When Light Leads to You

by C. R. Ellis

  I dropped my purse as I whipped around to face him. His workout shorts hung annoyingly well on his hips, and the NYPD shirt he wore had the sleeves cut off, putting his tanned, rock-solid arms on display. It would’ve been so much easier to pretend last night hadn’t happened if he looked less like God’s gift to women. His lips twitched, and he pulled his wayfarer sunglasses off, drawing my attention to his hands.

  A small piece of paper was gripped in his right hand. My grocery list.

  Shit. What are the odds he didn’t read it?

  I might have let my annoyance with the way last night ended influence how I worded a few important things. Dean-free thoughts potion meant wine. Obviously. Anti-slutbag remedy meant more wine. All other DP-induced stress relief meant hard liquor.

  I knelt and cursed Dean under my breath as I picked up my fallen gum packet, wallet, and keys. He walked over to me, still holding my list hostage in his hand.

  “Nope, I was just looking for my sunglasses.” No way in hell I was going to admit to owning that list.

  He pointedly stared at my head, where my sunglasses sat. Motherfucker. I fought the urge to subtly remove them from my head as I stood up to face him.

  “I see. So, it’s probably just a coincidence that this paper has the initials ‘JW,’ then, huh?” His tone was light and almost teasing, but his eyes were laser sharp and focused on me.

  I ripped the list free from his hand and rolled my eyes. “Shouldn’t you be holed up somewhere, doing God knows what with your little friend from last night?”

  “Oh, now she’s my friend? You sure you don’t mean slutbag?” he asked, crossing his arms and glowering down at me. “Why do you even care what she is to me, Jasmine?”

  I purposefully ignored his question. “Friend, hooker, crazy slutbag, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Clearly you have history with her.”

  Dean’s lips formed a sardonic smile that instantly sent a shot of uneasiness to my stomach. I couldn’t let myself get caught up in his dimples; the smile was menacing, a warning that his next words would be anything but friendly.

  “You’re right. I met her when I went out with some friends the week after I moved back. I went home with her and fucked her. Twice. It was a great night. Is that what you wanted to hear, Jasmine?” he asked, stepping forward to invade my personal space. His eyes never left mine as he spoke, sending a shiver of anxiety down my spine.

  I forced myself to have no outward reaction to his words. I wasn’t even sure why a pang of something that I refused to believe was jealousy shot through my body—it had to have just been annoyance about him getting all up in my business. And yet, the feeling hung around like the last patron at a bar that refuses to leave.

  Don’t be stupid, Jasmine.

  “You know what, Dean?” I laughed sarcastically. I met his eyes and didn’t show how much his physical proximity was affecting me. “Fuck whomever you want; I couldn’t care less. But next time you want to call me a slut for what you perceive as sleeping with ‘God knows how many men,’ why don’t you take a good look at your own bedroom standards and habits. Hypocrisy isn’t a good look on you.”

  “Says the woman who has a boyfriend she hardly cares about. Is he even here?” Dean asked suspiciously, lifting his eyes to scan the area around us.

  “Shockingly enough, I am capable of going places without him.” I almost slipped and said going to the grocery store, but caught myself at the last second. “And what-the-fuck-ever, I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation. I don’t give a shit what you think.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight here; your grocery list says otherwise. That is proof you care,” he said, trying to snatch the list back from my hands. Thankfully I was faster and moved my hand milliseconds before he could get to it.

  “The only thing it proves is being around you makes alcohol poisoning sound like a fucking day at the spa,” I spat angrily, feeling heat flood my cheeks. “And you’re wrong about Paul. I do care about him. He’s sweet and kind. Dependable. All the things a boyfriend should be.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Dean said, taking a step toward me to close the gap between our bodies. Feeling his chest brush mine was torture.

  For a moment we were both silent, our breaths mingling between us.

