by Quinn, Cari
Loving Gray was the easiest—and hardest—thing she’d ever done. But today it was easier than breathing. More right than anything she’d ever known.
Finally he eased away and nudged her toward the window. Must be the door to the deck didn’t work or something. “Tell Harper I’m sorry too.”
“Okay.” Still dizzy, she started to climb over the windowsill then smiled dopily over her shoulder. “Same time tonight?”
“I’ll be waiting for you.” He leaned his forearm on the casing and drew his fingertip from her mouth to her jaw. “Think I’m going to write your song today. All that sugar on my tongue, I can taste it now…” He sang softly, making her flush and screech as she darted out the window.
His laughter followed her off the deck.
Nineteen
Then
Gray watched her sleep, tracing the tangled blue-and-black swirls of hair that flowed over her shoulder. She slept like the dead, never making a single sound. Even her lashes didn’t flutter. But her heartbeat stayed strong and true under his other hand.
If that had changed for even a second during the long night he’d spent sitting with her on the lumpy couch in the Feldmans’ basement, he would’ve hauled her off to the E.R. He wouldn’t risk her health even if his parents found out and grounded her for a century. But that steady beat never wavered, so he’d called his worried parents shortly before midnight and told them Jazz was with him. She was fine. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, ever.
Except he already had. He should’ve known she’d be curious about the Feldmans’ party, especially now that she was friends with Stacey. That girl liked to party. Hard. He didn’t know if Stacey had been the one to slip something in Jazz’s drink or if it had been some other creep—like that jerk Toby who’d been watching her dance until Gray showed up—but he recognized the signs of a girl who’d been roofied. Jazz never drank to excess. Though there was a first time for everything, his gut told him this wasn’t it.
Someone had fucked with her, which meant they’d fucked with him.
She curled into his chest. Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Gray?”
Her weak, thready voice rekindled his anger. Whoever had done this to her would wish they’d never laid eyes on those fucking drugs once he showed them the error of their ways.
“Yeah,” he gritted out, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “How’re you feeling?”
“Stupid.” Wincing, she sat up and seemed to realize that she was on his lap. “Whoa. What’s going on? Where are we?”
Just as he’d thought. She didn’t remember the end of last night. Sure, some blackout drunks experienced the same. That wasn’t Jazz. He’d never believe it.
“You’re safe,” he soothed, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Her forehead puckered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We’re in the Feldmans’ basement. There was a party. Do you remember any of that?”
“Yeah. I came here with Stacey.” She glanced around. “Where is everyone?”
“It’s the next morning. Everyone’s gone. Well, except for Beth, her boyfriend and a few friends sleeping it off upstairs.”
She rubbed her temple. “My head hurts like I got loaded.” She frowned. “I only had two beers. Why do I feel like this?”
“You’re sure? You remember that part?”
“Yes, I remember. Some parts are fuzzy. The drinking part I remember, because the first beer I drank tasted funny. I took a second one, figuring that maybe I just needed to get used to the taste. The second one was even worse.”
He smoothed his hand over her knee, avoiding her gaze while he hauled his ragged emotions back into line. He wasn’t going to go off in front of her. She already didn’t feel well and she’d had a shitty night.
A coppery flavor filled his mouth and he swallowed it away. He hoped it had only been shitty.
“Who gave the beers to you? Do you remember?”
She pursed her lips and looked off in the distance as if she was struggling to line up the details. “I don’t know his name, but it was the same guy both times.”
“I just bet it was,” he said, idly stroking her jean-clad knee to keep from punching a hole through something. Anything. “Sure it wasn’t Toby? The guy who was watching you dance?”
“I was dancing?”
“Yeah.”
Her cheeks flooded with color. “Like on a table?”
“No, just here, in front of the couch. Unless…” He refused to think about any other possibilities right now. “Was Toby the one who gave you the beers, baby?”
She blinked up at him. “You just called me baby.”
