My Darling Jane: Chapter 9

The cat clock on the wall in the living room strikes ten as I take a sip of my wine. I’m on my second glass. Dressed in my faded unicorn pajama shorts and a tank top, I’m settled in for the night when I’m startled by a knock at the door. With Andrew out with his buddies and Londyn asleep, I approach the door cautiously.

Looking through the peephole, I can’t help but grunt. There stands Jasper, cloaked in a suit so fine I want to stroke it. His broad shoulders are perfectly framed by the cut, and his hair is pulled up into a man bun.

He presses the bell again, his voice muffled but insistent through the door. “Jane, I know you’re there. I texted Andrew, and he said you’re here. Open up.”

Ugh. I dash to the bathroom and pull my hair up into a ponytail, swipe gloss on my lips, and run back to the hallway. I swing the door open and fix him with a stern look. “What in the world are you doing here so late?”

He breezes past me without an invitation, a hint of whiskey lingering in his wake. He stops for a moment and takes the place in with a sweeping glance, then heads straight to the kitchen as I follow. “Nice place. We need to talk. Abigail was a no-go.”

My thoughts leap to the most obvious scenario. “Let me guess, she turned you down?”

Bending down with his back to me, he rummages through my fridge. “Oh, she did not turn me down. She wanted the sex. She wanted it so bad. She wanted to know how big I was. My penis.”

And there it is.

I cross my arms, irritation rising. “So, you jumped into bed with her. Typical.”

He retrieves last night’s spaghetti and turns to face me, expression earnest. “She wanted to fuck me, but we were not a match.”

He takes his jacket off and slings it over a chair, then grabs a plate from the cupboard, his movements fluid and practiced. He pops the lid off the container and dumps the spaghetti onto the plate.

My arms remain crossed, but my curiosity is piqued.

He pauses, putting the spaghetti into the microwave. “Once she figured out I wasn’t what she wanted, she didn’t even want to have dinner. She just wanted me. In her vagina. Apparently, she keeps an apartment near her office.” The microwave hums to life, and he leans against the counter, facing me.

His eyes meet mine. “It’s not flattering being seen as just a way to get off, you know?”

I smirk. “Welcome to the club, Jasper. Women have been dealing with that for ages.”

The microwave beeps, and he takes out the steaming plate. “I wouldn’t understand how it is for women, but it goes both ways, let me assure you.” He trails off, forking a mouthful of spaghetti. “She made me drink a martini. I hate those. And I was so dang . . .” He stops to chew.

“Hungry? So you came to eat my leftovers?”

He nods, his mouth full. “I came to give you a hard time for picking her. The spaghetti is a bonus.” Carrying a heaping plate of spaghetti, he tosses me a charming grin as he strides toward the living room. I trail behind him, irritation brewing.

He moves some pillows round, then plops down on the couch, making himself at home. “I felt like I was in a boardroom when I was talking to her, and get this, if we were together and I got sick, she’d dump me.”

I can see that with Abigail. “Everyone has different needs from a partner,” I remind him. “We aren’t all cookie cutters of each other.”

“I get it. We’re all unique and have different needs in a relationship. It’s just her way is not my way.”

I nod. Got it.

“Your spaghetti’s not half bad,” he comments, twirling a forkful and taking a big bite. “I didn’t see any garlic bread. You got any?”

“Not your personal chef, Jasper.”

“Please? Pretty please? I’ll give you a back massage if you have bread.”

“No thanks,” I say as I huff at him and march back to the kitchen. I pull the leftover french bread out of the cupboard and microwave it and bring it back to him.

His eyes glow as he stares at it, then takes a giant bite and moans. “Oh, Jesus, angel. I think I love you. I’d definitely have sex with you just for this bread alone.”

I thump him on the forehead.

“Ouch. What was that for?” he mumbles as he chews.

“For intruding and eating my food. For offering sex. I’m not attracted to you. My world does not revolve around you. I’m not on call for your personal venting.”

“You have my two grand.”

“Let me write you a check, and let’s call this quits. Get off my couch and get out.”

“Ahhhh, wait a minute,” he says as he holds up a hand. “I’m sorry for barging in. I just needed to talk, okay? And I am your most famous client . . .” He grins, continuing, “And most difficult, it seems. But hey, you’re getting a sneak peek into the glamorous life.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those being-famous-is-so-hard types.”

“Not at all. But you don’t meet a guy like me every day. I had two girls at the place we went to asking me for pics with them. Fine, it’s fine, I get it all the time, but admit it, I’m good for your business.”

“But are you worth the headache?”

He winks at me. “I’m growing on you.”

“Like a fungus.”

“Hey, some fungi are essential,” he retorts, tucking the last piece of bread into his mouth.

I sit down opposite him and poke him in the shoulder. “So, Mr. Fungus, what’s your next move in the dating game? I suggest we have that one-on-one interview.” He winces. “I really shouldn’t have let you go on the date with Abigail without it. It’s my fault.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Just find me someone less corporate and more real.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Real? Like someone who doesn’t live in the spotlight?”

He nods. “Exactly. Someone who understands life isn’t just touchdowns and red carpets. Someone who gets that sometimes, you just want to chill on a couch, eat spaghetti, and have a normal conversation.” Jasper grins, setting the empty plate down. “Ordinary can be extraordinary. You of all people should know that.”

My eyes narrow. “So I’m ordinary.”

A teasing look grows on his face. “Never, angel. Never. Especially in that cupid getup. You looked good enough to eat.”

