Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Fiona
The Sons of Hell clubhouse was warm enough that I’d forgotten how brutally cold it was outside until I glanced toward the windows.
Beyond the glass, the Shenandoah Mountains were gray and frozen, snow dusting the peaks in the distance.
Inside, classic rock played from the speakers in the corner—probably Banks’ choice—while the smell of strong coffee and whiskey hung in the air.
Brothers crowded around the bar and sprawled across the worn leather couches, talking and laughing over one another.
I sat on one of those couches with my phone in my lap, pretending to listen while Nash explained some video game I’d never heard of.
Pretending being the important word.
My mind kept drifting to Jasper.
Weeks of texts. Weeks of smiling at my ceiling like an idiot when I should’ve been asleep. Weeks of wondering what the hell was happening between us.
If anything was happening between us.
It was a crush. That was what I kept telling myself. Jasper was older, experienced, and probably talked to dozens of women the same way he talked to me. Calling me Cher didn’t have to mean anything.
Except I didn’t quite believe that anymore.
It wasn’t only the flirting. It was the way he remembered things I’d forgotten telling him. The questions he asked days later. The way a conversation could pause for hours and then pick up exactly where we’d left it.
Sometimes it felt like he was collecting little pieces of me.
The frightening part was how easily I kept handing them over.
My phone buzzed.
Jasper: Let’s play twenty questions.
I bit my lip and glanced at Nash. He was still talking, gesturing wildly with his hands as he described some boss fight.
Me: That sounds dangerous
Jasper: Only if you lie.
Me: You assume I’d lie?
Jasper: I assume everyone lies during twenty questions.
Me: Comforting
My mouth curved before I could stop it. I pressed my phone against my thigh, angling the screen away from Nash’s line of sight.
“You listening?” Nash asked, pausing mid-sentence.
“Yeah,” I said. “Boss fight. Got it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re texting someone.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” I asked, trying to hide my smile.
“The ‘I’m-texting-a-guy’ look.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I don’t have a look.”
“You absolutely do.” Nash leaned back, crossing his arms. “Who is it?”
“No one.”
“Bullshit.”
My phone buzzed again.
Jasper: I’ll start easy. Favorite season?
Me: Fall
Jasper: Predictable.
Me: Why?
Jasper: Mountains, sweaters, pretty leaves. Very Rosewood.
I rolled my eyes, typing back quickly.
Me: What’s yours?
Jasper: Summer.
Me: Louisiana summer?
Jasper: I like suffering.
Me: That explains a lot
The laugh escaped before I could stop it.
Nash raised an eyebrow.
“Definitely texting a guy,” he said.
“Fine. Yes. I’m texting a guy.” I looked across the room to make sure Frank hadn’t heard me.
A knowing smirk spread across his face. “Romeo.”
“I didn’t say...”
“You didn’t have to.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “The whole club saw you dancing with him at the wedding. And now you’re blushing at your phone like that? It’s Romeo.”
“It’s Jasper,” I corrected automatically.
Crap.
“Same guy. And you’re texting him.” Nash’s teasing eased, something more protective taking its place. “Long distance thing?”
“We’re just friends,” I said, a little too quickly. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that,” Nash said, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Fi, I’m not trying to give you shit. I just... be careful, okay? He’s a lot older than you. Different world.”
My phone buzzed.
Jasper: Favorite meal?
Me: Breakfast for dinner
Jasper: Strong answer.
Me: Yours?
Jasper: Gumbo.
Me: Also predictable
Jasper: You wound me.
Me: Next question.
Jasper: Beach or mountains?
Me: Mountains
Jasper: I knew it.
Me: Then why ask?
Jasper: I like being right.
I shook my head, smiling at the screen.
Me: Beach or mountains?
Jasper: Depends who I’m with.
My smile faded. There were at least a dozen harmless ways to read that answer. Naturally, my brain chose none of them.
Me: That’s cheating
Jasper: It’s strategy.
Me: You’re bad at this game
Jasper: You’re still playing.
I set my phone down and exhaled slowly.
Nash was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “You like this guy.”
“I don’t—”
“Fi. Come on. I’ve known you for two years. You don’t smile at your phone like that unless you’re into someone.”
Absently, I picked at the edge of my phone case. Nash was my friend—one of the few people my age I actually trusted. Maybe saying it out loud would make it sound less ridiculous.
“Okay,” I admitted. “Maybe I like him. A little.”
“A little?”
“Fine. A lot.”
Nash grinned. “Does he know?”
“Of course not.” I glanced down at my phone again, then looked back at Nash and sighed. “I can’t tell if he’s being friendly or if he’s... you know.”
“Flirting?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he doing that makes you think he might be flirting?”
I thought about it. “He texts me every day. Multiple times a day. He asks about my life, remembers things I tell him, checks in to make sure I’m safe. He calls me Cher...”
“That’s Cajun for ‘dear,’ right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, that’s definitely flirting.”
“But he also deflects whenever I ask him anything direct. Like just now, I asked him beach or mountains, and he said it depends who he’s with. What does that even mean?”
Nash laughed. “It means he’s into you but doesn’t want to come on too strong.”
“You think?”
“Fi, guys don’t text girls every day unless they’re interested. Trust me.”
