Ripped

by Lisa Edward

  “I don’t think he’s interested in li’l ol’ me, Bax. I think you’re more his type.”

  Shaking my head, I grabbed up her bag. “You never did have a very accurate gay-dar, Jaz. The guy was all over you.”

  Her T-shirt was pulled on over her head. She stepped into her bright red yoga pants then zipped up her warm puffy jacket. “I believe someone owes me a dinner. And after dancing all day, I’m starving.”

  I COULDN’T believe how easily Baxter and I had fallen into our familiar banter. In fact, I couldn’t believe that after not seeing each other for eight years or speaking for six, that we had bumped into each other in a city that was teeming with people.

  Was it fate? Or was it coincidence? Either way, it was so good to have a familiar face in this enormous city where up until today I had felt totally alone.

  We cuddled into the farthest corner of the train and finally relaxed after an exhausting day. Baxter hadn’t let go of my hand since we’d left the theater and was still holding it. His thumb circled and ran over my fingers lightly, caressing my skin, awakening something inside me that had been lying dormant since Baxter had left Boston eight years ago.

  I craved his touch and not only on my knuckles. I imagined his hand running up my arm, tracing tiny circles on my forearm the way he used to. His hands had never been still, always on me, but always moving over my flesh and reminding me that I was alive and he was there. And he was doing that now—stirring those feelings, arousing the butterflies in my stomach until they were swirling frantically and my breath shortened.

  “You okay, Jaz?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing. It was ridiculous that a simple touch on my hand had me practically panting.

  “I’m fine, Bax,” I replied huskily.

  His pupils blackened. “Do you want me to let go of your hand? To stop touching you?”

  My stomach clenched. “No. I want you to touch me.” God that sounded desperate. “I’ve … I’ve missed you.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched up into a half-smile. “I’ve missed you, too. You have no idea how much.”

  The train shuddered as it slowed, and Bax peered out the window before standing, pulling me with him.

  We bound through the doors at Canal Street, and Bax led me by the hand for five blocks until we reached Mulberry Street in Little Italy, stopping outside a quaint-looking Italian restaurant.

  “Bax, I’m not dressed for dinner.” I sniffed my armpit. “And I stink. I need a shower.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re fine.” He chuckled as the door was pushed open, and the little bell chimed to announce our arrival.

  The place was practically deserted, save for a group who sat at a large round table that was covered in a red and white checkered cloth.

  “Is the food any good?” I whispered to Bax. “There’s no one here.”

  “All the important people are here.” He indicated with a nod of his head to the table. “This is my New York family, the Giancolis.”

  Just as he had finished saying it, a loud, welcoming cry rang out as a short, buxom woman with a round, cheery face bustled over.

  “Ah, Baxter,” she said in a thick Italian accent, as she pinched his cheeks and gave them a good, hard squeeze. “You bring a girl to see us.” Her focus shifted to me as the rest of the diners came over to greet us.

  “Mama, this is Jasmine.”

  I smiled and gave a little wave. “Hi.”

  “Ah! This is the Jasmine?” Now it was my turn to have my cheeks pinched. “She’s a beautiful girl, hey? No wonder she’s a so special.”

  So Baxter had told them about me? I glanced in his direction in time to see his cheeks flush. Yes, he had, but what had he told them?

  We were surrounded by the mob of people who seemed to be appearing from every hidden corner of the restaurant. Between hugs and kisses on both cheeks, we were guided to two seats at the table as more chairs were pulled up.

  “Come eat! Eat!” Mama pushed plates of pasta and garlic bread at us. “Papa, go cook the calamari for our boy.”

  There was enough food on the table to feed an army, and my mouth watered as meatballs and lasagna and bread were piled onto a plate for me.

  “Oh, really, there’s enough food here; you don’t need to cook anymore,” I said, unsure how I would fit the mound of delicious-smelling food in my stomach.

  “Ah, rubbish! Baxter likes a the calamari. Don’t you, Baxter?” She pinched his cheeks again and he flinched, making me laugh.

  “Well, I do like calamari.” He grinned and shrugged at me.

