Текст книги "Crash Into Me"

Автор книги: Tracy Wolff

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Chapter Nine

Hours later, Jamison limped into her apartment building with blisters the size of silver dollars on her heels. She’d spent the day pounding the pavement, looking for a job—any kind of job—to fill the gaps until she could find work as a dessert chef. Unfortunately, all the colleges had just gotten out for summer and jobs were scarce as the students had already snapped up most of them.

Which meant she was in trouble, no doubt about it. Unless she got really lucky—something she sincerely doubted would happen—she was completely screwed. Once she got upstairs, she’d log on to the state database and file for unemployment. Then run a job search in the San Diego area—the third such search she’d run in as many days—and see if anything new popped up.

Depressed, pissed off, and more than a little scared—though she hated to admit it, even to herself—Jamison shuffled her way over to the mailboxes, trying not to lift her feet as she moved. She wasn’t sure the blisters could take it. Already, she could feel blood oozing around her heels. It was a testament to just how crappy her neighborhood, and apartment building, were that she hadn’t taken off the damn shoes the second she’d stepped off the bus. But God only knew what there was lying around to step in.

She had just opened her mailbox and reached for the letters inside of it—all bills, she was certain—when Jared’s voice sounded behind her. “Where the hell have you been?”

Spooked at the loud, angry sound, she jumped, bobbled the mail. Then winced as the whole collection of it fell onto the dirty ground beneath her feet. Great. She’d have to remember to wash her hands after she got upstairs. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, squatting down to pick up the scattered envelopes. “Don’t you have a show in a couple hours?”

“Screw the show.” Jared bent and helped her gather the envelopes. “I came here to apologize, but now I want to know what’s going on with you. And I’m not leaving until I get a straight answer.” His eyes were dark and steady on her and for a second Jamison felt like a little kid again. One who could run to her big brother and let him fix everything that was wrong. Because that was who Jared was, who he had always been.

From the time she could walk—and even before then, if their mother was to be believed—Jared was the one she’d turned to when something went wrong. He was the one who fixed her toys when they broke, who made her smile when she was sad, even the one who advised her on boys—though he’d been more than a little uncomfortable with any advice that didn’t begin with “guys are scum and you shouldn’t trust them. And you sure as hell shouldn’t get in the back of a car with any of them. Ever.” Which was more than their dad had ever told her, but still. Not what a girl wanted to hear from her big brother.

Then again, she probably would have been better off if she’d followed that advice. Especially in regard to Evan Schuller and his eight hands.

But this mess was her life. She was a big girl now and she needed to fix things on her own. No more running to her big brother and asking him to make it all better. She was twenty-three years old. It was definitely time to stand on her own two feet…or at least it would be, once she got these damn Louboutins off.

“Sorry I left so quickly this morning, but you and Ryder really pissed me off. I’m a grown-up now, Jared. I sure as hell don’t need my big brother threatening to beat up every guy I make out with.”

“Fine.” He sighed heavily. “I promise not to embarrass you again like that—if you promise to make an effort never to have a make-out fest outside my damn bedroom door again.”

She flushed. “Yeah. I can totally do that.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you take me upstairs and get me a drink? I’ve been waiting down here for more than two hours. And in the meantime, you can explain to me exactly where you’ve been all day.”

But that was the problem. She couldn’t tell him she’d spent the day looking for a job. He’d freak out and try to hand her a big check to tide her over. She didn’t want to be the baby of the family anymore, the one Jared always felt like he had to protect even when she didn’t want or need his protection. He might think of it as his job as her big brother, but she sure as hell didn’t. Not anymore.

She leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek—breaking eye contact as she did. Lying was hard enough for her. Doing it while she was looking straight into her brother’s eyes so wasn’t going to happen.

“I’ve been working. I had some new recipes I needed to try out.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jared stepped back, quirked an eyebrow. “What kind of recipes were they?”

“A couple new cakes,” she told him. “I want to try something new, but not too different–”

He sighed heavily. “I went by the restaurant, Jamison. They told me they had to downsize—right after they tried to get me to take a photo with the owner and chef.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. I—”

“You think I give a damn about the photo request? I want to know whyyou didn’t tell me you got laid off.”

