“Your IQ might be higher,” Jase said, “but your street cred definitely sucks.”
“True that,” Beck said.
West laughed, the sound of it rusty. “Tell me you didn’t just true that me. Because if you did, I will have to deduct serious points from your street cred.”
“What do I care?” Beck spread his arms wide. “I’ve got points to spare.”
The two continued to argue good-naturedly, the tension draining once again, and Jase soaked it up, knowing there’d soon be another drought. This was something else he’d missed. This most of all. Smack-talking, enjoying the company of his friends. Smiling till it hurt. Just...being, no worries intruding.
The insults continued as they cleared their table and headed outside.
I’m kind of jealous of people who haven’t met you.
If ignorance ever goes up to $5 a barrel, I want drilling rights to your head.
A handful of bikers arrived, removing their helmets, locking up their gear. One glance, and Jase had them pegged as trouble-seekers. He’d encountered plenty of guys just like them in prison. They had a chip on their shoulder the size of a two-by-four and always had something to prove.
His assessment was soon confirmed. Just to be contrary, one of the younger guys stepped in West’s path, causing West to bump into him.
The biker snapped, “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, man?” and shoved him.
West plowed into Beck, who plowed into Jase. Of course, all the bikers laughed as they gathered around their comrade in a perfect show of unity.
West rolled his shoulders, saying, “Instead of watching where I’m going—” his tone even, perhaps even anticipatory “—why don’t I teach you how to move out of my way?”
“I vote...yes,” Beck said with a cold smile.
West and Beck were not afraid to fight anyone. Even a group of anyones. And they were damn good at it. But Jase was better. He turned “dirty” into “downright filthy.” The only problem? His opponents tended to end up in the ER—or dead.
Fear of returning to the life he’d despised screamed: can’t risk it. He was so close to finishing parole. Proving a point by knocking the bikers down a peg or two would help nothing but his pride.
Jase grabbed his friends by the arm and dragged them away, going around the bikers, who snickered. One even called, “That’s what I thought. Cowards.”
Rage joined the rest of Jase’s emotions. Despite his armor, he’d never been able to rid himself of the switch inside his mind; it was either flipped to “fight” or to “calm,” but rarely anything in between. And it was difficult to blaze from “fight” to “calm” in an instant—the two were such different states, and really, he could only flip that switch so many times before a wire shorted out and he just...went...insane.
Beck drew in a deep breath. “Sorry, man. I’m sorry.”
West paled, scrubbed a hand down his face. “I didn’t think... Jase, I’m sorry.”
He waved the apologies away. He understood the instinctive need to annihilate all challengers, to protect what was yours.
Brook Lynn’s angelic face flashed inside his mind, and he quickly blinked to clear it. She wasn’t his, and she would never be his, but even still, desire for her sank claws in his chest, cutting deep and holding on. He wanted her, and it was time to stop denying it, even though admitting it was more dangerous to his peace of mind.
“Let’s head home,” West said, and Beck nodded.
Jase’s car was parked beside theirs. He paused to say, “Do me a solid and take the long way,” before climbing inside.
He wanted a few minutes alone with Brook Lynn. What he would say to her, do with her—to her—he wasn’t sure, but he was looking forward to finding out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
OUTDID MYSELF, IF I do say so, well, myself.
Brook Lynn stacked a packet of papers she’d found haphazardly stuffed inside Jase’s underwear drawer, a blush heating her cheeks. He’d told her to clean everything, so everything she was cleaning. His room was her final chore—one she’d been putting off all day. This task was her last.
Her gaze latched on the words Department of Corrections, and her heart skipped a beat. Was he a cop? A parole officer?
The idea...intrigued her.
Would he have hunted down her uncle Kurt and forced the man to return her mom’s life-insurance money?
Super Jase to the rescue!
And oh, the sexiness of that image.
Red alert! If she wasn’t careful, she would fall deeper into like with him.
Frowning, Brook Lynn finished tidying the dresser. As she strolled through the house for a final inspection, avoiding the game room as instructed, she slapped her hands together in a job well-done. She hadn’t moved the furniture around, but she had added feminine touches to the decor, and they were—in a word—ah-mazing. A lace doily over the coffee table. Colorful, decorative pillows on the couch. Bowls of lavender potpourri on the mantel. And for her own amusement: boxes of tampons in the bathroom cabinet for any overnight guest who might be in need.
She’d talked with her sister at last and had actually received a blessing for this new gig, though not for the cash Brook Lynn would make. Oh, no. Jessie Kay planned to use her as an excuse to visit...and a direct line of communication to Jase.
My sister still wants him. And I still...don’t like it.
But what could she do about it? What could she say? Her attraction to him was wrong on every level.