  Papa scurried off, his place immediately filled by a young, raven-haired beauty whose dark brown eyes were fixed firmly on Baxter. My hackles were up instantly, not by anything she did and certainly not by anything she’d said, for she hadn’t yet spoken. But the way she devoured Baxter with her unwavering gaze told me in no uncertain terms that she thought of him as more than just a friend.

  “Ah, Lucia, there you are,” Baxter chirped as he leaned past me to kiss her on both cheeks. “Sorry I couldn’t help you today. I got kinda sidetracked.”

  “I tried calling you, didn’t you get my message?” She said sharply.

  Bax looked so uncomfortable. “No, sorry. My phone went flat and there was nowhere to charge it.”

  “Never mind, Baxter. Maybe you can help me tomorrow?”

  “Ahem.” I cleared my throat maybe a little too obviously, then cocked one brow at Baxter.

  “Jaz, this is Lucia, Mama and Papa’s daughter. Lucia, meet Jasmine.” Baxter signaled to us in turn with his hand, a cocky-as-hell smirk on his face as we sized each other up.

  Did I have any right to feel possessive over him? For all I knew he could be engaged to this Lucia, or at least dating her. It had been so long since we’d seen each other, and I really had no idea what he’d been doing all that time or who he’d been doing it with.

  Baxter’s arm lay across the back of my chair, his hand resting on my shoulder, and I relaxed. He was letting me know that there was nothing between the two of them, and at the same time, letting everyone here know that he and I were close.

  “Lovely to meet you, Lucia.” I extended my hand.

  Her eyes dropped to my ‘olive branch’ before she took it and pulled me gently forward to kiss my cheeks lightly.

  “Lovely to meet you too, Jasmine. Baxter has mentioned you … once or twice.”

  “So do you work here, Lucia?” I had to find out more about this girl to decide just how jealous I needed to be.

  “Yes, of course; it’s a family business.” Her eyes ran over Bax’s body. “We are all family here.”

  “She also does the books for the restaurant,” Mama said with a proud smile and puff of her chest. “My girl is so smart.” She patted Lucia’s cheek affectionately.

  “And what do you do?” Lucia asked, taking in my attire. “Another small-town girl who wants to make it big on Broadway?”

  “And she will,” Bax interjected. “Jaz had an audition today and she blew them away.”

  I had to ask Baxter how he’d managed to meet these people and slot into their family, but now wasn’t the time. Apart from the fact that as fast as I cleared a space on my plate, it was filled with another delicious spoonful of carb-loaded food, it was so noisy with everyone talking that I gave up and ate.

  “Wow, you really were hungry,” Bax joked. He reached over and wiped a splotch of bolognaise sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, then put it to his lips. “Tastes better mixed with strawberry lip balm.”

  Was it possible that he still had feelings for me after all this time? My tongue ran around the rim of my mouth to ensure the sauce was gone. Baxter watched, his own lips partially open. “All gone?” I asked quietly.

  He nodded, his eyes never leaving my mouth. I bit my bottom lip, and Baxter sucked in a sharp breath. He leaned in and whispered softly, “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about biting that lip?”

  I
shook my head slowly, a slight smile creeping onto my face.

  I knew I’d never gotten over Baxter. He was my first and only. The man I had given myself to completely, the man I’d trusted in every way, whether it was in his arms while we danced together, or in his arms as he moved inside me, his labored breath heating my skin as his face burrowed my neck.

  After he’d left, I’d thrown myself into classes, counting down the days until I would graduate and could make my way to New York to be with him. But things didn’t always work out the way you planned, and two months before I was due to leave Boston, my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

  I’d stayed; how could I not? I was an only child, and there was no way I could leave my parents when they’d needed me the most. My parents had been childhood sweethearts and my mom had just been told that the love of her life was going to die. Dad had put on a brave face, forever positive until the bitter, crushing end. He’d never complained, mainly because he didn’t want to worry Mom or me. But I knew better. I knew the pain was severe; I’d seen the agony on his face when he thought no one was watching.