She shrugged, tried to blow it off. “It’s no big deal. With the recession, people aren’t eating out as much—especially at fancy restaurants. They had to downsize and since I was the last employee hired, I was the first fired. You know how it goes. At least they gave me a good , recommendation. It shouldn’t be that hard to find another job.” As long as she didn’t mind asking customers if they wanted fries with their burger, anyway.

“Do you have enough money to get by?” Jared asked as he followed her up the stairs to her third-floor apartment.

“Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

He snorted, but didn’t say anything else as he waited for her to open her front door. Once they were inside her apartment—which she liked to think was furnished in shabby chic, but in all actuality was really just shabby—he sprawled across her couch and asked, “What happened to your car?”

She closed her eyes, blew out a long breath. She’d really been hoping he hadn’t seen her getting off the bus. “I was in a wreck earlier this week.”

“A wreck?” He jumped off the couch, crossed to her. “How bad was it?” he demanded, his eyes moving over every visible inch of her body, searching for damage.

“I’m fine. It wasn’t a big deal. But my car’s not drivable right now.” Which technically wasn’t a lie, she told herself, since the stupid thing would never be drivable again.

Jared looked more than a little suspicious of her answer, but he didn’t call her on it.

Determined to get him off his line of questioning, she gave him a hug, then laid her head on his shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But did you seriously come all this way to talk about my car?”

“No. But now I think we’d better.” He glanced at the clock on her wall. “Where’s Charles? I thought you had plans with him tonight?”

“No, not with him.” She waved a hand dismissively. “We broke up. It’s no big deal—it was brewing for a while.”

“Really?” Jared’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do?”

She sighed, exasperated now. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

But as usual he wasn’t listening—or paying any attention to the back-off signals she was throwing out all over the place. “The jerk just happened to dump you the same week you lost your job and your car? When she didn’t answer, he ground out, “That bastard.” Jared pushed past her, walked into her postage stamp sized kitchen. Opened the fridge and stared at the dismal contents before slamming the door shut and turning back to her. “When were you going to tell me all this?”

“I wasn’t, actually. It’s none of your business.”

“None of my business? My baby sister is stuck in San Diego with no job, no car, and no boyfriend to help her out. Does that about cover the situation?”

“I don’t need a man to help me out! I’m not an imbecile, you know.”

Jared rolled his eyes. “I was talking about him giving you a ride every once in a while. This isn’t exactly a public-transportation-friendly town.”

Didn’t she know it? She’d been on four buses and the trolley today, and that was just what it had taken her to get home. “I’m fine. I—”

He cut her off with a downward slice of his hand. “You are patently not fine, sweetheart.”

His words cut right through her—even though she knew they were true. Her carefully organized life had spun completely out of her control and she didn’t have a clue what she was going to do about it. She tried to hide her discomfort, but Jared must have figured out how much he’d hurt her because he started backpedalling. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that you have such a hard time accepting help. You always have, ever since Mom left. But, Jelly Bean, there’s nothing wrong with needing someone sometimes. I can help you. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help!”

This time he was the one who winced. “Has it ever occurred to you that sometimes I need to help you? You’re my sister. I know you can do whatever you set your mind to. But I love you and I worry about you and I can’t just walk away and leave you here in this ridiculous apartment, with no job, no car, and no money.”

“I have some money. Besides, I don’t want to take advantage of the fact that —”

“What? That I’m a rock star? Give me a break. I have more money than I know what to do with. Let me give you some—”

“I’m not doing this with you, Jared.” She crossed to the door, opened it. “You need to go or you’ll be late for the concert.”

“I’ll leave when you come with me.”

“That’s not going to happen. I need to look for a job.”

“Here?”

“Where else?”

“I don’t know. Back home maybe? You moved here because of that job at that damn restaurant. Now what’s the point of staying?”

“I have a lease. I have a life here.” And absolutely no desire to run back home with her tail tucked between her legs. She’d left Austin with big plans. She wasn’t—she refused to be—her mother’s daughter, running home at the first sign of failure.

“Obviously.” She could tell the second his patience ran out. “Go pack a bag.”

“I’m not going home to Dad, Jared.”

“You’ve made that clear. So, fine. If you don’t want to go home, don’t. But then you’re coming on the road with me.”

She laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not joking.” He shoved an irritated hand through his hair. “Why are we arguing about this?”

“I can’t just pick up and go on the road with you. What about the guys?”