“Don’t worry about that.” That was for him to worry about later—that he’d let himself slip that much—after he made sure she was okay. “If you don’t know his name, describe him to me.”
“I don’t know him. He’s a senior. He was tall with dark hair and big shoulders.” She shrugged. “That’s all I recall. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing, really. He gave me a beer and Stacey took one. Then later on, he came downstairs to talk to Toby and he offered to get me another.”
“Did he touch you?” he asked sharply.
“No, I don’t think so. Toby tried to—” She broke off, her flush increasing. “You think he did something to my beers. That’s why they tasted weird.”
“I think it’s a good guess.” He fought to keep his tone level. “He probably put roofies in them.”
“Like…the date rape drug?”
“Yes.” He rubbed his thumb along the seam of her jeans, not looking at her. “You don’t remember anyone doing anything, do you?”
“Toby grabbed my boob but I think you mean more than that.” She shook her head rapidly. “No. I’m pretty sure nothing more than that happened.”
He swallowed, hating that he needed to press the subject but knowing he had to. For her. “There’s a bathroom right down the hall. Can you go down there and…check? Just make sure you don’t see any unusual bruises or anything out of place.”
“You think someone raped me and I don’t remember?” She shook her head again. “No. I’m sure that didn’t happen.”
“Jazz.” He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Go check as best as you can, all right? For me. If something did happen, we have to know now so we can…” Jesus, he couldn’t do this. Couldn’t say this. “…take the appropriate steps.”
Her eyes filled. “What we? If someone hurt me, I’m all alone. I’ve always been alo—”
“No.” It took everything he possessed to keep his voice firm. She was shaking now, and he wasn’t far from it himself. “You aren’t alone anymore. I’m with you, for everything. I’ll wait for you right outside the door, and no matter what, we’ll face it together. Okay?”
She closed her eyes and nodded, then she slipped off his lap and walked down the hall with her head held high.
True to his word, he followed and waited until she came out of the bathroom a few minutes later. The relief on her face caused the knots in his stomach to untwist all at once. “Everything all right?” he asked, needing to hear her say it.
“Yes. Everything’s fine. No bruises, no…irritation or sign of anything anywhere. I’m fine.” She let out a long breath as his arms came around her, hard. “God, why do guys do that? Why would someone be that desperate for sex?” She gazed up at him, chin quivering. “You wouldn’t ever do that, would you?”
“Of course not. Never.”
“You promise?”
He set his chin on her hair and tried not to let the indignation through that she even needed to ask. She was understandably shook up. “I promise.”
“Okay.” She pressed her face into his throat and exhaled shakily. “Okay.”
“No, not okay. I get that you want to go to parties and all that, but I can’t risk this happening again. My parents would never forgive me,” he added hastily as she began to argue.<
br />
“You’re not responsible for me.”
“I damn well am. If you want to go to parties, fine. Awesome. But we’ll go together.”
She rubbed her eyes, smearing her mascara. The raccoon look only made her blue eyes more pronounced. “Why would you want to go with me? I’m a lame freshman. You’re a senior.”
“You’re not lame.” He pushed lightly at her shoulder. “Sometimes I even kinda like hanging out with you. Once a month or so.”
The corner of her mouth curved. “What about when you have a girlfriend? Won’t she get pissed you’re hauling around a spare tire?”
“Didn’t I already tell you I don’t have girlfriends? Besides, friends look out for each other. Do we have a deal?”
She studied him for a long minute then nodded reluctantly before gifting him with a gorgeous smile. His Jazz’s smile. “Deal.”
Twenty
Now
Jazz called Harper as soon as she hit the freeway. “I’m sorry. Hugely, fantastically sorry—”
“Jasmine Edwards, where the fuck have you been? Meet me at the Vicenza. I got a ride over to your spa shindig when my truck went missing.”