  Dad’s prognosis had been grim. Six months was the time he had been given, so I had bided my time. I’d packed everything already and was reluctant to unpack, so lived out of a suitcase and boxes … and waited. Waited for something I never wanted to happen, but waited for it to happen so I could get on with my life with Baxter.

  Boston Ballet Company sought me out. Apparently they’d heard good things from the instructors at the conservatory. When I’d explained my situation, they offered me a place to dance, a sanctuary to forget my troubles and just let go. I’d jumped at the chance to continue honing my craft … and I’d waited.

  Dad fought for three years. When Mom and I sat by his bed on that final evening and held his hands, I could see that he was slipping away. There was nothing more the doctors could do for him, so we had all agreed to discharge Dad from hospital so he could be at home with us.

  “Let go, honey,” Mom had told him through her tears. “We’ll be fine; you don’t have to fight anymore. Let yourself find some peace.”

  I’d squeezed Dad’s hand so hard. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you too, Jazzy. I’m so proud of you. You’ve followed your dreams and you are a remarkable woman,” he had croaked as tears had welled in his eyes.

  I’d kissed Dad’s hand, then leaned over and kissed his clammy cheek.

  He’d smiled one last time for me, then turned to Mom. They’d nodded to each other, both knowing that this was the end. Mom had kissed Dad one last lingering time on the lips. The last kiss for the man that she had loved since she was a teenager.

  Then he’d closed his eyes. He was gone.

  “Hey, where did you just go?” Baxter asked with a nudge of his elbow.

  “Hmm? Oh, just thinking about my dad. He always wanted me to make a career from dancing.”

  “So what happened with your dad? Is he okay now? You started to tell me on the train but I figured it wasn’t the right time or place.”

  “He passed a few years ago.” I dropped my gaze to the abundance of food still on the table, untouched.

  “Oh, Jaz.” Baxter squeezed my hand, the sadness in his eyes making my own mist over. “I know you were so close to your dad.”

  I nodded as I tried to compose myself. “That’s why I didn’t come.” I shook my head. “I couldn’t leave when …”

  “I’m so sorry, Jaz, I had no idea. Like I said, I thought BBC had called –”

  “And I’d forgotten you?” I smiled sadly. “I never forgot you, Bax.”

  We sat silently as the chatter swirled around us and realization crept over Baxter’s face. “I should have called, Jaz. I should have come back home to find out what was happening instead of shutting you out. I could have stayed in Boston.” His voice was hoarse with emotion as he pulled me in until our foreheads met.

  “I wouldn’t have let you. One of us had to have a chance of making it, of performing on Broadway. It was what we both dreamed of.”

  “Well, I think that someone will be you, Jazzy.” He kissed my knuckles, his lips lingering and making my face flush. “You’re an amazing dancer.”

  “You two, you’re not eating!”

  A plate of meatballs was thrust in our faces as more food was squeezed onto the already overflowing table.

  “No, really, I couldn’t eat anything more.” I placed my hand over my stomach to indicate my belly was full.

  “Of course not.” Lucia smiled. “You have to watch that tiny body of yours.” Her smile was fast becoming a sneer. “Baxter eats like one of us. We love our food; we don’t pick at lettuce leaves.”

  “Excuse me?” My hackles were up. What was she trying to do? Alienate me from everyone else because I couldn’t shovel in my body-weight’s worth of pasta?

  “Actually I’m full, too,” Baxter chimed in. “We’ve eaten way too much.” He leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms over his head. “I think we might”—his eyes darted in my direction for a split second—“head upstairs, for coffee.”

  I felt the air around me chill as Lucia stiffened. “What’s upstairs?” I asked.

  Baxter ran his hand through his hair. “My apartment.”

  So that was why Lucia wasn’t happy; Baxter was inviting me to his place. I turned to her and looked her in the eye. “Does he have a coffee machine?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  Her eyes smoldered. “Yes, he does, and he makes a wonderful espresso.”

  Bitch! What did that mean exactly? Had she been upstairs to his apartment?

