Chapter Nine
Jasmine
"You can stop glaring at me any time now," I say, smirking at River across the small candlelit table. We're at the Goodson Family's restaurant on their vineyard, tucked into a booth in the very back corner.
Old wine casks are built into the far wall, giving the space a rustic flair.
Hushed conversation spills over us from the front of the restaurant, our reflections glinting off the large windows overlooking the vineyard.
The entire restaurant smells like garlic butter, freshly baked bread, and seawater.
River has been wearing the exact same hot, cranky expression since we got here. "You aren't fighting fair," he complains, his gaze roving over me for the fifteenth time since he picked me up. His eyes are dark behind his glasses, searing into me.
"Fighting fair?" I lean back in the booth, laughing in disbelief. "This coming from the man who literally had me arrested? You're damn right I'm not fighting fair."
He growls softly. "That dress is a war crime, princess."
"You mean this old thing?" I lift the tiny strap away from my shoulder, watching his eyes track the movement, then immediately let it drop back into place. "It's just a dress, River."
I might be a liar. Lilah and I went on a last-minute shopping trip this afternoon to find this dress.
The burgundy fabric is a stark contrast against my golden skin, slinky and low-cut.
It's barely long enough to even qualify as a dress.
But it's getting the job done. River hasn't stopped looking at me once.
"No, that's a deadly weapon." His eyes darken further as they roam over me again. "I want to see it on my bedroom floor. Preferably while those fuck-me heels are digging into my back."
"Maybe I'll let you." I shrug. "We'll see."
For the record, I absolutely plan on letting him see the dress on his floor. But I fully intend to torture him a little bit first. It's my God-given right as a woman. Besides, he did have me arrested. He can sweat a little before he gets to unwrap me. It'll do him good.
He stares at me for a moment before a wide smile stretches across his handsome face. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a fucking brat?"
"I might have heard that a time or two. Are you complaining?"
"Hell no." He leans back in the booth, sipping his wine. "Matter of fact, I'm thinking of writing a thank you note to Jesus."
"Do you even believe in Jesus, River?" I ask, laughter burbling from my lips. If he's religious, I'm a damn saint.
"Undecided." He winks at me. "But I absolutely believe in whoever or whatever made you."
"That would be my parents."
"Thank your mother for me."
"You know," I say after a moment, "you've officially heard my whole, sad story. But I know nothing about your family or childhood."
"That's because there's nothing much to tell. My mom was a single mom until I was in high school. And then a local dentist swept her off her feet. They've been madly in love ever since."
"What about your dad?"
"Never met him," he says with a shrug. "He decided parenthood wasn't for him when my mom found out she was pregnant. He packed up and moved across the country. Last I heard, he lived in New Jersey."
"Men are dicks."
He cocks a brow at me.
"Are you really going to make me say not all men?"
"Nah," he says, chuckling. "Most men are dicks."
"Finally, something we agree on." I eye him curiously. "Is that why you write aliens?"
"Partially. I'm a space nerd. I enjoy coming up with alien races and considering what life and civilization on other planets might look like.
" He pauses. "But I also know that women have had enough of men's bullshit.
Why not explore love and sexuality with a race from a planet that hasn't spent centuries disappointing women? "
"River Jamison," I say, laughing in disbelief. "Are you a feminist?"
"Did you miss the part about me being raised by a single mom? Hell yeah, I'm a feminist. Women are fucking amazing, princess."
"I love that," I admit, and then pause when the waiter appears with our food. Neither of us says much as he places our plates in front of us, pours more wine, and then vanishes. My stomach growls loudly, making River chuckle, but I just shrug, unapologetic. Food is good, and I like to eat.
"Can I ask you another question?" I ask as we begin eating—grilled pork chops with a raspberry glaze, roasted potatoes, and asparagus.
"Go for it."
"Why romance?"
"Again, because women are fucking amazing," he says, his fork halfway to his mouth.
"The strongest, most emotionally complex people I know are women.
But we rarely explore their inner lives, their needs, wants, desires, or motivations in any real depth in literature.
When we do, it's usually boiled down to the dumbest shit.
She was jealous, so she murdered her husband's mistress.
She was a stripper, so she was sexually assaulted.
Most of the time, she did something to cause the bad thing that happened to her, and there's almost always a bad thing she needs to be rescued from, usually by a man.
In romance, it isn't like that. Women rescue themselves, or don't need to be rescued at all.
They simply get to be women," he says. "They get to like whatever the fuck they like, want whatever the fuck they want, and be whoever the fuck they want to be.
They're fully evolved, capable beings who can solve their own problems, manage their own lives, and choose love because they still believe in it with their whole hearts.
Romance delves deep into who women are and the experiences and desires that shape them in a way other genres don't, and it centers them as humans instead of as victims."
"That's my favorite thing," I whisper, intensely grateful that he gets it.
Not many do. They have this ridiculous view of the genre that's never been true, and they belittle the hell out of it.
Reading about women living their lives and experiencing sexual gratification and desire without shame can be empowering, but people never talk about that part.
Sometimes, they even write or read romance while disparaging it.
I'm glad that isn't him. I don't think I could keep reading him if it were, because nothing pisses me off more.
"I know I don't always get it right, and I won't pretend to speak for women because that isn't my place, but I love creating books where women simply get to be women versus victims or sidekicks or whatever other bullshit they've been written to be.
That's not the reality I know or the women I know, so why the fuck should it be the predominant reality in mainstream literature? "
"This is why you should come talk to Book Club," I murmur around a spear of asparagus.
"You know how many readers hear, every single day, that what they're reading is ridiculous, silly, or unrealistic?
They deserve to hear from people who understand why they read what they do and respect them and the genre.