“I know I messed up, please don’t hate me.” Jazz flipped on her signal and switched lanes before bumping up her speed. It was handy that Harper had traveled to where they were staying. It was much closer than going all the way back to the Hollywood Hills. “Gray’s sorry too. We’ll totally make it up to you, I promise. And I swear, tomorrow I’ll get the truck back to you on time. No, I’ll get it back to you early. So early you won’t even have to think about—”
“Hold it.”
“Holding.”
“You and Gray. You wanting to borrow the truck again—not happening, by the way. That must mean that you got thoroughly plowed?”
Jazz couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Mmm-hmm?” Harper screeched. “I help you set all this up, I even loan you my spare hooker boots and that’s all you have to say? What in the actual hell?”
“You loaned me your spare hooker boots weeks ago, but yes, they were much appreciated.”
Jazz steered with her knees while she put on her lipstick in the rearview mirror. She’d left her purse in the glove compartment last night and man, when she’d checked herself out this morning, she’d looked completely fucked. Fucked squared. But there was no denying the old-fashioned sex glow in her cheeks and the love shine in her eyes, so she didn’t give a crap. Gray had seen her without makeup a zillion times, and he was the only one who mattered.
“Hello? I am waiting for details. What happened?”
“We made sweet blissful love…for a really long time.” Jazz giggled and tossed her lipstick in her purse. “All right, it was more like fucking.”
“Aw, damn, tell me more. For real?”
“Oh yeah, I’m talking serious fucking. The kind that gives you a crimp in your back and makes you walk bow-legged for three days.”
Harper let out a long sigh. “I miss Deak. I’m on the way to the suite. So far he’s not picking up his cell.”
“They’re probably in the fitness room. Deak threatened to punish Simon for getting drunk last night by dragging him to the treadmill first thing this morning.”
“I’ll check there next if they aren’t in their rooms, but if I don’t find him by the time you arrive, I have to head out. I’m catering a ladies’ lunch and they’ll revolt if I arrive a minute later than planned.”
“I’ll find Deak for you, don’t worry. If it’s after you leave, I’ll make sure he sends you a dirty picture or two to tide you over.”
“Even better, send him back to me and you can have the truck again tonight. I only need him for maybe half an hour.”
“Half an hour? Girl, you slipping? Gray ate me out for longer than that. Multiple times.”
“Shut up.”
“Okay,” Jazz said cheerfully, taking the exit that led to the spa.
“You better not. Your transportation to your secret lover hangs in the balance. By the way, you sound ridiculously smug.”
“I am. I’ve never experienced anything even one-tenth as good as last night. And this morning.”
“Ah ha! That’s why you ignored my calls, you shameless hussy.”
“I really am sorry. But I was unavoidably occupied when you called.”
“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“He had his head between my legs,” Jazz began. “His fingers are amazing—guitarist thing, you know—”
“Uh yeah,” Harper replied drily. “Deak’s a bassist, remember?”
“But his tongue is even more wow,” she continued dreamily. “He has incredible reach. And skill. Did I ever tell you they called him Muffy Duffy in school? He had a rep for loving to go down on girls.” She didn’t mention that she’d seen the evidence herself that one time in his bedroom. She’d simultaneously been repelled and fascinated.
“That is both disturbing and oddly hot.”
“Uh-huh. Let me tell you, his technique is legendary. I swear, my toes haven’t uncurled yet.”
“Damn you. You better hope Deak can take an emergency dinner break to bring me a hot salami sandwich minus the bun.”
Jazz cackled and turned at the light. “I’ll deliver that message. So, um, about tonight? Pretty please? I promise I won’t be late again tomorrow.”
Harper let out a long-suffering sigh. “Never let it be said that I’m not a hopeless romantic. Or whatever the equivalent word is for assisting my friend in getting lots of head.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. I mean, we appreciate it. You aren’t too behind for your ladies’ lunch, are you?”