  Dean finally broke the silence and would’ve broken my heart along with it had I not already gotten rid of that pesky thing. His green eyes turned dark and heated, like he just realized he was talking to me. “But you’re forgetting that I fucking know you. I can see past your bullshit and know that your relationship with Paul has had an expiration date from the moment it started. Hell, any relationship you have has one, Jasmine. That’s how you operate, after all; you keep one eye on the fucking exit sign from the very beginning. I’d be willing to bet there isn’t a man you’ve dated or screwed who wouldn’t agree with me.”

  What the fuck?

  Suddenly I couldn’t stand to be this close to him, to look at him. The urge to slap him had never been stronger. He had no right to say those things, to even think those things.

  Maybe it was time he found out why I operated that way. My lips parted—ready to inflict hurt with my words. But nothing came out of my mouth. Apparently I wasn’t as ready to open that particular door into our past as I’d thought. Instead, I side-stepped his entangling gaze to rip open my car door without another word.

  I knew the glimpses of the vulnerable, sincere Dean I’d seen yesterday were an illusion. I’d let myself blur the lines between the two versions of Dean I’d come to know—the version that was cold and callous and the version that had shown he wasn’t just a heartless asshole. For the sake of my sanity, I needed to accept that, where I was concerned, he only had room to feel anger and regret. There might’ve been times I questioned it, but the complete and utter contempt in his eyes told me whatever I’d once thought he felt for me was long gone.

  I got to the Forget Me Knot office Monday morning just in time to hear Jade telling our assistant, Elliot, about Saturday night. There was a large meeting area with white boards on one wall and a gallery wall of photos from previous weddings we’d planned on the opposite side. I usually made a beeline for the coffee maker in our kitchen area as soon as I got to work, but I opted to head straight to my office today.

  Most of my day was full of vendor appointments in the morning and client meetings in the afternoon. Hearing Jade talk about Saturday reminded me that I’d have to fill her in on everything at some point. Keeping this secret from her was killing me. In the past, I’d justified leaving her in the dark about Dean by telling myself I didn’t want her to feel like she’d have to pick sides or feel like she’s in the middle of our drama. That wasn’t going to fly for much longer. And after Sunday’s encounter, I wasn’t sure I could tell her things without ending it with, “and I fucking hate your brother now.”

  Realizing on Sunday that I’d never be fully invested in a relationship with Paul made me also accept the fact I couldn’t keep going through the motions. It wasn’t fair to him in the long run. I’d honestly believed a relationship with him was what I wanted, what I needed. In reality, I needed to become a nun and never worry about guy problems again. Nuns are allowed to use vibrators, right?

  By Wednesday I knew what I had to do.

  I wasn’t nervous before getting there, but unease settled in my gut as I pulled up to the sandwich shop. I walked in and made my way to the back and sat at a booth to wait for Paul. I tried to calm my nerves by listening to the soft jazz music playing over the speakers and studying the abstract artwork on the walls.

  Luckily, Paul walked in only minutes after my arrival. He wasn’t in his typical suit and tie work clothes, but he looked just as good in his jeans and light blue Henley.

  He smiled and walked toward me. God, I’m such a bitch. I hated that I was about to hurt him, but I couldn’t string him along any longer.

  “Hey, you,” he said, placing a sweet kiss on my cheek. “Did you already order?”

 
“No, not yet. How was your trip?”

  He hesitated, like he was contemplating his response. “It was…good. Let’s order, then I’ll tell you more about it.”

  I could tell I wasn’t the only one with something to say.

  “Paul, wait. Let’s talk first.”

  He sunk back into the booth, his hazel eyes studying me.

  “I can’t do this,” I blurted. “I told you before we got serious that I’m not good at relationships. It was the truth. I can’t be the kind of girlfriend you deserve,” I added, hating that he looked a little crushed. I’d broken up with guys in the past, but none of the previous breakups made me feel this shitty.

  He didn’t respond right away, so naturally, I kept talking. “I really wanted to make this work. I think you’re a fantastic person, which is why I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He sighed, and ran his hands through his curly hair. “Well, this makes my decision a lot easier.”

