CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Hendrix
T he house is alive with noise and laughter when I walk through the front door. Music drifts in from the backyard, and I follow the sound, stepping onto the patio to find a crowd of about twenty or so people—men and women—in the pool, at the bar, or at one of the three tables set up for poker.
Jase and his bandmates all sit at the same table, drinks in hand and cards scattered across the surface.
The whole backyard is a lesson in people watching, but it’s Jase’s table that holds my attention.
It’s fascinating watching them interact—like a well-oiled machine built on inside jokes, competitive jabs, and an easy camaraderie that speaks of years spent together. I observe from afar as they rib each other mercilessly, and yet every word spoken is laced with affection.
I lean against the railing, quietly observing. Jase’s eyes find mine across the yard, and warmth settles in my stomach. With his simple smile at me, he’s invited me into their world.
This is his family. His world. And he’s allowing me to step into it. The gravity of that doesn’t go unnoticed by me.
“You gonna play, Hendrix?” Rocket calls out, raising an eyebrow. “Or should I say, Mrs. Rocket?”
Clearly, there’s a joke there that I don’t get. The four of them bark out in laughter and Jase throws something at him in disgust.
“Um. Not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that other than to—” I move toward them and hold up my ring finger and wiggle. The guys erupt in another fit of laughter and razzing. I yelp when Jase pulls me into his lap like I belong there, his arms lazily draped around my waist, and his warm breath on my skin as he nuzzles his chin on my shoulder.
“Hi, Mrs. Gizmodo,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to the side of my neck. My body heats at the intimacy of it.
We’re at a table with all of his best friends and yet, he quietly lets me know my place, that I belong.
“Hi.” I slide my hands over his and squeeze like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You sure you don’t want to play with us?” Rocket asks.
“Nope. I’m good,” I say, shifting so my back presses into Jase’s chest.
“Why not?”
“For starters, I’d take you all to the cleaners. And then there’s the fact that I’ve been warned about each of you.”
Jase puts a hand over my mouth and plays along with my lie. “Shh. Those secrets were supposed to be between us.”
Everyone laughs.
Vince, who’s already halfway through his beer, snorts. “I, for one, am glad you’re not playing. I have a feeling you’re right. You’d be handing our asses to us in minutes.”
Rocket grins, tossing a chip into the center of the table. “You think?”
“I know,” Jase whispers into my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
I ignore the three smirks directed at me. They’re still getting a kick out of the wholefake marriagething, like it’s their personal inside joke that I somehow got roped into. And honestly? It is kind ofa joke—until Jase does stuff like this.
Stuff like holding me too easily. Touching me too casually. Acting like I belong in his space.
I clear my throat, pushing that thought far,faraway. I turn my attention to Vince and Hawkin as Rocket deals the cards. “I liked meeting your wives at the gala.”
Hawkin nods, glancing at what he was dealt and folding on the spot. He tosses them back onto the table. “Quinlan said you were welcomed into the BENT Bitches with open arms.”
“I was flattered to become an honorary member.”
“Ooh, can I watch your club meetings? I bet those are sexy as fuck—” Rocket says, dodging the poker chip Vince flicks at his head.
“You ain’t watching shit,” Hawkin says.
I tilt my head. “Is this how it is all the time with you four?”
“Yes.” Rocket’s grin is mischievous.
“And yet you still have wives?” I tease.
Vince lets out a dramatic sigh. “It’s the charm. It’s a long, drawn-out process, but we wear them down until they have no choice but to love us.”
“More like they exhaust them until they just accept their fate,” Rocket adds. “That is why I am still single.”
There’s more razzing over the comment, but I’m too distracted by the way Jase squeezes my hip and how his lips brush my ear when he says, “Guess that means I still have time to wearyoudown, huh, Cookie?”
I stiffen, refusing to let the warmth in his voice get to me. “You’re not eveninthe running, drummer boy.”
“Ouch.” Jase presses a hand to his heart, his laughter ringing out as he looks to the guys for sympathy.
None is given.
“I mean, she’s notwrong,” Hawkin says, hiding his grin behind his beer.
“Definitely not,” Rocket agrees.
Vince just shakes his head. “Poor guy never stood a chance.”
“Remind me why I’m friends with you assholes?” Jase asks.
“Because without us, you’d have no personality,” Rocket says.
Vince laughs. “And no one to tell you when you’re making acomplete foolof yourself over Hendrix.”
I suck in a breath, my heart doing a weird, stupid flip, but I recover quickly and try to make sure my expression says the same.
Jase’s fingers tighten slightly on my waist, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he flicks a chip toward Vince and stretches back in the chair, shiftingjust enoughto make me realize I’ve been in his lap way too long.
“I need to go inside,” I blurt out, pushing myself up and off him.
Jase lets me go—too easily, too casually. “Need an escape from these fuckers? That’s a daily occurrence for me.”
A chorus of “fuck offs” ring out.
“I’ll be back in a few,” I say and head toward the house.
I just reach the door when a voice stops me.
“So... you banging him for the fame? I mean that rock is worth it alone.”
I turn to find Rocket’s date, Carly, standing beside me, a smug expression on her face.
“Excuse me?”
Carly shrugs, sipping her drink. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I mean, it’s Jase’s schtick, right? Hook up with the hired help for a bit and then move on when he gets bored?” She tilts her head, watching me closely. “No doubt that’ll be sooner rather than later. I will say you’ve lasted longer than most but believe me, I’ve seen it a dozen times or so. I get you have the ring and the last name, but you’ll probably be needing to bake some of those divorce cookies for yourself in the near future.”
The words cut through me. Because that’s exactly what people will think when this ruse is up. And I’ll get to see and hear it all from social media and looky-loos, enthusiastically, like Carly, rubbing my nose in my failure to keep him interested.
I should laugh it off. I should tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But bitterness lodges itself in my throat, and I can’t shake the sting of her words or the hurt they cause.
I don’t want to believe her.
But the truth is, I don’t know where Jase and I stand. I don’t know if this means anything outside of the arrangement we started with. I mean, I clearly have feelings for him, but is this still a charade to him? Is this more?
I have a feeling I’m not asking him because I’m afraid of the answer. Because even though I’ve made strides in finding myself again, I can be honest when I say if history dictates itself, I know I’ll be the one left hurt. Again .
I don’t respond to Carly. I just turn and walk away.
But her words are on replay in my head all night.
Over.
And over.
When the game winds down and everyone starts heading out, I keep my distance from Jase. I clean up the kitchen instead of lingering by his side as he says goodbye to all his guests, ignoring the way he keeps glancing at me like he can sense something’s wrong.
“Hendrix?” His voice is softer now as he steps up behind me.
I keep scrubbing the counter, pretending I don’t feel him standing there. “You should get some sleep. It’s late.”
“You okay?”
I nod. Lie. “I’m fine.”
Jase watches me for a long moment, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. But he doesn’t push.
Not yet.