We lock eyes for a moment, something unspoken buzzing in the air. Tingles break out over my skin, and I will them to go away. I break the gaze, crossing my arms. “Well, time for you to leave. I have ordinary things to do, like clean up your mess.”

“Ah, wait, now, I can’t just eat and leave. Let’s chat. I need some Jane therapy. Let’s do the interview now.”

“It’s late, Jasper. I told you to come by the bookstore.”

He gestures to the TV, where my K-drama flickers. “You’re up watching television, the night’s still young. Plus, the twins are sleeping over at a friend’s house, and honestly, I don’t feel like heading back to an empty apartment.” He frowns. “I’m bored out of my mind. I wish the season would start already.”

“Boredom’s a frequent visitor, huh?”

He nods, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “All my friends are cozied up with their partners. Tuck and Francesca and Graham and Emmy. Most of the guys on the offense are married. I feel strange in my singlehood. It’s just, I’m just . . .”

“Lonely?”

He sighs as his shoulders slump. “Yeah. I guess. I grew up with four amazing sisters, then I was the popular guy in high school and college. On the field, I’m surrounded by teammates and fans. Off the field, it’s like this silence. Sure, I have fans who want to talk to me, but something is just missing.” He pauses. “Wow. You are like therapy. I didn’t realize I even felt that way.”

“Loneliness doesn’t discriminate based on popularity. It just means you’re human,” I say softly. “Is what you’re missing a relationship with a woman?” I reach out and touch his shoulder, and his eyes follow my hand. He looks back at me, and I quickly move it back. I forget how easy he is to touch because he’s so open.

I clear my throat. “Perhaps it’s about finding yourself first.”

“Do you read tarot cards too? I love those.”

I glare at him. “I have tarot cards that Babs gave me for my birthday, but they’re just for fun. I’m a good people reader. It comes from watching people in the store. I was born this way, like Gran and Emmy, and it helps me be a good matchmaker.” I pause. “If I may offer some advice . . .”

He nods. “Uh-huh.”

“If your close friends are married, make a new friend, someone unexpected. Like a surprise.”

“I literally just said the same thing to Abigail. Well, I told her that surprises can be good.” He cocks his head as he studies me. “Still, name a surprise that’s worked out well for you.”

“Londyn.”

His expression softens. “Okay, fine. That’s one.”

“How about Emmy and Graham? She surprised him when she stole his car,” I say as I laugh.

He chuckles. “True. If everything were predictable, it would be pretty boring.”

I nod. “Exactly. Sometimes it’s the unexpected moments that lead us to where we’re meant to be. It’s about being open. You never know what opportunities might come your way. Just think of them as life’s little plot twists.”

“Oops.”

“What?”

“I might have missed out on a potential friend. There’s a rookie quarterback on the team, but he’s such a prick.” He grunts. “He took my parking spot last week.”

I can’t help but laugh at his peevishness. “Sounds like a great start.”

“Yeah, right. Dalton Talley. The guy’s a legend in his own mind. He comes in and acts like I’m the old guy. I’m not.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to find his footing,” I suggest. “Being a rookie isn’t easy, especially with big expectations. Wasn’t he the first pick in the draft? That is serious pressure, plus he’s got you to contend with. Your fans think you are perfect. Your teammates love you. It’s a tough act to follow.”

He seems to muse on that. “Maybe. But he’s really pushing my buttons by being rude as fuck.”

“Sometimes,” I say, “the people who push our buttons the most can end up being the ones we need. They challenge us.”

He looks at me, his expression softening. “Is that what you’re doing? Pushing my buttons?”

A breathless feeling takes hold of my chest. I try to catch my breath. “Am I succeeding?”

His gaze locks with mine, and tension rises in the air. “You might be, angel.”

“See? You’re already getting better at making new friends.” I nudge him playfully, trying to push the electricity between us away. “Maybe give him a chance. Who knows? You might find some common ground.”

He nods, changing gears. “You have those tarot cards lying around?”

I nod my head at the media center. “Over there. Why?”

“I know how to read them.”

I scoff. “Please.”

Ignoring me, he gets up and opens the bottom cabinets of the media center, moving things out of his way to find the cards. I shake my head in disbelief. It’s as if he owns the place.

“Found them!” He jumps to his feet in an athletic move that widens my eyes. “I’m going to do you. Read you, that is. Not the other thing.”

I watch as he flits around the room, rummaging through another set of drawers in the bureau in the foyer, where he pulls out a couple of scented candles. He asks me for a lighter, and I dig one out from the kitchen. With a flourish, he lights them and sets them on the coffee table. A satisfied sigh comes from his chest as he dims the lights in the living room. “Now, let’s sit on the floor around the coffee table.”

Jeez. Okay. We’re really doing this.

I plop down some pillows for me, then hand him a few, but he waves them away as he sits cross-legged facing me.

He shuffles the cards with ease. “I studied folklore in college, and tarot was in one of my classes. My youngest sister, Rayna, loves to do readings.”

“Where do they come from?”

He lays the deck down between us. “They originated from a game similar to bridge for the rich. In the eighteenth century they began to be associated with the mystical and the occult.”

“Like devil worshippers?”

He pauses for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he’s fighting back a grin. “No. There’ll be no summoning the devil with me.”

“Good. I don’t think my lease allows for demons.”

He pokes me in the arm. “We’re just going to have some insight about you tonight.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “You sound awfully delighted to be in charge of this.”