They need those voices bolstering them."
He holds my gaze, chewing thoughtfully on a bite of pork chop before swallowing. "I'll make you a deal."
I groan, narrowing my gaze at him. "I almost preferred it when you just gave me an autocratic, irritating no. What do you want this time?"
"For you to date me."
"Uh…" I make a show of looking around the restaurant, pretty damn sure he's sitting at the same table I am. "What do you think we're doing right now, River? We're on a date."
"Yes, but I don't just want a date, princess. I want you to date me. Officially." His eyes gleam behind his glasses, the candlelight catching on the wire frames. "I want labels and exclusivity."
Christ on a cracker.
"You don't think this is awfully fast?" I say. "I mean, this is the first date. Usually, there's more than one before people put labels on it."
"Yeah, fuck that. I know what I want. She's sitting across from me right now. That's not going to change, so why pretend it is?" He spears another bite of pork chop. "I told you that you were mine today. I meant it. I'm not sharing you."
"About that…"
Is it just my imagination, or does he look like he's ready to flip tables and cause a scene? Why is that hot to me? Huh. Maybe I do need the therapy Lilah keeps suggesting.
"It's just you, River," I say. "It's been a while since I've dated."
"Define a while," he growls.
"I don't know. Since before I moved to Santa Maria?"
"And how long ago was that?"
"A year?" I narrow my eyes at him. "I don't recall asking you this many clarifying questions when we were discussing your dating history earlier today."
He grins at me. "Just trying to make sure there isn't a jealous ex lurking around that I'm going to have to kill for trying to lure you away, baby," he says, almost like he's teasing, but I'm not entirely sure he is kidding.
He's jealous as hell at the thought of me with anyone who isn't him.
Lord have mercy, this man is…I don't know what he is, but he's something.
"There is no jealous ex. There's no ex at all. I said I dated, not that I've been in a long-term relationship. No one ever lasted that long."
"Because of your dad," he says, his expression softening with understanding.
"Yeah, I guess so. It's hard to trust anyone when your own father was a jackass who used you to hide his own affair," I mutter. "Guess it made me leery."
"You aren't leery of me."
I think that's the problem, isn't it? I'm not leery of him, not the way I thought I would be.
It's a mindfuck and a half. I've spent the last two days freaking out about the fact that I'm not entirely freaked out.
And then he showed up today, and reminded me why I'm not freaking out.
I like him, even when he's an annoyingly disagreeable, insufferable ass.
Apparently, he likes me too. Enough to want to date me. Officially.
"What do you say? Are we doing this or not?" he asks. "Because I have ways of convincing you."
An incredulous laugh spills from my lips. "Are you blackmailing me again?"
"No. I'm negotiating," he says. "Your biggest wish for mine."
My heart flutters at the earnest way he says it. But I still can't resist teasing him. "Sorry, I don't negotiate with terrorists."
He narrows his eyes at me, growling.
I laugh loudly. God, he's so easy. "I'm your biggest wish, huh? You are not aiming high enough, big guy. You could be asking for fortune, fame, your own cult…"
"Fuck all that," he growls, his eyes dark. "Don't need it. I'm aiming for the stars with you."
"Fine," I say, trying to play off the way his words hit me right in the heart. "I guess I'll date you."
"You guess?"
I shrug, making him grin, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows I'm full of shit.
I'm not agreeing because he wore me down.
I'm not agreeing because having him speak at Dirty Book Club is my biggest wish, either.
I'm saying yes because this man is my greatest wish, and I'm done denying it. So done.
Maybe he will break my heart. Or maybe he'll be the best damn thing that ever happened to me. I don't know, but I want to find out.
"I have something for you," he says when we get to his place after dinner, wrapping his arm around my waist to draw me back against him.
"I know." I lay my head against his chest, groaning quietly. "I can feel it."
He dips his head, nipping my shoulder. "It's not my cock, you smart ass."
"Pity," I tease, making his body shake with laughter before he squeezes my hip.
"You fucking brat," he rasps, nipping my skin again before he grabs a plain black box off the island and hands it to me. "Open this."
"What is it?" I ask, peering over my shoulder at him.
"Guess you'll have to open it to find out."
"Has anyone ever told you that—"
"That I'm fucking awesome? Yeah, I have heard that," he teases. "Open the box, princess."
I grumble wordlessly, then set it on the island before lifting the lid. I blink at the thick sheaf of papers inside, excitement firing through me. "River, is this…?"
"Yes." He steps up behind me again, sliding an arm around my waist. His lips brush the side of my throat. "It isn't finished, but I need you to read what I do have."
"Why?"
"Because I think you might recognize yourself in the pages, and I need your permission to publish it," he says softly.
I turn to face him, confused. "What? Why?"
"I started it before we met, but after meeting you…" He swallows. "I changed it, Jasmine. I didn't even know why the fuck I was changing it until yesterday, and then I realized it was because you're everywhere, creeping into every part of my conscience. And this book needed a hero like you."
"I'm not a hero, River."
"Yeah, you are." He tips my chin back, grinning at me. "You're the biggest fucking hero I've ever met, baby. If anyone could save an entire race, it's a woman just like you."
Jesus.
"I need a favor," I whisper, my voice shaking almost as hard as my hands as I carefully place the lid back on the box.
"Name it."
"I need you to take me upstairs and fuck me. Right now." I need this dress on his floor, his breath in my ear, and his hands on my skin before I float away. I think that's a distinct possibility right now, because that's the sweetest damn thing anyone has ever said to me.
He doesn't make me ask again. He snatches me off my feet like he's trying to steal my soul, his mouth crashing against mine.
Before my back even hits the bed a few minutes later, his hand is in my panties, and he's all over me.
It's heaven.