“No. I don’t have to be there to set-up until eleven-thirty. I have an idea how this secret sex thang works, you know. I built in a window for…well, climbing out the window.”
Jazz had to laugh. “Good thinking. I’ll see you in a few. Thanks so much for everything. Especially for giving me a push.”
“And the boots,” Harper reminded her. “I must’ve psychically known that you would need them.”
“Oh yeah, definitely the boots.”
“You’re welcome. I’m happy for you guys. Though gotta say, I’m a little shocked about Gray being so good at…well, everything. He’s super-hot, but boy, he hides a lot under that semi-sullen exterior.” Harper whistled. “Always the quiet ones.”
“He didn’t used to be quiet. You wouldn’t believe it now, but back in high school he was outgoing and had tons of friends.”
“I’m sure he had tons of girlfriends too. With that Muffy Duffy thing, he must’ve had to beat them off with your drumsticks.”
“Pretty much,” Jazz agreed. “God knows I couldn’t get anywhere near him.”
“You’re near him now, so make the most of it.”
“I am. And I will. Oh, and I don’t suppose you have any of those chocolate coconut popovers hanging around, do you?” Jazz grinned. “We might want a midnight snack later after we get done…collaborating.”
“Thin ice, Edwards. Thin. Ice.”
“Sorry. I’m almost to—”
A loud crashing noise sounded before Harper let out a long breath. “I just found Simon. He’s face-down in his bed with his earbuds in his ears. The room looks trashed.” She sighed. “Deacon, however, is nowhere in sight. The door to his room is locked.”
“Is mine intact? Check my door. I didn’t lock it.”
“Yes, yours looks fine. Guess this was party central. No wonder Deak probably holed up in the gym.”
“Yep, can’t say I’m surprised. Simon hooked up with our esthetician last night. And maybe one of the manicurists. The party sounded like it was raging pretty well when I left.” Jazz signaled and turned into the parking lot of the spa. “I’ll meet you upstairs in five.”
Five minutes later, Jazz stood next to Harper at Simon’s bedside and shook her head. He wore only a pair of black silk sleep pants and had what appeared t
o be a trail of lipstick kisses down his back. An empty—at least she hoped it was empty—champagne bottle had rolled against his side and two more were tipped over on the nightstand. The sheets were all over the floor and one of the pillows sat on top of the TV.
And the perfume. Good lord.
“That isn’t you, is it?” Jazz leaned closer to Harper and took a healthy sniff. Harper smelled like a combination of yeast, butter and lemons, her usual scent when she’d spent time in the kitchen. “Oh, thank God. I didn’t want to diss that perfume if you were the one who smelled so rank.”
“I appreciate that. I think.”
“It smells like something they’d bathe a poodle in before putting it in Paris Hilton’s purse. Ick.” Jazz kicked at the sheets. “This is what happens when I take off for a night. He needs a keeper.”
“The door to his room was unlocked. Someone could’ve robbed him blind.” Harper looked around the expensive French-influenced suite. The heavy gold drapes were closed tight against the morning sunshine. “Granted, it’s not likely in a place this swank, but it’s possible.”
Jazz pounded on Simon’s back and he jumped like a live wire. Still didn’t open his eyes, though. “Wake up, asshat.” She yanked out his earbud and shouted “good morning,” in his ear, which finally managed to make him open one sleepy eye.
“It’s the middle of the night. Why you botherin’ me?”
“It’s past nine in the morning. Get your ass up.”
“Closer to ten now,” Harper put in.
“A man’s entitled to sleep. Especially since we wrote a new song last night while you were off playing Candyland, Pixilicious, and it fucking rocks my socks off.” He produced a battered notebook from under his stomach and thrust it in their general direction.
Jazz cocked a brow at Harper and turned the notebook right side up. “‘Nailed’? That’s your contribution to the album?”
“Read it,” he said before disappearing under his pillow.
Jazz scanned the lyrics. The last stanza was particularly good.