“A slight breeze would get you hot,” I counter.
“Why you gotta be like that, baby? You broke up with me, remember? And from what I recall, it didn’t take much to get you going either.” He emphasizes his statement with a wink.
“Okay, man, you’ve made your point,” Malakai says. “Quit making the woman uncomfortable, or take your ass outside.”
Shawn ducks his head to meet my eyes. "C'mon, Jasmine. You know I'm playin'. Look, I'm sorry, a'ight? Is that what you want to hear? We were friends once, you know. No reason we can't be that way again." He sticks out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. I try not to smile because he looks so ridiculous, but I fail. "C'mon, baby. Will you please be my friend? When you’re done here, we can grab some of those quesadillas you love from Keith’s food truck. My treat—think of it as a peace offering.”
Damn him. He knows I can’t resist a quesadilla from Keith’s. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. We were friends for a long time before we started sleeping together. Shawn knew me better than almost anyone. It was always so easy to be around him. I guess I don’t see the harm in hanging out for a little while, especially with Ainsley and Kai tagging along.
I look to Ainsley, and she nods in approval. "Fine. But I want a quesadilla and some tacos.”
Shawn’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “Deal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
KINGSTON
It’s driving me crazy Jazz and Ainsley are in Southern LA right now. I was tempted to drive down there, but knowing Jazz, she’d have my balls, and it’d do more harm than good. She’s just starting to let me back in, and I can’t fuck that up. I have to keep reminding myself Jazz knows that area better than I can ever hope to, and she’d never put my sister in danger.
But still, why did they go all the way down there for a tattoo? And when did Jazz even decide to get one in the first place? I can’t say the thought of her with some ink isn’t hot, but I don’t like being caught off guard like this. Not with everything so up in the air.
Also, who the fuck are those guys? I know one of them is the artist because he held a tattoo gun in the first picture Ainsley posted. But why are all four of them hanging out at a fucking taco truck together? I don't like the way the second guy looks at Jazz. His eyes are glued to her in every single shot like he can't possibly force himself to look away. I pull up Ainsley's latest post, and sure enough, the fuck nugget is still undressing Jazz with his eyes. Aw, hell. I know that look. That dick knows what’s under her clothing, no doubt. My sister actually tagged both guys in this one, so I do the only thing someone in my situation would
do: I stalk that fucker’s page.
Two seconds into scanning Shawn Cooper’s photos, I really wish I hadn’t. He’s been posting his own pics tonight, but his shots only include him and Jazz. The first caption said, “Eating my favorite tacos with my favorite girl.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, Jazz is snuggled into his side with a huge smile on her face. I don’t have to go too far into this asshole’s feed to find a lot more pictures of the two of them from several months back. In well over half of them, that motherfucker has his lips on Jazz, or his limbs are wrapped around her like a goddamn octopus. It's obvious these two have history, and I don't like it one bit. Even though she's not big on social media, I check Jazz's page while I'm at it, but there haven't been any recent posts.
I knew Jazz wasn’t a virgin before we met, but knowing she fucked someone else and seeing who she fucked are two entirely different things. Yes, I'm hypocritical considering Jazz has to live with a girl I screwed countless times and said girl likes to rub it in, but that fact does fuck-all for my rage right now. I'm clenching my phone so tightly, I'm honestly surprised it hasn't cracked in half. It's bad enough I have to deal with the Bentley situation, but now I have to worry about an overly friendly ex?
This jealousy crap is all so new to me, I don’t know what to do with it. I swear to Christ, my sister chronicled their entire night on her Instagram page just to fuck with me. She knows damn well I’d be driving myself crazy.
I fist my hair as I pace back and forth. “Fuck!”
My phone starts buzzing, so I look down and see my P.I. is calling.
“What?”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No. What’s up, John?”
“Following Madeline Callahan has finally produced something,” he says.
I take a seat on the couch, adjusting the phone against my ear. “What’d you get?”
“She’s been to the same location in the financial district several times over the last few weeks, but it’s a condo building, so I had no way of knowing who she was visiting. On average, she stays for one or two hours before leaving and driving straight home.”
“Okay...and?”
"And...I managed to slip past the doorman the other day, and Madeline and I happened to share an elevator up to the twentieth floor. She went left while I went right, but I hung back long enough to see which door she ducked into. Take a guess who's on the deed for unit twenty-ten."
“I have no fucking clue, John. Just tell me.”
I can practically hear his smile over the phone line. “It’s owned by none other than Davenport Boating Incorporated.”
“Is this building on Wilshire?”
“It sure is,” he confirms.