he was staring at her hands like an aggressive palm reader. “Most mothers want to avoid having their children turn into floating ice sculptures. What was her reason?”
“Good question.” A hint of sadness winked in her eyes, and Jasper wished he’d let the subject drop. This was what happened when he avoided talking about sex. He stumbled right into deceased parents. And yet he wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit. He wanted to know everything. “I think…she meant it as some sort of symbolic bonding experiment. But I don’t know. We’re kind of unbondable.”
“Got the feeling I interrupted a near-melee this afternoon.”
“Aaron called my soufflé decent.” A strand of dark hair caught on her lips when she shook her head. It took one hundred percent of his impulse control not to tug it away, but she beat him to it, anyhow. “It sounds silly now.”
“Nah.” Jasper couldn’t help leaning in to get a whiff of cooking spices. “He would have had it coming just for dressing like a preacher on a weekday.”
Another one of those quiet, smoky laughs. “I guess there’s a fine line between politician and preacher.”
“Politician?” Jasper shivered, then recalled the threat Rita’s brother had leveled at his head back on the highway. “Still, I can’t help but like him for wanting you safe from a stranger. He can’t be all that bad if he worries about you.”
“Worried might be an exaggeration,” Rita said.
When her golden-brown gaze lit on his mouth, Jasper realized he’d moved into her personal space without any conscious thought. One of her knees brushed the denim covering his hip and, God help him, if the bar were empty he would’ve been between her split thighs before she could call for Jesus. For someone who hadn’t felt more than a passing appreciation for the opposite sex in years, his libido was sure trying to play catch-up tonight.
“What are you thinking about?”
Lie. He had to lie. I want to strip you down and fuck you on this seat, but I’m trying my hand at being a gentleman, was not an acceptable line. It was too aggressive when she seemed spooked merely from his close proximity. But she was leaving, leaving his town tomorrow, and the slow-game option had been ambitious for Jasper when he knew nothing about it. So he’d tell the truth while leaving out the oh-so-dirty reality in his pants. “I was thinking it would have been a goddamn shame if you’d broken down one town over.” His voice was gravel, so he cleared it. “More than a shame. I’m kind of finding it hard to think about, if you want to know the truth.”
For long momen
ts, he couldn’t hear a single sound in the loud bar. No music, no crunching ice or raucous laughter. And, somehow, he knew she couldn’t hear the noise, either. It was there in the perplexity of her expression. He expected her to call bullshit or make a joke, but she didn’t. She shocked him instead.
“I’ll think I’ll take that kiss now.”
Chapter Eight
Holy hazelnut cannoli.
Rita would have smacked a hand over her mouth to prevent the words from escaping, but they were already out. She’d said them and they were immortalized in her cringe bank for all eternity, destined to pop up and mortify her all over again at inopportune moments. Did normal women who existed outside of sitcoms say things like I’ll think I’ll take that kiss now? Answer: no, they didn’t. They—did something else. Right? They flirted and enticed the man closer until he made the move—right?
Only Jasper was coming closer anyway. Actually, closer was an understatement. His hips were inching her thighs apart on the stool¸ his attention so focused on her mouth that she held her breath so as not to break his concentration. He appeared to be wrestling with his hormones as much as she was, but what sense did that make? They were roughly the same age, which meant this wasn’t their first rodeo, even if it really, honestly, felt like an inaugural bull ride.
He’d be a rougher ride than a bull.
He might as well have whispered that promise out loud because it surrounded him like an aura. Men like Jasper were supposed to be reserved for naughty Internet memes, but here he was. Her own private, moving GIF, only he didn’t loop back to the beginning after three seconds. No, he just kept coming, like he might never stop kissing her once he started. Like he might do a shit ton more than just kiss with that mouth.