“Really?”
“Yeah.” His gaze shifts from the road to me. “Must have listened to a dozen playlists.”
“Yeah?”
He nods. “Drove Chase out of his mind playing it at work.”
“He’s not a fan?”
He shakes his head. “You ever notice his bangs?”
“What about them?”
“Emo bangs.”
I laugh. “So?”
“He’s got a hard-on for that shit. Something about the way the guys despise their exes. And their ex friends. It speaks to him.”
“And his inability to forgive?”
“Yeah. And he likes the sound too.” Wes’s nose scrunches in distaste. “It’s not terrible. Emma plays it all the time at work.”
Jealousy flares in my chest. “Emma?”
“Yeah. Hunter’s girlfriend. She’s manager at Inked Hearts.”
“Oh.”
“You jealous, angel?”
“No.” I swallow hard.
“I think so.”
“I just…”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“I don’t like the thought of you caring about someone else.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.” The song switches to the next. It’s something I don’t recognize. The beat skips around. Up. Down. Down. Way down. Up.
“This is jazz.”
“A little.” There. The rhythm repeats. It’s the same erratic nonsense, but it’s repeating erratic nonsense. Which isn’t that bad.
There’s something compelling about it.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of jazz. Of a dark club, strong gin, a handsome guy with a massive instrument between his legs—
Uh, I mean.
Uh…
Music.
I wish I loved jazz. Honestly, I do. I wish I was smart and knowledgeable enough to appreciate it.
But it grates on me in thirty seconds flat.
I always try to guess where it’s going.
And when I can’t…
I hate it.
“This is good.” Wes points to the stereo as the saxophonist launches into a solo.
And, well, yeah, I can’t really argue.
The song is jazz.
And this trip, this entire relationship, is jazz.
It was supposed to be a pop song. Something with a clear ending. That would make me smile then disappear into the ether.
Now…
I have no idea where this is going.
His gaze flits to me. His lips curl into a soft smile.
“What?” I cross my legs again.
“Nothing.”
“You’re giving me a look.”
“I like that you’re jealous.”
“Yeah?” I bite my lip. I like it too. And I hate it. I’m invested. I don’t want to be invested. Not if this is ending in two weeks.
“Yeah. Never liked it before. Always pissed me off. Like women didn’t get our arrangement. But I don’t know… It’s kinda sweet.”
“What if I show up at work threatening to kill her?”
“Would you?” he asks.
“No.” I try to imagine the scene playing out. What if there was another woman who had Wes’s heart? What if that was the reason for his inability to commit?
My stomach churns.
My heart aches.
I hate her.
She doesn’t exist, and I already hate her.
Which isn’t healthy.
At all.
But here we are.
“Angel?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“You got murder in your veins?”
“I don’t think so.” What would I do? Nothing, probably. That’s been my entire life. I’m the good girl. The one who follows the rules and sticks to the plan.
It’s worked well enough so far. I’m on track for a hell of a future. For all the success in the world.
The plan is good.
Why step away from the plan?
We have a plan here.
I need to stick to the plan.
The easy pop song.
Not the… fuck, I’m bad at metaphors.
“The heart wants what it wants,” I say. “If you want to be with someone else, I won’t be able to change your mind.”
“Mature take.”
“It’s a hypothetical.”
“Still.” His eyes flit to me for a split second then they’re on the road.
“What if I was into another guy?”
“I’d hit him.”
“What’s that solve?” I ask.
“Nothing. But it feels good.”
“Don’t you need your hands?”
He raises a brow. “Do I?”
My cheeks flush. “For work.”
“Yeah, but you’re worth it.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Quinn
“You’ve got this, angel.” Wes presses his palms into my ass as he hoists me to the top of the fence.
I grab onto the metal railing with both hands. Swing one leg over. Then the other.
I drop down.
He jumps on top of the fence in two moves. Drops to the ground in one. Smiles as he wipes the dust from his tank top.
He looks good today.
He looks good every day.
But he looks especially good today.
Wes holds out his hand, offering it to me.
I take it and follow him up the beaten path.
This time of year, everything in the Hollywood Hills is dry and dusty. Taupe and grey-green brush blend into the sand. They surround the multi-million-dollar mansions in something halfway between grey and beige.
It’s beautiful. Big glass houses looking out on miles and miles of earth.
The signs of money.
And the dirt everything returns to.
Wes squeezes my hand. “I gotta tell you something, Quinn.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I hate the sunglasses.”
“Oh?”
“They ruin something beautiful.” He turns back to me with a wicked smile. One that screams I’m going to take you home and fuck you senseless.
My body responds with gusto. We haven’t done that. We’ve barely moved toward it. I get that he’s trying to ease me into this whole sex thing, but I’m tired of waiting. I want his body against mine. I want him inside me. I want…