“But what if he’s just being nice? What if I’m reading too much into it?”
“Are you serious right now?” Nash shook his head. “You’re overthinking this. If a guy is putting in that much effort, he’s not doing it because he wants to be your pen pal.”
I wanted to believe him. That was probably the problem. Believing Jasper wanted me would have been easy. Too easy.
I’d believed Joseph wanted me too.
“What if I’m wrong?” I asked quietly.
Nash’s expression softened. “Then you’re wrong. But at least you’ll know. Isn’t that better than sitting here wondering?”
Before I could answer, footsteps sounded behind me.
“Hey, Fi.”
I turned to find Georgie standing there with his arms crossed. His gaze moved from me to Nash, then back again. Some of the tension around his mouth seemed to disappear.
“Hey, Georgie,” I said.
“You two having fun?”
“Yeah,” Nash said easily. “Just hanging out.”
Georgie nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on me. “That’s good. You should be hanging out with friends. Having fun. Not worrying about... other stuff.”
I frowned. “What other stuff?”
“Just...” He waved a hand vaguely. “You know. School’s important. You’ve got a lot going on. Don’t need any distractions.”
“I’m not distracted.”
“Good.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Keep it that way. Focus on what matters. Friends, school, family. The rest of it—boys and all that—it can wait.”
My cheeks heated. “I’m not—”
“I’m just saying.” Georgie’s tone was gentle but firm. “You’re doing great, Fi. Don’t let anyone mess that up for you.”
Then he walked away before I could decide whether I wanted to argue with him.
Nash let out a low whistle. “That was weird.”
“Yeah.”
“You think he knows about Louisiana guy?”
“I don’t know.”
I picked up my phone.
Jasper’s last message still waited there.
You’re still playing.
The words felt different after Georgie’s little speech. Maybe I was playing. I just wasn’t sure whose game it was anymore.
Three days later, I was lying on my bed staring at my phone when I decided Jasper had gotten enough information out of me.
Me: My turn for twenty questions.
Jasper: I’m listening.
Me: First job?
Jasper: Helping family with things I probably shouldn’t explain over text.
I laughed.
Me: That sounds illegal
Jasper: Allegedly.
Me: Real answer.
Jasper: Yard work.
Me: First car?
Jasper: Old Chevy pickup that stalled every time it rained.
Me: Did you fix it?
Jasper: Eventually.
Me: What did you name it?
Jasper: I didn’t name my truck.
Me: That’s disappointing
Jasper: Did you name your car?
Me: Mabel.
Jasper: Of course you did.
I frowned.
Me: What’s that supposed to mean?
Jasper: You look like someone who’d give an old car a grandmother name.
Me: She has personality
Jasper: So do you.
My thumb stopped.
So do you.
Three words shouldn’t have done anything to me. But they did.
Me: Was that flirting?
Jasper: That was an observation.
Me: Convenient
Jasper: Next question.
I dropped my head back against the pillow. Of course. Every time I thought I’d cornered him, Jasper found another exit.
Me: Biggest pet peeve?
Jasper: People who don’t say what they mean.
I stared at the message.
Well.
Me: That sounds… pointed.
Jasper: Does it?
Me: Mine is people answering questions with questions.
Jasper: Why?
Me: You know why.
Jasper: Do I?
Me: You’re impossible
I set my phone down and pressed my palms against my eyes. He was going to make me crazy.
He could spend half the day asking me questions, remember every answer, then somehow dodge mine without technically refusing to answer anything.
Attentive and evasive at the same time.
I picked my phone back up and scrolled through the conversation.
You look like someone who’d give an old car a grandmother name.
So do you.
People who don’t say what they mean.
I stopped there.
Was that meant for me?
Maybe the problem wasn’t Jasper’s answers. Maybe it was that I wanted them to mean something.
I thought about the night at the resort and the way he’d looked at me while I sat beside him trying not to cry over Joseph Higgins.
Somewhere out there is your happily ever after, and when you’re ready, he will be waiting for you.
He.
Not I.
Jasper had left himself completely out of it. At least, I’d thought he had. Now I wasn’t so sure.
Had he chosen those words because I was seventeen and upset and he hadn’t wanted to push? Or had he simply been comforting a heartbroken girl while I’d spent weeks turning one kind conversation into something bigger?
Both explanations fit.
I hated that.
My phone buzzed.
Jasper: You still there, Cher?
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Me: Yeah. Just thinking.
Jasper: About?
You.
The answer came so quickly in my head it scared me.
Me: Nothing important.
Jasper: Liar.
I bit my lip. Maybe Nash was right. Maybe I could stop dissecting every word and simply ask Jasper what I wanted to know.
My stomach immediately knotted.
Nope.
Apparently, I wasn’t that brave.
Because what happened if I asked and all those little moments I’d been collecting meant nothing to him?
Or worse—what if he was gentle about it?
I could survive Jasper laughing at me easier than I could survive pity.
Me: Goodnight, Jasper.
Jasper: Sweet dreams, Ma Belle.
I set my phone on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling.
Ma Belle.
My beautiful.
I’d looked it up even though I already knew enough French to guess.
Maybe that was the problem with Jasper.
Every answer only seemed to create another question.
And until one of us finally stopped hiding behind them, I had a feeling neither of us was going to get much sleep.