  I eyed him curiously, unsure if I had the right to ask what he meant. Silence hung between us as I debated whether to ask or just let it go.

  “I was offered a new position within the firm at the Los Angeles office. Until now, I was on the fence about it. I guess, in a way, I should thank you?”

  “Paul, that’s great. Congratulations.” I didn’t know the protocol for how excited I should be for a literallyrightthisinstant ex-boyfriend. “L.A. will be lucky to have you.”

  “Honestly, I can’t say I’m completely surprised you’re breaking up with me. Is it…because of Dean?”

  “What? No,” I insisted adamantly. “I told you, I’m just not good at relationships.”

  His hands went up. “Okay. I only ask because it’s obvious that you two have a history. Look, don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed being with you and all, but it was pretty clear your head has been somewhere else lately. You may not have intended to, but you put up so many walls, it would take a demolition crew to get close to you.”

  Damn. Apparently, my years of keeping carefully constructed walls in tact meant I couldn’t just let people in at will. “I’m sorry, Paul.”

  “It’s okay, Jas. Just try not to keep everyone out. You deserve to be happy,” he added, squeezing my hand.

  “I have to go,” I insisted as I stood and bolted for the door. I knew going into this that I’d feel bad about breaking up with Paul, but I hadn’t expected to be the one left feeling more broken than before.

  “Jasmine, I’m sorry,” Paul called after me. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  What the hell just happened? How had things shifted so dramatically that he was the one apologizing to me?

  After an hour of aimless driving, I found myself parked outside a bar near my apartment building. The bar, aptly named Rae of Light, was small inside, but had a foosball table and a dart board in one corner, with the bulk of the seating out back in a garden, the outskirts of Austin as its backdrop. Jade and I had been frequent customers over the years, mostly out of convenience, but they also had a great happy hour and stiff drinks that were perfect after days like today.

  Inevitably, the conversation with Paul replayed in my head. I honestly believed that breaking up with him had everything to do with realizing I wasn’t invested enough in the relationship, and nothing to do with Dean.

  Yeah, right.

  The longer I sat at the bar, drinking 7 and 7s like they were water, the more pissed off I became at Dean. Who does he think he is?

  Three drinks in I realized I wanted to take my anger out on him instead of letting it consume me. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed dial and held the phone to my ear.

  Of course the asshole didn’t answer his phone. “Dean,” I hissed, hoping he wouldn’t be able to detect the alcohol-induced haze taking over my brain. An awkward silence hung in the air for several torturous seconds. “I just wanted to let you know how much I haaate that you were right. Also, I kind of hate you. I hate that your apartment is so close to mine. I hate that I even care where you live. It shouldn’t matter. And what gives you the right to be the one harboring resentment toward me? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Maybe we should talk, so I can make you see you’re wrong.”

  Fuck.

  There should be an app to detect when you’re drunk and shouldn’t be allowed to call or text certain people. Like parents. Or exes. Or ex…non-boyfriends/friends/whatever the fuck Dean and I are.

  “Dean” flashed across the screen of my phone two minutes later. I hadn’t considered what would happen if he called back. Good thinking, Jas. Call the guy, leave a vague voicemail, and then don’t answer when he calls back.

  Chapter 10

  Dean

  I thought moving back from NYC meant I’d get away from the cold. Until I was met by the iciest stare coming from the most frustrating person on the planet.

  Dean Preston, locking eyes with one infuriated Jasmine Winters

  Few things are more annoying than phone tag. Although, in this case, I was fairly certain it wasn’t so much phone tag as it was Jasmine dodging my calls. I’d replayed Sunday night a thousand times in my mind and each time I couldn’t quite justify the things I’d said.

  I just couldn’t seem to stop myself when Jasmine was around. I either wanted to curse her or drag her off to the nearest bed so we could work out all our issues between the sheets. Obviously, I knew better than to act on the Neanderthal, get-in-her-pants option. Something told me she’d kill me for even imagining that scene.

