9. Jasper
9
JASPER
“Stare harder, bro.” Hawke’s laughter feathers across my cheek as he leans toward me with a clap on the shoulder.
“I’m not staring,” I shout toward him, never pulling my gaze from the sight in front of me. I hold in my wince and take another pull from my cup. Lukewarm, weak beer. The concert delicacy .
I lift both shoulders in a lazy shrug, but I don’t bother saying anything. I don’t make a habit out of being a liar, and right now, I am definitely staring. I might feel bad about it if I wasn’t perched against the platform bar in the center of the Grand Avenue.
It’s a misleading name, and when Hawke first invited me along, I expected to pull up to some shitty warehouse on some abandoned plot of land.
Instead, it’s an impressive four-story brick building that houses five different stages inside. Six if you believe the ghost stories. Apparently, there’s an abandoned pool underneath one of the stages too. Officially, this building used to be some kind of athletic club, built over a hundred years ago, but it’s been a concert venue for the last five decades. Rumor has it, Elvis once played a show here too.
All thoughts of Elvis and ghosts fall away like leaves in the fall when I spot her. I don’t even know how the fuck I did spot her—she’s five and a half feet tall, dressed in all black with midnight auburn hair. By all reason, she should blend into the crowd. Add in dim lighting and a thousand bodies?
It’s a goddamn miracle.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I could pick Coraline Carter out of a crowd with all my senses bound.
Something in my chest tightens when I watch her. The way she sways her hips to the beat. How she tips her face toward the ceiling, letting her hair trail down toward her ass. She looks carefree and unburdened, like nothing in the world could touch her.
Hawke jerks his chin up, and I see the cheeky grin spreading wide across his face from the corner of my eye. “Whatever you say, man. But maybe you should tell your eyes that, yeah? I thought you learned your lesson with that one. But maybe you’re into some masochistic shit.”
I swing my head in his direction, a lazy glare already fixed on my face. “Don’t forget that the whole clubhouse heard exactly what you’re into.” Those walls might as well be paper for how they block sound. Hawke and some girl he brought back gave everyone a front-row to their auditory show a couple of weekends ago.
I grabbed my shit and went to my lake house that night. I love the guy, but I didn’t really feel like listening to their performance. Watching has never been my thing, but I get the appeal.
His teeth flash with a bright grin. He blows out a low whistle and takes a drink from his plastic cup. “Damn, I almost forgot about Jenny. I might have to call her up if I don’t find anyone tonight.”
I salute my cup in his direction and swallow another mouthful. Maybe if I consume it quicker, it’ll miraculously taste better. “Have fun with that.”
His salacious grin is partially hidden behind his own cup of lukewarm beer. “My offer still stands.”
“Yeah? What offer is that?” I ask, my tone dry.
“You let me know when you’re done getting your fill of her, yeah? We’ll find someone else to occupy your mind tonight. We can bring it back to the clubhouse, make it a thing.”
“You know I’m not into sharing, man.” It’s the same thing I always say when he brings it up. There’s no judgment from me, there never was. Fuck knows I’ve got my own interests . Threesomes and foursomes with my woman just isn’t it.
Being watched might be though.
One night, way back when, Coraline straddled me in the middle of the clubhouse while we made out. I got so hot at the idea of people watching my girl on my lap—and thinking about all the other things we could do with an audience—I almost came in my fucking pants like a chump.
So, yeah, I can fuck with being watched.
A handful of the brothers share women pretty regularly though. And I’ve walked in on more than the occasional orgy in the clubhouse, but that shit is usually planned so people can steer clear if they’re not interested.
I mean, my best friend shares his woman with his brother and his cousin. They made it work enough to get married and start a family. Real white picket fence shit. The rest of the brothers look up to our Prez and VP, so it’s not a surprise. Though I don’t think any of them are as serious as the St. James relationship.
Hawke claps me on the shoulder, his enthusiasm infectious. “Or fuck it, man, I’ll put in a good word with her for you.”
My eyes narrow on him. “And how exactly would you do that?”
He puffs his chest out, pride seeping from his pores. “Carter and I are tight.”
“Bullshit.”
He lifts a shoulder and tips back his cup to drain the rest of his drink. “It’s true. We’ve been talking?—”
“You’ve been talking to Coraline— my Coraline?” I interrupt him, lowering my chin to look at him through narrowed eyes.
Objectively, I can understand that he’s an attractive man. Tall, broad shoulders, good head of dark blond hair. But the idea of her with him? Nah, that shit is unacceptable.
Hawke laughs, his face lighting up like some kid on Christmas morning. “Bro, you should see your face right now.”
I immediately shut it all down, wipe any expression off my face and plaster on the usual one: casual interest. Happy to be here. Forever fucking chill.
“You’re a dick,” I mutter before tossing back the rest of my shitty beer.
Hawke laughs as he slaps my shoulder in that good-natured way of his. “Yeah, I know, but it was worth it. Real talk, man, Carter and I are friendly.”
“Friendly,” I grunt.
