by Tessa Bailey
“Who even…are you?”
Chapter Five
Jasper kept his smile in place, although that question—Who even…are you?—hit a little too close to home. If Rita knew how many times he’d asked himself that same thing lately, she would also know he didn’t have an answer. He kind of appreciated her confusion, actually. At least she hadn’t written him off as the town manwhore everyone knew him to be.
There was no rule saying she had to write him off, either. What if—to Rita—he could be Jasper, the decent soul and sparkling conversationalist? Standing right in front of Jasper was a woman without any preconceived—or hell, conceived—notions about him, and he couldn’t recall the last time that had happened. Maybe he could find something out about Rita, before Rita found out the worst about him. Lord, the possibility made him feel lighter than he had in years.
She was hiding something—maybe a lot of somethings—underneath her attempt at a bad-to-the-bone appearance, which she didn’t pull off by any measure. Couldn’t pull off when her gaze was so skittish, so—defenseless. It was compelling, really, to watch her try so hard to act indifferent to him when she was clearly anything but. She was daring him to give up and go away. A handful of years ago, he would have. He would’ve swaggered away and found the next, easy conquest. That’s what had landed him in his current position of Hurley’s resident tramp.
But Rita didn’t know that. Which meant Jasper was in control of the impression she walked away with. A sharp thud inside him wouldn’t allow him to pass up the chance. If only to prove he could manage such a thing.
“Now, see. I’d rather talk about you.” He propped his right shoulder on the wall, refusing to capitalize when her gaze snagged on his mouth, difficult as it was. It would be so easy to crowd her a little, brush a thumb over her hipbone and increase the awareness between them. That subtle dance that let a woman know he’d take care of her in bed, and then some. Thanks to her thighs hugging him on the ride into town, her breaths ghosting over his neck, his belt buckle was still feeling the pressure of his hard-on. Old habits were hard to kick. He was more than a good time, though. Probably. He was still working on finding out—and maybe Rita could help him do that. “Where are you traveling from?”
He could see her debating how much information to divulge. “San Diego.”
“Hmm. I would have guessed a bigger city. Los Angeles, maybe.”
“Why?”
“Your knee-jerk suspicion of someone offering help might have tipped me off.” Jasper rubbed at the stubble on his jaw and winced, realizing he’d forgotten to shave—two days in a row—which probably did little in the way of making him appear trustworthy. “I might as well have offered you a live hand grenade.”
Those full lips of hers twitched, and he wrenched his gaze off them before they could inspire his wood to make another appearance. God, she was pretty. If he didn’t think she would take his head off, he would ask to see what she looked like without the heavy makeup.
His voice dropped low, without his permission. “Were both of those men your brothers?”
Rita took a slow inhale and the distance between them seemed to shrink. “Yes. And my sister was there, too.” She tugged on her shirtsleeves, wrapping her hands in the cuffs. “If one of them was my boyfriend, I doubt they would've let me ride off alone with you.”
“Not if they had a lick of common sense.” He adjusted his lean on the wall, trying not to be obvious in his relief that Hulk was a relation. “What do you do back in San Diego?”
Her expression took on a faraway quality. “Nothing anymore. I kind of…burned my bridges, so to speak. We’re driving to New York and I’m going to stay there. Go back to school for graphic design. Never too late, right?” Seeming to think she’d said too much, she fidgeted, her movements jerky. “I don’t know why I told you that. I haven’t even said it to myself out loud yet.”
Jasper leaned close, her cooking-spice scent teasing his nose. “Do you make a habit of talking to yourself?”
That earned him a glare. “You know what I mean.”
“I suppose I do.” Jasper estimated the tow truck was about even with the Suburban by now, so he better work a little faster. Toward something he’d never thought possible, unless he changed his name and moved to Switzerland. “What’s your idea of a good date, Rita? You seem like a coffeehouse type, but I don’t like to assume anything.”
His head might have been on backwards based on the look she gave him. “Wha—date? Why?”
“One question at a time. I’m working on an empty stomach.”