He leans in over the table and puts his face close to mine. “I’m stoked, angel. Absolutely vibrating with excitement.”

I shiver at the tingle of awareness that zings between us. I push it away as I clear my throat. “All right. Show me what these magic cards can do.”

“They aren’t going to tell you exact things. It’s more like a mirror, where you see things in your life in a new light.”

“So it won’t tell me why I keep killing the houseplants at the bookstore?” I sigh. “I even gave them names and personalities and talk to them, but it doesn’t help.”

“You’re such a weirdo.”

I smile. “A little.”

He shuffles the cards with a seriousness that makes me want to giggle. He goes on, explaining some of the nuances of tarot.

“Upright cards emphasize primary messages, while reversed cards mean internal challenges.” He places a card upright, then flips it to show its reversed position. “But context is key. The question you ask, the spread, and even the reader play a part in the message.”

“So I have to trust that you know what you’re doing.”

“Hmm.” He smirks. “Don’t trust me?”

I’m cool, it’s just, I’m rather bemused by how much he’s into this. We started out with me giving him advice, and now it’s switched.

“Think of a question or area of your life you want help with,” he says, and I nod, closing my eyes and pretending like I’m pondering the secrets of the universe when I’m really thinking about how great his cologne smells.

I think of the perfect question to ask the cards. “Okay, got it,” I say, popping one eye open to peek at him. He fans the cards out with a flourish.

“Pick three,” he instructs.

I choose my cards, trying to feel the energy or whatever I’m supposed to be sensing.

Jasper reveals my choices, the Star, the Ten of Cups, and the Lovers. He waggles his eyebrows at the last one.

“This one, the Star, is a sign of hope, of believing in a better tomorrow,” he says. “Perhaps good things are coming your way. It could be related to your business—if that’s what you asked for. Do you want to tell me what you asked? You don’t have to, but it might help.” He tries to say it lightly, but I can tell that he really wants to know.

“I didn’t ask about the business.”

“Oh? About Tomas then?”

Nope. And there’s no way in hell I’ll admit what I actually asked for.

Love.

Will I have it in my life someday? Will I ever find the match for me?

I brush him off. “What’s the reverse side of the Star mean?”

“It means you might get hit by a train.”

I glare at him, and he smiles. “But you didn’t get the shadow side. It’s all good for you.”

Then he gets to the Ten of Cups, talking about emotional fulfillment as he waves it in front of me. “It’s about families, a very positive card. It means you’ll have more fulfilment in that area of your life. You’re getting really lucky tonight.”

Oh. I stare at the art, a rainbow arching over a joyful family. The scene is so serene, so perfect. My mom, who chose a life without me, flashes in my mind. And then there’s Tomas, who walked away the moment I mentioned pregnancy.

The card feels like a distant dream.

I trace the edge of the card, my finger pausing on the picture of the children dancing.

But I have Londyn.

And our life is beautiful. And I’m ready for more of that.

“Hey,” he says. “You got lost in thought there. You all right? Wanna talk?”

I shake my head. “What about you? Would you like to get this card?”

He considers it, then nods. “Of course. I’m dealing with my own shit right now. My bio mom contacted me recently and wants to talk to me. She left me when I was five.”

I glance at him in surprise. “I never knew you were adopted.”

A sigh comes from him. “It’s a long story, one I don’t really want to get into right now.”

I nod. I get it. Meeting his biological mom is something he’s still grappling with. “All right, do the last one.”

“The Lovers,” he murmurs dramatically.

I study the card he holds. Two figures stand in a garden, like Adam and Eve, with an angel above them.

A half smile plays on my lips. “Does this mean I’m about to find romance? Because my last date was a millennium ago and honestly, I prefer my electric blanket to men.”

He pouts. “That’s a shame, angel.”

“I’m doing just fine on my own.”

“Yes, of course you are, but maybe the card isn’t just about romantic love. It suggests a decision to be made, one that reflects your true self.”

A decision?

“Like if I want Indian food or Mexican?”

He grunts as he gives me a pretend withering look. “You aren’t taking any of this seriously.”

I glance down at the Star, the Ten of Cups, and the Lovers. “According to this, I’m headed for hope, domestic bliss, and maybe love? Sounds like a fairy tale.”

He shoots me a knowing look, one eyebrow raised. “It can happen.”

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, but the reading has brought up feelings I usually keep at bay. Part of me, the side that’s hidden behind practicality and skepticism, yearns for the cards to be right.

I pick up the Star. Hope feels like a luxury when every day is a battle to keep my business going and take care of Londyn.

Then there’s the Ten of Cups. My family is in a state of flux. Emmy is out of the country, and my brother is moving out. Londyn is the light of my life, but Tomas’s abandonment looms over us both. How can I believe in a card that promises familial bliss when my family is hurting?

But staring at the card, I want desperately to believe it’s true, that good things are coming.

But it’s the Lovers card that hits hardest. Love? That’s something for other people. I’ve built walls around my heart so high, I’m not sure anyone could scale them. And yet, as I stare at the card, the figures intertwined under the eye of an angel, longing slices through me.

For connection, for someone to really see me and choose me in spite of it.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts. “You make it all sound so simple.”

He leans back, his gaze soft. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But isn’t it nice to think about what could be?”

And as much as I want to forget the reading, I can’t deny the warmth spreading through me at the thought. Maybe it’s the ambiance, or maybe it’s the way Jasper’s looking at me, but for the first time in a long time, I allow myself to hope.