  Baxter’s chair scraped back, signaling it was time to make a move. I stood too, as nervous butterflies took flight once again. I turned and was rendered speechless by Baxter’s captive gaze. He may have said we were going upstairs for coffee, but I knew that look in his eyes, and it wasn’t coffee he was thinking of. My heart thumped against my chest, his eyes betraying him as they always did.

  I wondered if he’d looked at Lucia with those same lustful eyes that could undress you and leave you a quivering mess. Had she been taken upstairs for the same coffee that Baxter was offering me?

  Looking back down at her, the jealously in her eyes and firm set of her jaw told me that maybe she had. Maybe up until Baxter and I had bumped into each other this morning, she had been the one going upstairs for coffee.

  “Thank you so much for dinner. It was wonderful, as always,” Baxter told his New York family as he took my hand.

  The entire group stood, and we spent the next ten minutes being kissed and hugged goodnight before we finally managed to escape through a red door that led to a narrow staircase leading up to Baxter’s.

  “Wow, they all seem so lovely.” I perched on the edge of the couch, my legs jiggling anxiously.

  “Even Lucia?” Baxter gave me a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he made himself busy at the coffee machine.

  So coffee really did mean coffee.

  “Hmm, not so much Lucia.” I bit my lip, debating what to say next. “Is there something going on between you two?”

  “Would it bother you if there was?” He shot me a look over his shoulder.

  Suddenly the wallpaper was extremely interesting as I studied the faded pattern to avoid his scrutiny. “It wouldn’t be my business if you were—”

  “We’re not, Jaz. Never have. Not going to happen.”

  “Really?” I could always tell when Baxter was bending the truth. The little crinkle of his nose gave him away every time. I analyzed his face; there was no crinkle.

  He brought over two cups of coffee and placed them on the scratched wooden table before sitting beside me. “But it’s good to know you would at least be a little jealous.” One finger ran under my jaw, raising my head toward his.

  I couldn’t move as my breathing escalated. “I wasn’t jealous,” I whispered.

  “No?” He edged closer, drawing me toward him.

  “No. I was … I was just curious.”
<
br />   God, he was so near to me. His warm breath fanned my mouth, heating my lips. “Well, let me set the record straight.”

  His lips were on mine, softly teasing me, coaxing me closer as he pulled back slightly and I followed, not wanting to break the connection after so many years of missing him. I sighed into his parted lips, and he groaned back as one hand slid up my thigh, the other into my hair.

  How I had missed the taste of him, the feel of him. His hand fisted my hair as his kiss became more forceful and I couldn’t help grabbing at his tee, wanting to touch him the way I used to. The ripples of his abdomen beneath my fingertips coaxed me to go under his shirt to feel the warmth of his soft, smooth skin, and I leisurely traced the definition of every muscle in his torso.

  “Can you stay? Please?” he said huskily, his lips brushing mine as he spoke. “We don’t have to do anything. I’ve just missed holding you.”

  Oh man, it was so tempting. I checked my watch, where had the last hour gone. “I can’t. I’ll barely make it back home before midnight as it is.”

  He sat back. “You have a curfew?”

  “I know, it’s crazy.” Standing, I straightened my clothing before taking a big swig of cold coffee. “I’m boarding with a friend’s elderly aunt and uncle. They expect me home at a reasonable hour so I guess in a way, I do have a curfew.”

  Baxter laughed as he stood to join me. “Just like living in the dorms all those years ago. Only difference is you’re an adult now—you can make your own rules.”

  I took his hand as we made our way to the door. “Well, when I find somewhere of my own to live, I won’t have to go home at all.” Heat flushed my cheeks as I realized what I’d just said.

  “I guess I can wait for that to happen.” Baxter stopped in front of me as we reached the bottom of the narrow staircase. He tilted my head with his finger under my chin. “Just seeing you again, Jaz, after so long …” His fingers brushed against my cheek. “It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet it’s like it was only yesterday when we were together and happy.” His thumb ran along my bottom lip. “We were happy, weren’t we?”

  I nodded. “I’ve never been happier.” I kissed his thumb as it made a second pass along my lip. “Being with you. Dancing with you. It was the happiest time of my life.”