Twisted(27)

“Of course, honey.” Mrs. Duffy smiled. “This is your home too.”

“That’s just it.” Jazz set down her fork to avoid attacking the succulent meat like a wild animal.

She’d gone through enough lean times in her life to have to struggle not to leap on food when it was presented to her. At the Duffys’, it was presented often. Breakfasts were luxe affairs with mounds of scrambled eggs, stacks of sausage, piles of crispy bacon and jugs of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Dinners were the same.

And Thanksgiving dinner blew both out of the water. Food seemed to weigh down the table. She’d poured a moat of gravy around her turkey and Mrs. Duffy had only laughed.

“What is it, honey?”

“You’ve made me feel like I really belong here. I’ve been shuffled so many places I didn’t think that was possible anymore. I just wanted to say thank you. For me, it really is Thanksgiving.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Brent said under his breath. When she shot a look his way, he smiled and forked up more potatoes.

Gray squeezed her hand. “You do belong, J. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

J. He so rarely called her anything but Jazz, though when he did she always got a warm burst inside her belly. “Apparently a lot, G,” she teased, lowering her head.

“Aw, y’all are so adorable together,” Brent put in just before Mrs. Duffy spoke.

“Jasmine, sweetie, we love you. You know that. Mr. Duffy and I always wanted a daughter.”

Jazz only smiled, so moved she couldn’t speak.

Brent waited until Mr. and Mrs. Duffy headed into the kitchen to get pie and coffee—and probably to sneak a kiss, since those two were so lovey-dovey it made Jazz blush—to drop his next zinger.

“Gray, would you say you feel brotherly toward our cute little Jazzy?” He tipped his head to the side. “Because I’m not so sure. I think I’d call it something else.”

“Shut up,” Gray said, voice low.

Jazz frowned and reached for her water glass. What was Brent getting at? He couldn’t mean what it sounded like. Gray didn’t have feelings for her. That was perfectly obvious to her every time he brought home some new chick.

Brent smirked. “Jazzy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t interrupt a nice meal with such talk. Guess I’m just choking on all the hormones in the air.”

Gray shot to his feet. “You want to take this outside?”

Brent giggled like a teenage girl despite the fact he was over six-feet tall and built like a linebacker. “Oh man. This is hilarious. You’re really torqued.”

“Gray, sit down,” Jazz said, still not getting what was going on. Brent was just being a jerk as usual but why was Gray getting so pissed off? “Your parents will be back in a minute.”

Gray didn’t seem to be listening to her anymore. “Her name is Jazz, not Jazzy,” he said to his brother, opening and closing his fists at his sides.

“Is that so?” Brent glanced at Jazz. “You have any problem with me calling you Jazzy?”

She bit her lip, her gaze drifting to Gray again. She didn’t want them to fight today of all days. This was a day for family, and she didn’t ever want to get between the two brothers after the Duffys had been so wonderful to her. “N-no, I guess not.”

“You heard her.” Brent dragged his chair closer and threw his arm over her shoulders. His breath smelled disgustingly of beer and chewing tobacco. “She likes whatever I give her, don’t you, Jazzy?”

Caught in the trap of his arm, she tried to smile for Gray’s benefit. “It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s not argue, okay?”

It took Mr. and Mrs. Duffy’s reappearance for Gray to drop back into his chair. His gray gaze defiant, he snatched her hand, pulling her closer to him and away from Brent.

Brent only chuckled and let her go.

That time, he let her go.





CHAPTER TWELVE

Now



The hour of reckoning was at hand. Oblivion was about to be broken up and sent to opposite camps—and one member of their ranks was nowhere in sight. As expected.

“Where the hell is Gray?” Lila demanded.

Everyone turned toward Jazz. She pursed her lips and dragged out the speech she’d rehearsed when numerous texts to Gray had gone unanswered.

“He’s very sorry, but—” she began.

“Don’t bother.” Lila set her tablet down on the long table in conference room C at Ripper Records. Framed gold albums lined the walls around them, shooting off sparks that would blind Jazz if she dared look away from Lila’s furious blue gaze. “Evidently Gray thinks you’re his happy little parrot, but perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough last night. This meeting is not optional. Either he gets his ass here now or he’s suspended from Oblivion.”