To dream about a future where the impossible seems just a little bit more possible.

“This was fun, watching you get hyped up about it.” I smile as I stand. “But now, I think it’s time we did your interview. Let me grab my laptop from the bedroom. And I’ll change.”

He glances at my shorts, his gaze lingering on my legs. His words are soft. “You look perfect.”

Ignoring the appreciative look in his eyes, I leave, and moments later, laptop in hand, I resettle in my chair. “I’ve got your initial survey, but something tells me it’s overdone. You seemed to have sex on the brain.”

He returns from the kitchen, having rinsed his plate. A grin curls his lips. “Imagining your reaction while typing that nonsense was the highlight of my day.” He pauses, patting his flat stomach. “Man, I wish you had more spaghetti.”

“You’re still hungry?” I ask in disbelief.

“Missed dinner, and that spaghetti was a teaser. How about I order something? Pizza? Chinese? Indian?”

I throw my hands up, exasperated. “Go ahead, Jasper. Order whatever you want. Make my place your home.”

“Your wish is my command.” He picks up his phone to order pizza from the place around the corner, a gloating smile playing on his lips.

I clear my throat. “Okay, let’s start. Tell me about the date. What kind of girl were you hoping to meet tonight?”

He sprawls back on the couch and looks up at the ceiling. “Just someone who gets me, who understands that I’m sincere. It’s not an act. I genuinely like people. Abigail seems like a nice person, but she wasn’t much fun.”

She really isn’t. “She has other assets.”

“Which aren’t for me.”

“Noted. Anything else?” I ask.

He muses for a moment. “She should have a sense of humor, definitely. And be able to put up with my schedule.”

“A sense of humor to tolerate your ego, you mean?”

“Ha ha.” He cups his chin as he stares at me, making me feel unsettled. “She should love football, of course.”

I type rapidly. “Got it. You aren’t asking for much, of course.”

He points at me. “You love to give me a hard time, but underneath you do like me.”

I let out a breath, trying to keep my focus on the computer screen. Jasper is a whirlwind I’m not sure I’m ready to handle. I’m not unaware of the heat I feel around him. It’s downright heady when he walks into a room and puts those blue eyes on me. But this isn’t about me. I’m in no place to be interested in someone. “All right, let’s keep going. Anything else?”

He leans back and stares at me for several moments, his gaze caressing my face and lingering on my lips. He breaks the silence, his voice serious.

“Do you think you can really find me a girl?”

A tingle dances down my spine, of how much I really do want him to find a little piece of happiness. I nod.

He takes a deep breath. “I need someone who gets my humor, yes. But it’s more than that. I need someone who can laugh with me and at the world. Life’s too short for anything else.

“I want someone independent. Someone who has her own ambitions. I admire strength. Emotional resilience. The kind of strength that’s been tested.”

I glance up from my typing. “Because you’ve been tested?”

He nods, his brow furrowing. “I went through some crazy stuff as a kid. My bio mom and I ended up in this cult in Northern California. I’m pretty sure it was involved in drugs and the cartel. We stayed in cabins with other families and worked the marijuana fields. After she left, I didn’t speak for three months.”

I don’t type those words. They’re too personal.

A long exhale comes from him, and he rolls his neck as if shaking off the memories.

“Anyway, forget all that. What I need is someone who believes in the ‘us’ concept. Someone who fights for us even when things get tough. I want someone who’s open to adventure. I won’t always be a football player. Someday I want to be a dad, a really good one. I want to give my kids the beginning I never had. Family is important to me.”

I blink in surprise. “You said in your first profile that you didn’t want kids.”

His eyes travel to the hallway, near where Londyn is asleep. “I want a big house out in the middle of nowhere, maybe somewhere in Vermont or Maine, with a ton of kids.” He smiles. “You know, I wasn’t looking forward to all your prying, but this is a lot of fun.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You thought it would be torture?”

“Nah, angel. I enjoy our back-and-forth. We’re a lively pair.”

“I have been known to hold my own.”

“You have no idea how many times I sit and think of comebacks to say to you.” He laughs as he says it, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “If you weren’t so repulsive, we’d be a great match.”

“Repulsive? You jerk!” I toss a pillow at him, which he easily dodges. “If I thought you were attractive, which I don’t, I might give you the time of day. Besides, I’m not looking for a relationship. Love is dead to me.”

“Because you have a kid?”

I shrug. I mean, yeah, that’s part of it. Why would I bring someone into Londyn’s life that may not stick around? It’s too hard to explain to Londyn when people disappear from our lives. I want to shield her from as much pain as I can. But the other part of me doesn’t want to be hurt again. I don’t trust love, not when people just walk away and break your heart.

“How can you say love is dead when you’re a matchmaker?” He pops an eyebrow at me.

“It’s just not part of my plan at the moment. I’m doing this business because I see a need—in others. I’ve seen how much Emmy and Graham adore each other. I love how he loves her.”

“But it’s not you.”

I nod.

“You make me sad, angel.”

My cell rings, and I glance at it, noticing it’s a number I don’t recognize. Probably spam. It’s been happening all day, and I consider answering it but don’t. If it were my business phone, I’d pick it up. I focus back on Jasper.

He stands up and rolls his neck. “You got any beer?”

He doesn’t wait for my answer as he heads to the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge, then picks up the wine bottle on the coffee table and fills up my glass. He hands it to me. “Come on, let’s make a toast.”

“To what?”