  What surprised me more than the actual voicemail was the unmistakable edge to her voice. Something was definitely off if she was wasted on a Wednesday afternoon.

  I left the office and called her back from the car.

  “Jasmine. Where are you? Fucking call me back,” I barked after the beep when her voicemail greeting sounded in my ear for the third time.

  When I drove by Rae of Light and saw her car in the parking lot, I pulled in and parked a few spots away. I’d been to the bar frequently over the last several months, and had met the owner, Joe, a few times.

  Somehow my brain had programmed itself to instantly locate Jasmine whenever we’re in the same space. I told myself it was because of years of training as a cop, but a part of me knew it had little to do with my professional skills and a lot to do with the inexplicable pull between us.

  It took all of four seconds for me to spot her in the corner, hanging out with a couple of random guys. I walked over to the bar and sat where I could watch her play an increasingly sloppy game of darts.

  “What’ll it be, Dean?” Joe asked, pulling my attention away from Jasmine. He followed my line of sight and smiled knowingly.

  “I’ll take a Dos on tap.”

  Joe nodded and pulled a glass out from under the bar. “Looks like you’ll have to get in line for her,” he said, gesturing in Jasmine’s direction.

  Something tells me she’d let me jump the line if she saw me, I mumbled to myself. And not because she was happy to see me.

  I shook my head. “Nah, it’s not like that. She’s . . .” I paused to sip my beer and decide how to finish that sentence. “A friend,” I finally settled on. The word friend rolled off my tongue easily enough. We were friends, right? More or less. “How much has she had to drink?”

  “Enough to make me take her keys after the last one.”

  What the hell possessed her to get so carried away?

  To their blatant disappointment, Jasmine finally peeled herself away from the two guys attempting to convince her to play another game of darts. She took a seat at the far end of the bar. I stood and slowly made my way over, studying her to try and get some kind of clue about her mood. In a matter of seconds, she’d gone from laughing and smiling with random guys to sitting comfortably alone, apparently deep in thought. I was tempted to sit back and watch her a little longer, but I couldn’t seem to stop my feet from carrying me closer to her.

  “You wanna talk? Let’s talk,” I said, leaning in close and taking the seat to her left.


  She yelped and nearly jumped out of her chair. “JESUS CHRIST, DEAN! You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”

  “And you can’t just leave a voicemail like that and then not answer your fucking phone, Jasmine,” I bit out, already exasperated with her.

  “That was a mistake. Why are you here? I mean, seriously. It’s pretty fucking clear how we feel about each other.”

  “How exactly do we feel about each other?” I asked, curious about her alcohol-induced response. After Sunday, I didn’t blame her for hating me, but I could honestly say I didn’t hate her. As much as I’d tried over the years, I just couldn’t hold on to the feeling.

  “Well, since you shattered our bubble of indifference at Jade and Emmett’s party, we’re incapable of having normal conversations. At the very least, there’s a pretty mutual feeling of animosity between us. It’s zero to a thousand miles per hour with us, Dean. There’s no in-between.” She sighed and shook her head. “Look, it’s been a really shitty day, and I’m not in the mood to deal with the emotional whiplash our conversations give me.”

  “Are you going to elaborate on that or am I going to have to start guessing about what’s making your day shitty?” I asked.

  “I’d rather just keep drinking until the day’s over.”

  “What a mature, well thought out plan, Jas. You’re really nailing this whole ‘adulting’ thing.”

  Her head whipped around to give me a heated look. Probably not the best idea to piss off a drunk Jasmine, but I was losing my grip of control on the situation. I was seconds away from dragging her out of the bar and finally getting some answers from her. Drunk or not, she wasn’t getting off the hook.

  An unnerving laugh escaped her lips. “You would know all about making bad decisions, Dean.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “What the fuck does that mean?”