“Yeah, that step between acquaintances and friends.”
“Hm.” I absentmindedly nod, too busy plotting all the ways Hawke can get injured in the garage. Accidentally . Like fucking fate is pulling the strings, she glances over her shoulder, and we lock eyes. I watch with bated breath, my heartbeat kicking up a few beats inside my chest, as she leans forward and says something to one of the girls she’s with.
“Here we go,” I murmur, hiding my pleased smile behind the plastic cup.
She gathers her hair up in one hand, twisting and pulling it over one shoulder, and marches toward me. On the third stair, five feet away from me, she falters for a second. Her blue eyes look like the color of deep midnight in this light. And yet, it still feels like her gaze pierces me. Sharp, pointed flicks of pleasurable pain as she drags her gaze down my body and back up again.
My lips curl up into a smirk. Her steps faltering for a split second. And then she adjusts her scowl, twisting it into a sneer I’ve grown almost fond of.
She lets go of her hair and marches up the remaining steps, beelining for me. “Jagger.”
Hawke leans toward me, pitching his voice louder over the filler music playing. “Best of luck, man. I’m gonna do a lap.”
“Later.” I acknowledge without taking my gaze from her. I don’t want to miss a second of this little showdown of hers.
“Are you following me?” she yells, stopping three feet in front of me.
I don’t know when it happened, or the moment I decided to play with fire. But I find myself pointing toward my ear and shaking my head, like I can’t hear her.
She closes the gap, anger lining every perfect curve of her body as she steps between my open legs. The brush of her thighs on the inside of my legs shouldn’t feel this good. I feel like a chump, some preteen asshole about to get a semi because a pretty girl’s leg brushed mine.
“Stalking is a crime, Jagger.”
“Didn’t know you were so well-versed on the law.” My smile widens, genuine enjoyment inflating my veins.
Her eyes narrow on my lips, and she takes an unconscious shuffle-step forward. “What are you doing? Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?”
I test the waters, knowing I’m playing with fire. The blue flame. The best kind of fire, really. So hot that one touch is liable to fuck you up for life. I ghost my free hand along the curve of her hip, a featherlight whisper of a touch.
“I think you mean the cat that ate the cream .” It’s not my best moment, and if Hawke asks me about it later, I’m definitely going to tell him I was a helluva lot smoother than this. But I can’t take it back now.
Her chest rises, drawing my gaze to the glimpses of her tits through the slits in her tee. She drags the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. “I think you should worry less about cats and more about your pesky little stalking habit.”
My fingertips feather along the exposed patch of skin along her sides. I keep my voice low, just loud enough that she can hear me over the music. “There’s only one cat I’m worried about, baby.”
She rears back, stepping out from between my legs. Her trademark scowl has replaced that sort of lost and distracted look she was wearing so beautifully. She rolls her eyes and folds her arms across her chest. “Are you making some kind of pussy joke?”
Two guys next to me turn to look at her, and I can’t even blame them. That doesn’t stop me from giving both of them a glare worthy of my Prez. He’s the grumpiest motherfucker I’ve ever met, and I learned how to imitate his infamous look years ago.
“Nah, I’d never joke about your pussy, baby. I don’t want her to get mad at me.”
Her hands fall to her thighs with a loud slap. She steps into me again, sparks of fire shooting from her eyes as she gets into my face. “Are you fucking kidding me? What are you even doing? We’re not together anymore.”
“And?”
“And— and ?” she sputters. “And that means you can’t talk about my pussy!”
I drag my palm over my mouth and chin, pretending to think about it. “Can I talk to her?” I wait a beat and then waggle my eyebrows at her.
“Are you seriously asking me if you can go down on me at a public concert right now?” She’s looking at me like I’m insane. She’s not entirely wrong. I feel fucking wild when it comes to her. The insane need I have to rile her up, just to see what outlandish thing she does next.
“Raincheck?” I grin, enjoying the way her cheeks darken with blush.
She heaves a breath and this mask of calm flows over her face like some kind of puppetry. “You want to have your cake and eat it too, hm? Well too fucking bad.”
I lean back slightly, my smile turning into a smirk as I arch an eyebrow at her. “I always want to eat my cake, baby.” Especially when it tastes as perfect as she does.
Chocolate dipped cherries and cream.
Fucking delicious.
She takes another step backward, a mix of frustration and something else streaking across her face. “You’re infuriating!” she shouts over her shoulder, spinning around and jogging down the stairs.
Infuriating, huh? I rake my teeth over my bottom lip, a sad attempt at stopping my smile. I can work with infuriating. Love and hate are just two sides of the same coin, after all.
“Damn, dude. She shut you down hard, yeah? Don’t worry, we’ll make sure she’s taken care of tonight,” one of the dumbass guys next to me chimes in.
“Nah, I don’t think so.” I push to my feet and face the assholes. They’re snickering like they pulled a fast one or some shit. Instead of sending my fists flying, I grab the bartender’s attention and jerk my head toward the two guys. He nods his understanding, and before the next song starts, security is escorting them off the premises.