He thinks on that, eyes tracing my features, lingering longer than they should. “On finding the right girl.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Sometimes you have the right person but it’s the wrong time.”

He smirks, lifting his beer. “Ah, but that’s where you come in. I’m counting on you to choose the perfect one at the right time. Though, I have to say, my standards are pretty high.”

I take a sip, the wine crisp. “Well, I hope your standards include someone who doesn’t mind you barging into their house in the middle of the night.”

He laughs, a genuine sound that fills the small space. “Stop acting like you’re eighty. It’s only eleven at night, and I make excellent company. My food theft is a quirk that people adore. It means I like their food. I’m a very good friend to have. All right, your turn. What are we toasting to for you?”

I think for a moment. “To the success of Cupid’s Arrow. May it thrive and not suffer from clients who think they’re God’s gift to women.”

“Ouch,” he says as he feigns hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “I’ll have you know I’m very humble. It’s just one of my many, many great qualities.”

“Sure, and I’m the Queen of England,” I say, sipping my wine again.

“Your Majesty,” Jasper says as he bows mockingly, “I’m merely a humble subject in your regal presence.” His smile is infectious, but I don’t let it affect me.

“Keep dreaming. It’s going to take more than charm to find your match.”

His eyes lower to half-mast. “Challenge accepted. But remember, sometimes what we’re searching for is right in front of us.”

The words hang between us, an implication there I push away.

I mentally slap myself away from the gravitational force that is Jasper. Come on, Jane, resist! You’re stronger than the cliché of falling for the hot quarterback. This isn’t high school, and you’re definitely not the cheerleader.

But oh, how the universe loves irony. Here I am, trying to act all business, while part of me is doing heart cartwheels every time he smiles.

Focus! You’ve dealt with worse.

Remember that time you accidentally dyed your hair green before your senior year? If you can handle that, you can handle a little (okay, a lot of) quarterback charm.

Don’t let the way his shoulders stretch inside his white shirt get to you. They’re just . . . strategically placed muscles. Yeah, muscles that probably have their own fan club and IG handle.

I take a deep breath to fortify my resolve. Jane Darling, you are a strong, independent businesswoman who doesn’t need to fall into the plot of a rom-com. Especially not one with Jasper as the leading man.

I mentally erect a barrier around myself, a no-quarterback zone. You’ve got this. Just think of him as a very tall, very handsome . . . broccoli. Nutritious but not particularly exciting.

“May we both find what we’re looking for,” I say.

“To finding what we’re looking for,” he echoes as he holds my gaze.

We clink glasses again just as the doorbell rings.

“Must be the pizza,” he calls as he rises and goes to the door.

He pauses to look through the peephole. “Wait. It’s some guy without a pie,” he says. “Do you have someone coming over?”

Before I can say, “Let me see who it is,” Jasper swings open the door.

As my eyes adjust to the light, I am struck by the figure standing before me.

Tomas.

My heart races, and my palms sweat at the sight of him. Dressed in crisp white linen and tailored slacks, he looks like he just walked off a beach.

We first met at a photo shoot. I was there to do a lipstick layout, and he was just the hot guy in the background. Afterward, he followed me out of the studio and onto the street and begged for my number. I’d been working as a model since I was fifteen. I was such an innocent. I’d barely dated. I’d never made a lot of friends. Most of my time was spent with my gran and Emmy and Andrew.

I wasn’t interested in love. But he was full of life. And so dreamy.

He’s tall and lean, his physique more like a runner’s than a football player’s. His dark hair is styled carefully, and his face has matured, his jawline more rugged—not surprising since he’s five years older than me.

“Wait. Are you Jasper, the quarterback?” he stammers as he drops my gaze and glances at the football player.

Jasper nods. “And you are?”

Tomas’s eyes shift between Jasper and me, surprise flickering on his face. “I’m Tomas. I’m here to see Jane.” His eyes drift over my face, lingering. His face softens. “Hi. It’s been a while.”

Just “hi”? The sheer ridiculousness of him being at my door makes anger rise to the surface like a volcano. I can’t even speak.

He shifts his feet. “I tried calling a few times today, but no one ever answered. I went to your old address, but someone else lives there, so I got your new one from an old friend. I’m back in town for a bit.”

Jasper subtly positions himself beside me and casually drapes an arm around my shoulders. “It’s late to be coming over.”

Tomas’s eyes flicker to Jasper’s arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, I know. I didn’t realize how late it was until I got here. I’m still on LA time, I guess. I just . . . I wanted to talk to Jane.”

Jasper’s grip on my shoulder tightens, his protective instinct kicking in. “She’s a little busy,” Jasper replies. “With me.”

Tomas’s gaze shifts between us again. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I’m sorry. I’m flying back to LA tomorrow, and I really wanted to touch base.”

“I’m surprised to see you. It’s been five years,” I finally say as I smile bitterly. I lean into Jasper. An instinct, maybe. Or perhaps I just needed someone to keep me from falling down.

He nods, guilt written all over his face. “I just wanted to clear the air, I guess.”

Clear the air? I frown at him. “About what?”

“Savannah—that’s my fiancée—we sent out save-the-date invitations, and some emails were accidentally included, so . . .” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh, I understand. Ex-girlfriends or baby mamas weren’t supposed to be on the guest list,” I say.

Tomas’s face reddens. “I’m sure you didn’t want to come anyway.”

“No, I definitely don’t,” I reply coldly. “But congratulations. I never thought you’d commit to anyone.”

“Right,” he mumbles sheepishly.