“What about them? They’d love to have you.”

“Nothing like a little sister tagging along to ruin all the fun.”

Jared waved off her concern. “Trust me. Having you along won’t cramp anyone’s style.”

What about Ryder? she wanted to ask, but knew doing so would make her sound too much like a needy, insecure little girl—an image she was currently doing her damnedest not to project. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Even after everything that had happened that morning, she wasn’t sure she could deal with not cramping Ryder’s style. Seeing him with girl after girl, groupie after groupie. Her stomach churned at the thought.

Crossing to the window, she looked out over the parking lot. Watched a drug deal go down on the corner. And despite her better judgment, found herself asking, “What would I even do on tour with you?”

“Anything you want. Hang out. Party. Work on that book of recipes you keep saying you want to write.”

“And what am I going to do for money? Just live off of you?”

“Yes! Yes, live off of me! What’s wrong with me helping you out for a while?”

Nothing, except it would shred what little self-esteem she had left. “I can’t be a parasite, Jared. I just can’t.”

“You’re nothing like her.”

She turned away before he could see the tears she wasn’t strong enough to keep buried. But Jared knew. He always knew.

She’d spent her whole life watching their mother pop in and out of their dad’s life. Watching her get his hopes up only to disappear in the middle of the night with whatever money she could get her hands on. Jamison knew her father and brother would give her anything, everything, but she couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take the chance of ever becoming what her mother had always been.

“I can’t live like that, Jared. You know I can’t.”

Silence as he considered her words. Then, “What if there’s a job for you on the road with me?”

“Band groupie isn’t exactly a job. Especially when I won’t put out.” Except for Ryder. She was desperately afraid he could turn her into a groupie with little more than a touch. Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t his type.

Jared just shook his head, made a disgusted sound deep in his throat. “I was thinking more along the lines of a cook.”

“A cook? For the band?” she asked dubiously.

“Hell, yeah. We eat crap pretty much twenty-four-seven while we’re on the road. You could fix that.”

His voice gained enthusiasm as he warmed to the idea. “I can almost taste your apple pie now.”

She wanted to argue some more, but the idea had merit. She knew it did. She could go on the road for a few weeks as she looked for another pastry chef job, could cook for the guys and maybe even save a little. But, still …

Pride made her want to say no. There was a part of her that was deathly afraid that she was just like their mother. That all the crap that had happened this week happened because she was genetically predisposed to screw up her life. Giving in and running away with Jared just seemed to prove that idea.

But at the same time, her rent was due in two weeks and unless she found a job ASAP, she wouldn’t have the money. Her landlord wasn’t exactly the understanding sort, which meant she’d have to borrow from Jared or her father if she didn’t want to run back to Texas a total failure.

Just the thought of it made her skin crawl. She couldn’t handle being the cause of more disappointment to her father, couldn’t handle having the neighbors look at her the same way they’d looked at her mother. Like she was a failure.

Could she do this? she wondered, a slightly panicked feeling in the pit of her stomach. Could she just ride away with Shaken Dirty tonight after the show? Just leave behind the life she’d begun to make for herself here and start a new one? One where she actually created new recipes and wrote the cookbook she’d been playing with since her sophomore year in college? One where she lived for the moment instead of for her ten-year plan?

She thought of Charles. Of her lost job. Of the way her carefully planned life had imploded in less than a week. Jared’s offer was a godsend and she knew it. Especially with as tight as newspaper jobs were right now. And so what if he was giving it to her to get her out of trouble? She could still be the best damn cook any rock band had ever had while on the road.

At the same time, she couldn’t believe she was seriously considering her brother’s offer. Especially since Ryder came as a part of the package. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face him—that she’d ever be ready to face him after everything that had happened in that hotel room early this morning.

But the band did have two tour buses for their exclusive use. She’d just make sure that she was on whatever bus Ryder wasn’t. How hard could that be?

“Come on, Jamison.” Jared held a hand out to her. “Don’t make me leave you here alone. Come on the U.S. leg of the tour with us. It’s only seven weeks.”

To hell with it. Maybe a couple months away from her real life was exactly what she needed. As long as she pulled her weight, there’d be no problem. And she would pull her weight.

Reaching forward, she took her brother’s hand, squeezed. “How long before you have to leave for the amphitheater?”

