She smells of something sweet, like toffee. My mouth waters. My dick throbs. She smells like home, and like pleasure, and like danger all at once.
"Go away, Gigi," I whisper. "Go back inside. That's where your friend is."
"So you saw her."
Throwing my cigarette away, I take a step toward her. "Go now." She's wearing down all of my self-control. I have to send her back inside, send her away from me. Having her around is risky on a thousand different levels.
She takes a step back. "Not unless you tell me what you saw. Did she buy drugs? Tell me, Jarett."
"And what will you do if I tell you?" I back her into the club's fire escape ladder. "What the fuck can you do about it?"
"Not me. She won't listen to me, or talk to me about this. But you could help me."
I blink, not sure I heard her well. I'm looking down into her pretty eyes, at her full, red mouth, and shake my head. "What did you say?"
"For old times' sake, Rett … I need your help."
Chapter Seven
Gigi
What am I doing? This wasn't the plan.
This isn't what I'd intended to do when I came out the back door of the bar to look for Sydney. I never expected to find Jarett here-though I'd be a liar if I said I didn't hope to catch a glimpse of him-and I had no desire to talk to him again, let alone ask him for help.
Why should I want to catch a glimpse of him after the way he behaved?
No idea. How should I know? I mean, he's hot.
And we have history. I guess somewhere deep inside I can't accept that he brushed me off like that, like I'm nothing to him.
I wanted a second shot, a second chance to see if I misunderstood him. If he's different without his friends around, like Sydney suggested.
Sydney. God. I don't know what's going on with her, and Jarett …
Jarett is way too close. He's moving toward me, and I have nowhere left to go, the fire escape digging into my back.
My breath leaves my lungs in a rush. What's going on here? He's stalking me in the half-dark, powerful muscles shifting in his thighs, his faded jeans molding to them like second skin, his jacket stretching over his wide shoulders, and his eyes …
His eyes are dark as he comes to a stop, dark and hot. His chest is a wall in front of me. He leans in, bracing a hand on the fire escape, and his gaze dips to my mouth.
Am I imagining this? Is it a dream?
I've been thinking about him, about the boy I knew, the man he is now. About how little I know about him. I can't stop myself from wanting to find out more, but a quick search online came up with nothing.
And now he's right here.
"Jarett." I put a hand on his chest, as if to stop him, but it's a mistake. Even through the jacket I can feel how hard his abs are, all ridges and hollows, like sculpted rock under my palm.
A tremor goes through him. His chest rises and falls beneath my hand.
"Gigi," he whispers, his voice rough. He's wound up so tightly, his jaw clenched, his lashes dipping low. He lifts a hand to my face, and I flinch when he cups my cheek, but that's all he does, his fingers warm on my cold skin. "Fuck, Gigi."
Now he seems to remember who I am, I think, a tiny bit of resentment trying to make its way through the confusion and excitement and desire.
But my body is arching toward him on its own, not waiting for any instructions from my conscious brain. He smells of tobacco and sexy man.
He's going to kiss me, I think.
He's going to press his powerful body to mine.
After all this time, all these years imagining how it could be, I'm going to feel it. Taste his mouth. Get crushed under his body. Feel the stubble on his face under my hands.
Know what it's like to be wanted by Jarett Lowe.
But he doesn't.
Kiss me, that is. His mouth stays inches from mine, his lips slightly parted, his breaths rasping in the cold night air, but he's still.
"You should really go now," he says. "Run away before I take a bite out of you."
"I'm not a cupcake, or a … a cookie for you to bite," I breathe, my brain sluggish. My heartbeat is beating a maddening rhythm between my legs.
"But you fucking smell like one," he growls, "and I'll just bet you taste like one, too. You just … "
"Just what?" I whisper.
He pushes off me and swallows hard. "Fuck. Nothing. Leave me the hell alone, dammit."
I blink at him, still caught in his spell. "But … "
"Go back to your druggie friend, Gigi."