“You could have just texted me, Tomas. That would have avoided this whole awkward situation,” I say, unable to hide the edge in my voice.

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, but it falls back perfectly in place. “I know, but I’d like to catch up soon. I’ll be back and forth from LA to New York this summer since I’m on hiatus, and I’d like to see you when I’m here. Regardless of the accidental invitation, I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

I stiffen, and Jasper must feel it because he slides a hand under my hair at the nape of my neck. “You’re okay, angel,” he says in my ear before turning to face Tomas.

The realization hits me that Tomas is the one who has been calling me repeatedly. My throat tightens at the thought of what he might want to speak to me about.

Does he want to see Londyn? My heart aches at the thought.

“We have nothing left to discuss, Tomas,” I say firmly, my hands clenching at my sides in an attempt to contain my emotions.

A flash of determination crosses his face. “We do. Please. Just let me say what I need to. I’ll text you the next time I’m in town.”

“Do whatever you want. You always have,” I say as I slam the door shut, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I try to process everything that just happened.

Jasper’s hand strokes the back of my neck. “Is he . . . ,” he begins hesitantly, then continues, “Londyn’s dad?”

“The one who left us.”

He turns me to face him and tilts my chin up. Blue eyes stare into mine for a long time. “And he’s getting married? Shit. You wanna talk about it, angel?”

My lips tremble at his show of gentleness. “I want another glass of wine.”

He nods, then kisses me on the forehead, a friend-to-friend gesture. “Done. You go sit, and I’ll open a new bottle.”

I stumble toward the living room, my mind still reeling. The weight of the revelation settles heavily on my chest, memories flooding back like a wave crashing against the shore. It has been years since I last saw him, but the wounds are as fresh as if they never healed.

As I sink into the comfy couch, the fabric slightly sticking to my clammy skin, I catch a glimpse of Londyn’s picture on the mantelpiece. The dimples in her cheeks taunt me, a reminder of the trait she shares with Tomas.

Jasper returns with a freshly opened bottle of wine, his eyes filled with concern as he hands me a glass. The aroma fills my senses, and I take a long sip.

He settles beside me on the couch and wraps his arm around my shoulder. I lean into his warmth, relaxing in the steady rhythm of his breath.

For a while, we sit in silence, the only sound filling the room being the distant hum of New York traffic. Jasper’s hand finds mine, and he intertwines our fingers.

I glance down, momentarily taken aback, but then I relax. It’s Jasper. He would hold anyone’s hand who’d just had her ex show up at her door.

“Thank you,” I murmur, not quite meeting his eyes. “Tomas was everything to me once. Young love, you know?” I set my glass on the coffee table. “I thought it would last forever, and he made me feel like the center of his world.”

“Your first boyfriend?”

I nod. “I’d never dated. I was too focused on making money for the family. Gran was sick, and Emmy was going to school and working and taking care of us. Andrew was just a kid.” I glance at him. “You know how we grew up, right?”

He nods. “Graham mentioned that your mom was a victim of domestic abuse and she shot and killed your dad when you were a toddler.”

My throat tightens. “Then she left. Just up and moved away and told Gran to raise us. Emmy became my mom as best she could.”

“Why do you think Tomas showed up here?”

I shake my head. “No clue. When I told him I was pregnant, he panicked. Said he wasn’t ready. He left for LA a few months later, and that was it. He chose his dreams over us.”

“He never tried to reach out or see her?” Jasper’s voice is soft.

“Never. I sent him a photo of her after she was born, but he never replied. And now, suddenly he wants to talk? Why? What does he want after all this time?”

“Jesus, what an asshole, but listen, you don’t have to figure it out tonight. But whatever it is, you’re not alone. You’ve got Emmy and Graham and Andrew. You have good people to depend on.”

His words crack the dam I’ve built around my emotions. “I really miss my sister. I know she has Graham and a new baby, but she’s been part of my life for so long.” A tear slips down my cheek, and Jasper’s thumb brushes it away gently.

“Ah, angel.”

“Sorry. Ignore the tears. I’m just scared of what he might want.”

Jasper’s grip on my hand tightens. “Whatever he wants, I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt.”

How does he do that? How does he manage to say exactly what I need to hear?

I sink into his body, the warmth of his hand enveloping mine like a promise. It’s strange, this feeling of safety he conjures. For so long, I’ve been the one to fend off the world, a lone warrior protecting Londyn and myself. And now, here’s Jasper, offering his strength as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to lean on someone else for a change.

The fear of what Tomas’s return could mean for Londyn sends a shiver down my spine. The thought of losing her, of facing a battle I never wanted, is terrifying.

And yet, with Jasper’s hand in mine . . .

I take a deep breath. “You’re right,” I say, my voice steadier. “I won’t let him, but legally, he has a right to her.”

“Focus on the now,” Jasper says, and I gaze at him.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s something my adoptive dad used to say whenever I got confused, which was a lot growing up. He always told me that my family had my back. Always. Things might get scary, we might have ups and downs, but we had each other. You have that too. And me. I’m your friend,” he says gently. “Plus you have your Wilbur-the-pig stuffed animal. Want me to go get him for you?”

I shake my head, wondering how he knew that, and I guess it’s one of those things Graham must have mentioned. I smile. Charlotte’s Web was my favorite book growing up, and whenever I felt sad or scared, I always held Wilbur. “It’s in my room, and Londyn is asleep, so you don’t—”

“I’ll be quiet,” he says. “I’m known for my stealth.” He rises from the couch, a small grin on his face, and disappears into the hallway.