He glanced at the clock on her wall. “I should have been out of here ten minutes ago.”

Trepidation was a tight ball in the pit of her stomach as she headed for the bedroom. But she’d made her decision and she would stick with it, even if a lack of options had speeded things along.

“I guess I’d better start packing, then.”

Jared breathed an audible sigh of relief even as he said, “Don’t bring anything that doesn’t fit in one suitcase. The buses are cramped.”

Jamison closed her eyes, blew out a deep breath at the warning. And prayed she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.

Chapter Ten

She’d come.

Ryder couldn’t describe the relief that swept through him when he glanced toward the curtain and saw Jamison standing there in a pair of jeans and a tight tank top, hips wiggling and shoulders swaying to the beat Wyatt was laying down with his drums.

He’d been afraid she wouldn’t show tonight, afraid he wasn’t going to get another chance to apologize for the shitty way things had ended up between them that morning. The tour was playing a show in Portland tomorrow night and Shaken Dirty planned to head out right after they finished their set.

As it was, he’d have to talk fast if he wanted Jamison to listen to him. And he did want that. He was surprised by just how much.

They’d been friends for too long for him to leave things a mess between them. Especially when God only knew how long it would be before the band got back around to San Diego. They had seven more weeks on this tour, a few weeks off, then they were starting an international tour—just them and a couple of opening bands—that would take a solid eight months.

He couldn’t stand for Jamison to be mad at him for that long. The rest of the world, sure. He didn’t give a fuck. Hell, he relished it. But not Jamison. And not when he knew her very real anger at him covered up an even more real hurt.

The thought had him missing a note, not the first screw-up he’d had tonight. Jared shot him a what-the-hell look and Micah mouthed at him to pull it together. Which he was really trying to do.

He finished the song to wild applause—thank God the audience didn’t seem to mind the fact that he was all over the place tonight—then glanced toward the left wing again. Jamison was still standing there, a look of concern on her face as she watched him. It was that look that calmed him down, that convinced him he hadn’t fucked up their friendship too badly with his careless words and even more careless actions.

Suddenly, Jared knocked into him from his right side—hard—and he realized they’d launched right into “Careless” and he’d been so locked in his head that he hadn’t even noticed. Worse, he’d missed his cue—the whole first verse had turned into an instrumental.

Because he needed another way to screw up, right? Shit.

Forcing his attention back to what he was supposed to be doing—which was singing for a capacity crowd that had dropped at least a hundred bucks a pop to see him do just that—Ryder refused to look over at Jamison one more time. Doing so just messed with his mind.

He finished the rest of the concert without any more screw-ups—or at least any glaring ones. Jared had kicked his ass when they’d dueled, something the crowd had been completely aware of. But Ryder couldn’t bring himself to care. He was just too damn glad the concert was finally over.

He ripped out his earplugs as they headed off stage and Quinn was right there, in his face. “What the hell was that?” the keyboardist demanded. He hadn’t yelled, but with the level of intensity in his voice he might as well have.

“Nothing.” Ryder pushed past him, determined to get to Jamison before Jared did. But when he got to where she’d been standing just a little while before, she was gone.

Goddammit. Surely she hadn’t left without saying good-bye to the band, had she? No, she wouldn’t do that. No matter how mad she was at him, she loved the rest of the guys. She wouldn’t walk out without at least talking to them.

Then where the hell was she? He stepped further into the backstage area, looked left and right. But there was no sign of her.

“Answer him, dude.” Micah bumped him with his shoulder, hard. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

Ryder ignored him, too, as images of Max—who’d sounded a hell of a lot worse than Ryder had on stage tonight—twisted around in his head. Panic raked sharp claws down his spine and he started to walk faster.

Where the hell was she?

“Are you even going to answer us, man?” Quinn again, and this time he put a restraining hand on Ryder’s arm. “We looked like amateurs out there tonight. In front of a sold-out crowd.”

“Where’s Jamison?” he burst out.

“What do you mean?” Jared looked confused.

“She was here, listening to the concert for a while. But she disappeared.” He was frantic and trying not to show it, but from the look on his bandmates’ faces, he wasn’t doing a very good job. Damn it, if Max had gotten his hands on her…

He grabbed the roadie closest to him and yelled, “Have you seen Max?”