She turned her attention to the road, like maybe she was thinking of throwing herself into oncoming traffic. “I don’t date. It’s a barbaric pastime created by mothers and narcissists. Does that about end this unprompted interrogation?”
“You’re more of a movie-and-sushi girl, aren’t you?” Her strangled growl made him want to laugh out loud, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate it. “You’re going to be in town for a bit—long enough for your Suburban to be repaired. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Stan isn’t as quick with a wrench as he is with a tow truck. You’re here for the night.” Goddamn, that mouth looked sweet. Holding himself in check was much harder than he’d anticipated. “This is me asking you out, beautiful, if my intentions were somehow unclear.”
“Beautiful, huh?” She backed up a pace, and it took a concerted effort not to follow her. “You almost had me.”
“Come again?” When she only gave an impatient head shake, Jasper pushed on. “Let me take you out, Rita.”
She opened her mouth to answer but snapped it shut, considering him for long moments. “Is there a bar in town or something? So maybe it won’t seem so…” She waved a hand around. “Date-y.”
Damn. He could've sworn he almost had her sold on the sushi. “Yeah, there’s a bar.” His inward sigh was so loud it echoed in his ears. “Although the Liquor Hole is more like a honky-tonk.”
“Liquor. Hole.” It took her no time at all to catch the double meaning. “As in, lick her—”
“Mmm.” He wouldn’t tell her he’d been twenty-one—and half in the bag—when he’d named the place. Yes, the trust fund bequeathed by his grandfather on Jasper’s twenty-first birthday had been used to buy a sawdust-floored, neon-signed dive. Not for college, as the old man had intended. And thus began his decade of debauchery from which he’d surfaced two years ago only to realize that no one in his life took him seriously. He was everyone’s good time. Not reliable or permanent to a single soul. So he’d set about changing it, starting with his livelihood. “That’s the name of the bar. I’m opening a separate eatery in four days’ time ’round back, though.”
Rita did a double take. “You’re the owner.”
“Guilty.” He blew out a breath that lifted the hair from her face. “Really, really guilty.”
“I can see that,” she murmured dryly, scrutinizing him. “Why don’t you want to bring me there?”
Jasper saw his chances with Rita fading before his very eyes. “What did you do for a living back in San Diego?”
A small hesitation. “I worked in a restaurant.”
“A restaurant.” On cue, his stomach growled, making her eyes sparkle and Jasper almost lose his train of thought. “Okay, Rita. Would you take me on a first date to the place you worked? Let me pal around with the waiters and line cooks?”
Her eyes quit smiling. “Hell no.”
“Why?”
She rolled a shoulder. “Because they’ve seen me at my worst.”
“Bingo. Same goes for me and the bar.” That revelation might have been too telling, because her demeanor turned polite, as though she might be considering that final brush-off. Jasper couldn’t allow that. Not when he’d finally come across someone who seemed willing to—meet him. Talk to him without a pillow beneath their heads.
Just a little flirtation to ensure I see her again. Just enough to make sure he could pick up where he left off—with a clean slate. Ho
ping it was the right decision, Jasper slipped an arm around Rita’s waist and tugged her up against him, barely stifling a groan. Lord. She might be buried under dark, shapeless clothes, but didn’t she just curve in all the right places? Her gaze was glued on his throat, so he dipped down until they were nose to nose, saw the rush of thought going on behind her eyes. It was pretty damn breathtaking up close. “Mind cluing me in as to what’s going on in there?”
“If—if—we need to stay overnight—”
“You will.”
“—then I might see you at the bar.” She wedged a hand between them and separated their bodies. “I’d rather see someone’s worst than their best. Saves time.”
Jasper heard the tow truck pulling into the garage parking lot and cursed. Not even remotely confident that his first attempt at polite conversation with an available woman had been successful, Jasper walked her backward until they were hidden behind a rusted pay phone. She’d broken away from his touch, so he was careful to respect that. He dropped his mouth to an inch above hers and said, low, “I didn’t get near enough time with you, Rita. If you don’t show up tonight, don’t be surprised if I come looking.” He laid his palms against the warm building, above her head, watched her gaze dip to his stomach. His lap. “And if I have to come looking, I’ll be twice as determined to get that kiss.”