Moments later, he returns, holding Wilbur in his outstretched hand like a cherished treasure. His eyes meet mine as he gently places the worn-out stuffed animal in my lap, its soft fabric bringing back memories of simpler times.

I run my fingers over the faded fur. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice filled with gratitude. “I’m glad you were here.”

“Come here.” He pulls me close to him, and I lean my head on his shoulder. He twirls a piece of my hair around his fingers. Warmth spreads, maybe from his closeness, or the wine, but I don’t really care because I just want to forget that Tomas showed up at my door, that I’m still single and lonely, while he is getting married.

I tilt my head up at Jasper, and he smiles. “You okay?”

I shake my head. “I’m repulsive, but would you kiss me? I haven’t had a real one in about five years.”

He looks startled. “Okay, the repulsive thing was a joke, and five years? What the fuck?”

“Scared you won’t be worth it?”

His eyes search my face. “Not in the least, angel. Are you sure? I mean, I’m me and you’re you. We don’t really like each other. Right?”

I feel a blush rising up in my cheeks.

Did I really just ask Jasper for a kiss?

Who am I?

“True, but I have to start somewhere. At the bottom feels right.”

He laughs, studying my face. “There she is. My favorite. Jane with the scowl. Let’s see if I can make it disappear.”

“Wha—”

Before I can finish, he leans in and takes my mouth.

Oh, why are my palms sweating?

Can lips sweat too? Is that a thing?

He cups my face with both hands and stares down at me.

Our breaths mingle as we share the same pocket of air. He leans in, his eyes locked onto mine, and the world around us fades. His lips meet mine in a slow, oh-so-gentle kiss, like the unfolding of flowers. The warmth of his mouth envelops me, sending waves of sensation through my body. And as our lips reluctantly part, I yearn for more.

My brain, usually an endless stream of to-do lists, goes blissfully blank. All I can think is, Wow, why did I wait five years?

He strokes my cheek, then leans in again, this one deeper, and I’m fully here for it, leaning into his chest as my hands wrap around his neck. The world narrows down to his lips on mine, and the realization that I’ve been missing out for a damn long time.

“Good enough?” he asks huskily as he gazes down at me.

“Terrible. Hated the whole thing.”

“Angel, you’re making my heart flutter, being mean. I kind of like it, so stop it.”

I touch the curve of his bottom lip, grazing my thumb over the lush lines. “Sorry?”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest as he comes closer. This time, the kiss is filled with a hunger, a desire that ignites fire inside me.

We pull away, both of us breathing heavily. I can see a flicker of uncertainty in Jasper’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to rush into things. You’re feeling vulnerable. I can’t take advantage of that.”

I tug his face to mine. “I want you to.”

His eyes widen in surprise, searching my face for any signs of doubt or hesitation. But all he finds is desire. He leans in again, his lips claiming mine with a renewed intensity, as if he’s been waiting for this moment.

I work the buttons on his dress shirt. One by one, they give way under my trembling fingers, revealing the expanse of his bare chest. My hands trace the contours of his defined muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my touch. He groans into the kiss, his hands sliding down to the small of my back, pulling me closer against him.

His chest ripples with muscles and strength. It’s broad and defined, his pecs bulging with each movement. Veins run along his arms, showcasing his dedication to his training.

My head dips as I taste his neck. I move down, my tongue flicking against his nipple, inhaling the heady smell of his cologne. I watch how his chest rises and falls with each breath. A hot man in his prime is right in front of me.

His touch is gentle, his hands leaving trails of heat along my skin as they wander down my back and come to rest on my hips.

We kiss, oh god, we kiss and kiss. It’s everything I’ve missed. Everything.

It might stop at any moment, and I don’t want it to. The thought makes me desperate. I run my fingers through his hair, tugging on his bun, making him groan.

He slips his hand under my tank top and cups my breast. His fingers circle around my sensitive skin until finally he tugs on my nipple. My head falls back as a jolt of heat goes straight to my core.

His lips find my neck, his breath warm against my skin. His hand moves down, sliding over my waist and coming to rest on the edge of my sleep shorts. He grips them tightly, pulling me toward him.

He eases me up until I’m sitting on top of him on the couch, straddling him.

“Maybe we should slow down,” he says as he holds my face, his eyes searching mine.

“No.” I grind on him. His head falls back on the couch, blue eyes dilated and blown.

“I know what you need, angel.” He eases me onto the couch, pushing me against the back of it as he lies down next to me. “Just hang on.”

He kisses me as his hand slips under my shorts and toys with the waistband of my panties.

As his fingers trace the edge of the fabric, my breath quickens. Desire blooms deeper.

Jasper’s hands are everywhere, tracing the curves of my body, exploring every inch of me as if he’s committing it all to memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

I close my eyes and let myself be lost in the moment.

A finger glides inside my panties.

I arch my back, moaning softly into his mouth as his finger slides in and out of me. The sensation is so overwhelming.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes,” I say, “I love it.”

His finger moves faster, his thumb rolling my clit in small, circular motions. The sensations build, spiraling into a vortex of pleasure that seems to consume me.

Just as I think I can’t take any more, he adds another finger. He toys with my nub, playing with it with the pad of his hand as he fingers me. My back arches off the couch.

“I’m going to come, but I don’t want to,” I tell him, with my face in his throat, and he eases up, removing his hand to cup my ass and knead it. I mewl out my disappointment, and he chuckles in my ear.