“Max?” The guy looked confused.

“Max Casey. From Oblivious.”

“No, dude, they’re gone. They pulled out forty-five minutes ago.”

Relief flooded him, so acute that he felt his legs go weak for just a second. He’d seen Jamison less than half an hour ago. Wherever she’d disappeared to, Max hadn’t gotten a hold of her again. Ryder hadn’t failed her a second time.

“Is that what you were so freaked out about?” Jared demanded. “I had a talk with Max a little while before we went on. I made sure he knows I’ll kill him if he touches Jamison again.”

The last of the tension left him as Jared’s words sank in. “Yeah, sorry. With that asshole on the loose …”

“No worries.” Wyatt’s words were a little slurred as he clapped Ryder on the back. “It’s all good. The crowd didn’t seem to mind.”

Ryder glanced around again. “So where’d she go, anyway?”

“Probably over to the bus,” Jared said. “Speaking of, I want to talk to you guys about something before we head back there.”

“What’s up?” Quinn asked.

Before Jared could answer, Wyatt stumbled while grabbing for a bottle of water, would have landed flat on his ass if Ryder hadn’t reached out and caught him.

The unmistakable scent of weed drew his attention. He replayed the last few minutes in his mind, realized Wyatt had been weaving a little. And now that he thought about it, he wasn’t the only one who’d had problems onstage tonight. Wyatt had screwed up a couple rhythms himself. Which wasn’t like him, except when—

“Dude, are you high?” he demanded.

“What? No! I just had a couple hits.”

Quinn and Jared both froze. Micah didn’t seem to notice, but then when did that guy ever think about anyone but himself? He was a damn good bass player, but that was about all he had going for him these days. That and the fact that he’d known Jared, Ryder, and Wyatt forever.

Pissed off and concerned all over again—this time for a very different reason—Ryder dragged Wyatt under one of the backstage lights. And felt his heart, and his hopes, plummet at what he saw. The drummer’s eyes were glassy and bloodshot, his pupils tiny little pinpoints. “Shit. You’re using again.”

“Nah, man. No way.” But after that first second, Wyatt wouldn’t look him in the eye. “It was just a little bit, to take the edge off.”

“A minute ago it was a couple hits of weed. Now it’s something to take the edge off. Which is it?”

“What are you, my mother?” Wyatt tried to duck around him, but Ryder wasn’t backing off. Not this time.

“No, I’m the dick who believed you when you got out of rehab this time and swore you were done with all this shit.” He shoved Wyatt up against the wall.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Wyatt shoved back.

“Hey, everybody calm down.” Jared, ever the peacemaker, got between them. Usually Ryder was willing to listen to him, but not this time. Jared wasn’t the one who’d walked into that fucking hotel room and found Wyatt passed out, totally OD’d on smack. He wasn’t the one who’d dragged him to the shower, wasn’t the one who’d called 911 and prayed while he waited for the ambulance to show up. And he wasn’t the one who’d sat in that damn hospital room and listened to the catalog of damage the asshole had done to himself.

There was no way Ryder was going to calm down—not when they’d gone over this ground too many fucking times already.

“Okay, all right. That’s enough.” Quinn wrestled him off of Wyatt. “Let’s take this back to the bus, okay? We don’t need an audience.”

He said the last with a meaningful glance around them and Ryder realized he was right. The roadies, and more than a few groupies, were watching the free show he was putting on. Rumors of drug addiction were the last thing Shaken Dirty wanted right now. Their songs were kicking ass, their latest album had just gone double platinum and they were gearing up to headline the biggest tour of their careers. The last thing they needed was for their label, and tour backers, to get wind of Wyatt’s fall off the wagon. He’d already been in rehab three times in the last five years. And the last time, when things had gone bad, they’d gone really bad.

Ryder loosened his grip on Wyatt’s collar, stepped back. He was still beyond pissed, but at least he’d calmed down enough to think rationally.

“Let’s get on the bus,” he said, making sure his voice carried the ring of authority. Each of the guys in Shaken Dirty did their own thing, but he also knew they listened to him. It was all part and parcel of being lead singer—and the guy who, with Jared, had first put the band together. “We’ve got to get going anyway.”