That clears the cobwebs. Gathering my wits about me, I lift my chin. "No. Not until you say you'll help me."
"With what?"
I tug on the hem of my skirt. "I want you to keep an eye out for Sydney."
"No fucking way in hell."
I glance up, surprised at the vehemence in his tone. "Why not?"
"I'm not capable of taking care of more people, Gigi, okay? I just can't."
Something in his voice stops me, a crack that resonates inside me. "What other people are you taking care of?"
He kicks at a piece of trash on the filthy alley floor. "Forget it, Gigi. Look, you really shouldn't be near me, got it? Scram."
Frustrated, I glance at the bar's back exit, then back at him. His gorgeous eyes. His mouth. His bad-boy attitude. The tension radiating off his body.
All the conflicting signals are hurting my brain, but I can't let Sydney go down without a fight, and right now, Jarett seems like my only chance. He hangs around the same places she does, he knows people and things.
Always has.
"Just help me, please? She's my best friend. She's a good girl, and … I'm scared for her." Hearing myself saying the words out loud sends a shiver through me. "I'm scared she got involved in something she can't get out of."
"And what am I supposed to do? Spank her?"
"Don't be a dick." God, why did I think he'd be nice? "You're the one who told me the people she deals with are dangerous. Just keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't get hurt. And meanwhile I'll try again to talk to her, convince her to stop with this … Hey, are you listening to me?"
He huffs, maybe in laughter, digging a pack of smokes out of his back pocket and turning away from me to light up. "Me? You're the one who didn't listen to a word I said."
Come again? "What the hell, Jarett? I'm asking you for a favor."
He blows out smoke, the cold air bringing the scent of fresh tobacco over to me. "Know what? Sure. For the right price, I'll watch over your stupid little friend."
"Syd isn't stupid." I think. In any case, only I get to call her that. She's my bestie. And then … his words sink in. "What sort of price?"
He smirks, makes a show of looking me up and down. It's not hot like it was before. Now it's calculating, and cold. "What do you think?" He reaches down, adjusts himself through his jeans, and I find my gaze drawn to his package.
"I don't understand … "
He's hard, I realize. Fully hard, I can see the outline of his cock, and it should bother me, make me furious-but instead I feel hot, unable to look away.
His eyes narrow. "You suck me off," he says, "every time I help your friend. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
Cold shock runs through me. "You serious?"
"As a heart attack."
God, I can't … can't think straight. This is where I give him the finger and go away, just as he told me many times to do, right? Where I never come near him again. He's not the boy I used to know. How many times do I have to have that reality shoved into my face to believe it?
I want to slap him. Kick him in the nuts.
Undo his jeans and wrap my hand around his hard-on.
Oh God, I'm going crazy. This is stupid, and I'd do anything for Syd, but not this … Not get hot and sweaty with Jarett Lowe, undress him … Touch him, feel him, taste him …
Surely not.
"So what do you say, sweet cheeks?" he drawls, still smoking, like we're discussing the weather. "You in?"
"God," I whisper, and lick my dry lips, my heart pounding. I'm hot and bothered, and so frigging pissed I can't even. "What happened to you? Of course I'm not in. Forget I ever asked."
Fuming, I turn and march back into the bar. Something I should have done long ago, the moment, in fact, I saw him lurking there, at the end of the alley.
God, if I get my hands on Syd, I'll strangle her.
I'm so frigging mad-and the worst part is that I'm not sure if I'm more upset with her, or with myself for being so damn naïve and thinking Jarett would help me.
The boy I remember is gone.
History class is dead boring and so late in the day that my eyes keep closing. It's warm inside the amphitheater, and Professor Emery is droning on about some medieval torture device and battering rams.
I swear I'm not making that up.
Checking the time on my phone for the thousandth time, I stifle a yawn with my hand. God, the things you have to do for a degree. Who needs to know about battering rams in order to become a nutritionist? If the lecture doesn't come to an end soon, I'm going to open a vein.