Her head came up. “W-what kiss?”
Jasper lowered his mouth until their lips brushed. He listened to her breath accelerate, watched her wet her lips. “The one I want to give you right now.” He allowed himself to linger another few seconds, then, with the effort of ten oxen, Jasper stepped back. “Tonight, beautiful.”
On his way to his bike, Jasper tipped his hat at Rita’s gaping siblings.
Chapter Six
Ignoring her siblings and their huge personalities wasn’t easy, but Rita had been practicing for quite a while, so she’d grown adept at one-word answers and avoidance. It hadn’t occurred to her until recently that her methods had seeped into other aspects of her life, but that was neither here nor there. There being New York and here being New Mexico, where they were—as Jasper had foretold—holed up for the night in the Hurley Arms, a motel tucked into the center of town. They’d been assured by Stan, the mechanic, that the necessary part would be delivered by tomorrow, so the complaining had been minimal, at least for them.
Belmont and Aaron had taken one room, she and Peggy another. So when both brothers followed her and Peggy into their dim, stale-aired space, Rita turned around with a dark look, prepared for the worst. Apparently she hadn’t escaped the inquisition that had started at the garage.
“Let me see if I have this straight.” Aaron—of course—began the interrogation, big shit-eater grin on his face. “You won’t fly on an airplane, but you’ll basically dive onto the back of a stranger’s motorcycle.”
Rita threw her duffel bag onto the closest bed. “I’m not talking about this.”
“You know, I kind of picked up on that on the death march over.” Aaron carefully unbuttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt, rolling them to his elbows. “Thankfully, I can talk enough for the both of us. Probably all four parties present, if required.”
“Oh, leave off, Aaron.” Peggy jumped onto the bed Rita hadn’t chosen, bouncing into a crossed-legged position. She lowered her voice to a whisper, passing a conspiratorial look over to Rita. “That man was wicked hot. I doubt many girls would pass up a chance for a ride.”
Belmont and Aaron’s expressions mirrored their disgust. “Your brothers are literally right here, in the room, Peggy.”
“I meant a ride on his bike. Mostly.” Peggy threw herself backwards on the bed with a monumental eye roll. “Either way, I’m twenty-five years old. I’ve been engaged to four different penises. Innuendoes will be launched at will.”
Aaron looked as though he wanted to argue, but he visibly shook off the urge and refocused on Rita. “Far be it from me to give you a hard time—”
Peggy snort-laughed. “He said hard time. Right after I—”
“Please stop.” Aaron held up both hands. “I just find it surprising that some y’all-in’ Dukes of Hazzard look-alike would be Rita’s type.” He brushed dust off the ancient wooden dresser and sat, arms crossed. “He’s nothing like Gerard.”
Rita toed off her boot and kicked it in Aaron’s direction. “You did not just bring up Gerard.”
“I definitely just brought him up.”
“Is this why you agreed to come along? To needle me until I’m carried off in a straitjacket?” Rita began shoveling through the items of her duffel bag with no idea what she was looking for. She just needed a distraction from the ball of heat spinning madly in her belly, the way it had been doing nonstop since—since I’ll be twice as determined to get that kiss. Rita realized she was staring blankly at a bottle of shampoo and shoved it back into her bag. God, she needed a distraction. Or she might actually consider venturing out to a place called the Liquor Hole in pursuit of the town cool guy, who’d probably already forgotten her name. “Okay, talk about Gerard.”
Peggy sat up. “He ate my hamster.”
“That is hearsay and you know it.” Peggy stared back at her blankly, forcing Rita to unearth the litany she’d been reciting in defense of her eighth-grade boyfriend since they’d gone their separate ways one night in their driveway. Just another middle-school romance pulled beneath the undertow of favorite-band disagreements and acne outbreaks. “He didn’t have motive or opportunity to eat your hamster, Peggy.”