He started toward the side door, his mind whirling as he tried to figure out how he wanted to play this thing. Wyatt was going to deny, deny, deny, but he couldn’t let him. He’d tried going that route more than once—hell, Wyatt had some fucking monstrous demons and no one blamed him for needing a crutch to deal with them. But he wasn’t just drinking, wasn’t just smoking weed anymore. Heroin was heavy shit, and if they didn’t do something—and quickly—he’d finish the job he’d started eleven months before.

Quinn got to the door first, and he glanced back at them, a crazy ass grin on his face. “You guys ready for the gauntlet?”

“Damn straight,” Wyatt called while Micah just whooped a couple of times.

“Let’s go,” Jared said, sounding as tired and impatient as Ryder felt. Then again, he was the only member of the band with a fiancée—one he was determined to be faithful to.

Quinn pushed the door open and they piled outside. Despite the rope barriers and the presence of five of the biggest security guards Ryder had ever seen, it only took them about thirty seconds to be swamped. Teenage girls, grown women—even some guys—were screaming at the top of their lungs. Flashing them, pulling at them, grabbing on to whatever piece of clothing they could reach. It was crazy, but it was a small price to pay for getting to make the music he loved.

Besides, normally it was hard to mind being mauled by women who wanted nothing more than to go down on him. Hell, in the past he’d let one or two do just that. But tonight he wasn’t interested in the slightest—and he wouldn’t be even if they weren’t planning on heading out in the next few minutes. His thoughts were too full of Jamison and Wyatt for him to notice the women all but throwing themselves in his path as anything more than obstacles.

Micah, Wyatt, and Quinn weren’t having that problem. Micah had grabbed onto two blond girls, was kissing one while he caressed the other’s breasts. Wyatt was making out with a cute redhead and Quinn was signing a T-shirt while it was still being worn by a brunette with sultry eyes and an even sultrier pout.

Jared pushed past them, deflecting numerous hands and other things as he gained ground. In the last few months, he’d become an expert at working his way through a frenzied crowd without getting caught, so tonight, Ryder followed in his footsteps. He moved swiftly, twisting and turning, signing as many autograph books and body parts as he could while still keeping his forward momentum.

He’d almost made it to the first tour bus, was in fact congratulating himself for successfully running the gauntlet, when a couple of girls got their hands on him. They were small and sweet looking—and couldn’t have been more than eighteen—but they hung on like limpets, pulling at his clothes for all they were worth.

Behind him, he could hear Quinn laughing at his predicament, but the keyboardist did nothing to help him out. A few feet ahead, Jared had made it to the tour bus and thrown the door open. Though it was dark, he could see Jamison’s silhouette in the doorway.

He could tell she was watching the debacle, though her face was in shadows and he couldn’t tell if it upset or amused her. Either way, it gave him the extra impetus to get away from the clutching, groping hands. With a twist, a duck and a shimmy that would have done Mick Jagger proud, he slid out of his T-shirt, leaving it in his fans’ excited hands. The ensuing fight over the prize distracted them long enough for him to make a try for the bus.

He hit the door running, determined to get out of sight before things got really out of hand. He expected Jamison to get out of his way—she’d been around the band enough to know how crazy things could become—but she must have expected him to stop because she didn’t budge.

He checked himself at the last second, managed to avoid barreling into her full strength, but he still hit her pretty hard. They went down in a tangle of limbs.

For a second, Ryder did nothing but lay there and absorb the feel of Jamison’s lush, peach-scented body against his own. It threw him back to those long, sexy minutes he’d spent with her on the couch the night before, only this was better because he was fully alert.

Caught up in the feel of her, in the gorgeous sight and sound and smell of her, he shifted without thinking. Pressed himself against the apex of her thighs. And nearly groaned at the inviting heat of her.

Jamison gasped, a soft, broken sound that arrowed straight to his dick. He did groan then, moving so that she was above him, straddling him. He looked up at her, nearly came at the sight of her pursed lips, wide eyes, and oh-so-wild hair. He reached for her, would have run his hands through those fuck-me curls if Jared hadn’t chosen that moment to lean down and grab his sister’s hand.

He pulled her up even as he scowled at Ryder, his own eyes filled with a warning Ryder would have had to be blind to miss. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he didn’t give a shit. At that moment, if Jamison had given him any encouragement, he would have grabbed her and taken off into the night. Would have told his best friend to fuck off completely.