The Closer You Come (The Original Heartbreakers 1)

He was trying to take care of her and had just admitted he wanted to be with her again. Both were steps in the right direction. He had feelings for her—he must. But he wanted only one more night, which sliced into her happiness. She couldn’t settle for so little when she knew an entire future with him was possible.

Although...he’d certainly raised a red flag today—that temper of his wasn’t just tethered to the past. He would have fought a stranger for no real reason. It concerned her, especially considering what had happened in his backyard the day he’d cut his hand. But he’d calmed himself down, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t control it. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have a temper of her own.

“I want you, Jase, I do, but I have to decline your offer. I’m no longer interested in a short-term fling.” Her aching body shrieked in protest, the hussy. Have some self-control! “I’d like a commitment from you.”

His features blanked in an instant, hiding his emotions. “I see.”

No, no, he didn’t. But he would—she would make sure of it. “If you ever decide you want something meaningful, we’ll talk. Until then, I consider you a dear friend.”

“A friend,” he repeated.

“Yes.” She sipped her water, watching him through the shield of her lashes—want more for me and yourself. Please.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, peering at her as he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles leaching of color.

She let herself imagine he was thinking the things she prayed he was thinking. Don’t reach out. Don’t grab her and carry her away to do naughty things to her. Do something to change her mind.

A girl could dream.

Fight for me, Jase Hollister. Fight for us.

He released the table and settled back in his chair. “How are plans coming for Tessa’s party?” he finally asked, and once again it was business as usual, his emotions well hidden.

Disappointment proved as swift and brutal as a tidal wave—made a play, got shot down—but somehow she found the resolve to forge ahead as if she hadn’t a care. “As well as can be expected, all things considered. But I’ve been wondering. If Tessa is gone, why are you guys throwing a party for her?”

He pushed his chair to the other side of the table, creating physical distance between them again. A metaphor for the emotional distance he hoped to obtain? “We’d like to give her the celebration West promised her just before she died.”

Ohhhh. How amazingly sweet and yet utterly heartbreaking.

Brook Lynn toyed with the edge of the dessert box. “How did you, West and Beck meet her?” The few times she’d asked about his past, Jase had given her the bare minimum or shut her down completely. But they were closer now. Had she breached at least one of his many walls?

He looked past her, saying, “We were in foster care. Me, West and Beck. We ended up in the same house, and she lived down the street.”

“How long were you in foster care?” Brook Lynn had known about his time in the system, and more and more she hated the thought of him being shuffled from one home to another, losing everything he’d managed to build: friendships, family, even clothes and toys.

Tone deadened, he said, “From the age of six to the day of my sixteenth birthday, when I returned to the house I’d been staying at and found my stuff packed in a garbage bag, waiting on the porch. I was supposed to go to a new home but got myself emancipated and found a place with West and Beck.”

Oh...hell. She reached out, wrapped her fingers around his.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” he snapped, jerking back to sever contact.

Proceed with caution. “There’s a difference between pity and sympathy,” she said softly.

“You’re right.” The fire in his eyes gradually cooled. He drew in a deep breath, slowly released it then reached out and took her hand. “A lot of kids had it worse. At least I had food, shelter.”

“But what of love?” Brook Lynn had enjoyed her parents’ love, not to mention Jessie Kay’s love, and both had been necessary for her survival.

“You have a soft, tender heart,” Jase grumbled.

“Yes, but I also have a mean streak,” she reminded him.

His beautiful mouth curved into a smile, making her heart skip a beat. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll never forget. But I should probably ask around town, find out what else you’ve done while worked into a temper.”

“Don’t you dare!” They’d tell him about the time she and Jessie Kay fell into a vat of strawberry jam—and kept fighting. The time they’d both stood at the top of the courthouse and shouted humiliating facts about each other.

Jessie Kay sometimes laughs so hard, she farts.

Brook Lynn thought a vibrator was Harry Potter’s magic wand.

“Oh, honey. You shouldn’t ever dare me like that. Now I have to know what else you’ve done.”

She leaned toward him, saying, “Why aren’t you defending my sweetness? It wasn’t too long ago that you praised me for it.” In bed. Did he remember?

His gaze dipped to her lips and heated. Oh, yes. He remembered. “You are sweet, that’s for sure.”

Shivers drifted through her, and she had to force herself to lean as far away from him as she could get without actually running out of the store. Eye on the prize.

“The mean streak really only shows up when I’m dealing with Jessie Kay,” she said, getting them back on track, “so I guess you’re safe enough.”