“He so had motive,” Aaron chimed in. “You broke up with him because he wasn’t vampiric enough. That was your Twilight phase, remember?”
“I hate you.”
“I liked Fluffy,” Belmont said, drawing everyone’s attention. “He was good company.”
Peggy started to cry.
Aaron stood. “That’s my cue to leave.”
Belmont followed him out the door a moment later, casting a final backward glance of horror at his crying youngest sister. A look Rita understood well, because she’d never dealt well with Emotional Roller Coaster Peggy either. Rita herself hadn’t cried in years. Even at Miriam’s funeral she’d been too numb to do anything but stare straight ahead.
They’d all reacted differently that day. Peggy had sobbed. Belmont had watched the proceedings from the back row while Aaron acted as their mouthpiece, shaking hands and accepting condolences. There’d been a tangible resentment toward one another by the time it was over; whether it was in defense of their own way of grieving or disapproval of one another’s methods had never been clear. She only recalled them driving away without saying good-bye.
Girding her loins at the prospect of comforting her younger sister, Rita turned—
And found Peggy smiling. “Got rid of them for you, didn’t it?”
Rita failed to hide her surprise. “Wow. You’ve finally harnessed your powers for good. Or maybe that was evil.” She rose and started to pace, her socks catching on the scratchy brown carpet. “Belmont looked traumatized.”
“He always looks like that.”
“True.” It had been a joke, but Peggy’s statement drew her up short. “Is he okay? This thing with Sage…What is this thing with Sage?”
“Complicated. That’s what it is.” Peggy twirled a curl around her finger. “I’d rather talk about you.”
That was the second time someone had said those very words to her in less than an hour. Which was a little disconcerting since she could count on one hand the times in her life someone had expressed a desire to talk about her. “If this is about Jasper—”
“Oh, it is.” Peggy’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. “If we’d pulled in a few minutes later, he would have been pulling out.”
“You really meant what you said about innuendo.” Rita noticed herself fidgeting and stopped. “There’s nothing to talk about. You know that kind of guy who flirts with whoever’s available? That’s all it was.”
Peggy wasn’t having it. “Rita,
not that you aren’t hot in your own right, but he didn’t even give me passing consideration. And these shorts earned me my most recent marriage proposal.”
“Yeah, about that—”
“Eh. Nice try. Back to motorcycle dude.”
Rita gave herself a sidelong look in the mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary. For her, anyway. She hadn’t switched up her look in over a decade. Heavy eyeliner, thick bangs ending even with her eyebrows. If she peered closely, she could see the Clarkson good looks buried deep, but her siblings far outshone her in every category. If she were to don Peggy’s shorts, she’d look like a pasty chicken. The faded black jeans currently covering her scrawny butt were Rita’s favorite because she’d once camped out on the sidewalk in them for two days, hoping to score Megadeth tickets. There was a tiny hole in the pocket where she’d gotten bored during the eleventh hour and tunneled through the material with a ballpoint pen.
She attracted the hamster eaters of the world. Not the smooth, charming, blue-eyed, aw-shucks-ing, lunch-with-Grandma type. Was he one of those guys who liked his women grateful? Starstruck over the attention she—a loner who used her bangs as a hiding place—was receiving from such a certified catch? Rita was surprised to feel the stickiness of hurt over that possibility. How dare he make her hurt over anything after twenty minutes together?
Irritated with herself for wondering what Jasper had thought of her appearance, Rita tore her gaze from the mirror. “He owns a bar called the Liquor Hole.” When that bit of news only made her sister giggle, Rita shook her head. “Look, the car will be repaired in the morning. Let’s just order some shitty pizza and watch Golden Girls on your laptop.”
Peggy’s eyes went wide at the mention of the only pastime they’d had in common as kids. Something they discovered when they’d both contracted chicken pox and gotten quarantined in the same room. At first they’d simply been annoyed at the forced proximity, but somewhere around the third episode, they’d been hooked. “You still watch?”