“You can’t make up your mind. Want me to do it again?”

“Yes.”

He slides his hand back between my legs, and I feel his fingers graze my wetness. He brushes my clit and begins to stroke it. The man has magic fingers. He’s got me. I am lost.

His eyes watch my face as my breaths become more ragged. His fingers don’t stop moving.

“I want to taste you,” he says softly, his lips brushing against mine. He bites down on my bottom lip, and I moan as I close my eyes and nod.

He moves down my body, his fingers dancing over my stomach and past my waistband. He pulls my sleep shorts down just enough to reveal my pussy.

He blows over my wetness, his breath sending shivers down my spine. The anticipation of his mouth on me is almost too much to handle. He licks gently along the length of my skin, tasting me.

My hips buck upward, seeking more of his attention. He chuckles softly, then dances his tongue over me. I gasp, my hands tangling in his hair as I try to hold on.

He circles my clit in maddening strokes. I feel myself getting closer and closer. He moves faster, one hand digging into my thighs to hold me down.

It’s only been less than a minute and I . . .

“I’m going to come,” I say, my voice shaking with the intensity of the pleasure building.

He smiles against my skin, then licks me again, his fingers delving deep inside me. I cry out as fireworks detonate. My hips convulse, my core spasming as the sensations explode inside my body.

As I float back down to earth, his lips press against my inner thigh, his warm breath fanning over my skin. I reach down and touch his hair, pulling him up to kiss him, tasting myself on his lips.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome.”

A blush rises up my cheeks.

He smirks. “Feeling shy now? Too late, angel. I saw everything. All the parts. And the carpet matches the drapes.”

I groan in embarrassment, and he just laughs. We’re lying face to face, and it’s more male contact than I’m used to. Gah. What do I do next? Should we lie here and chitchat? Should I say something about the weather?

He must be a mind reader. He grabs a pillow and positions it for me to rest my head on. “Relax. It’s okay. Nothing bad happened. We just played around.”

I know that, but still.

I swallow. “Um, thank you?”

His touch is gentle as he moves my hair out of my face. “I’m here to help.”

I frown. “No, I mean, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t, I mean, I wanted . . .” My words trail off. “I don’t want to be your pity project. I don’t want you to feel used either.”

“Hey, let it go. We kissed. I wanted it. You wanted it. Let it go. Just be in the moment.”

“You wanted to kiss me?”

“Just go back to being ‘mean Jane.’” He pokes me in the arm.

Oh, wait a minute, is he feeling shy too?

I clear my throat. “What are we going to do now? Just watch TV or something? More tarot cards?”

“TV.”

“Okay,” I say finally, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

The doorbell rings, and we both look at each other. He laughs. “I forgot about the pizza. I’ll get it.” He rises up and stretches, and I can’t help but watch him move through my apartment like it’s his house. There’s something about him, shirtless and in dress pants, that’s utterly captivating. The way his muscles shift under his skin with each step, the relaxed confidence in his stride—it’s a sight that etches itself into my memory. A mental snapshot I know I’ll revisit more times than I care to admit.

But even as my heart races and my mind replays him kissing me, touching me, a sobering thought pushes its way through.

It’s not just about the professional boundaries I’ve crossed. It’s about the complexities he brings. He’s a famous football player, a public figure, and I’m, well, just Jane. I’m not exactly a football-loving woman who adores him.

He returns with the pizza, napkins, and two bottles of water.

I chew on my lips. This moment between us was just a moment. Part of me wishes things could be different, but I have more than just my own heart to protect. I have Londyn.

I glance at him, his profile lit by the glow of the lamp. There’s a part of me that wants to lean over, close the gap, and feel his lips against mine again. But there’s another voice in my head that reminds me of my responsibilities.

“Jasper,” I say, my voice unsure, “this, um, what happened, I shouldn’t have . . .”

He gives me a wry look. “I knew you’d say that. It took you longer than I expected actually. Okay, whatever. Let’s find something good to watch,” he says, sprawling on the couch next to me and flipping through channels. “How about something with real bite? Like a vampire movie?”

I groan. “Really?”

He chuckles. “They’re folklore. I dig the tragic vibe. Vampires have style. Romania is a cool place. It’s on my bucket list to go there.”

“Are you a Twilight fan too?”

He pretends to be offended as he flips through the channels. “What about Interview with a Vampire? A classic.”

I scoff, nudging him with my foot. “Your taste in movies sucks. See what I did there?”

He grins. “Fine, if not vampires, then what?”

“Anything.” I just want him to watch the television instead of looking at me because all I’m thinking about is how he had me at his mercy.

He laughs, settling on a Formula One reality show. “All right, you win since your spaghetti was a masterpiece. But next time, it’s my choice.”

Next time?

Butterflies take off in my stomach, and I squash them down. “Deal.”

See? Everything seems fine. We’re fine. Totally. Absolutely. We are back to normal.

Okay, Jane, act normal. Because nothing says “just friends” like making out with New York’s most eligible quarterback, then casually chowing down on pizza like two buddies.

Yep, this is totally how all platonic friends spend their Saturdays, isn’t it? Next, we’ll be braiding each other’s hair and talking about our feelings. Oh, wait I already spilled my guts about Tomas.

I steal a glance at Jasper, who seems engrossed in the race. Or at least, he’s doing a better job of pretending everything’s normal than I am.

How can he just sit there, all calm and collected?

“Good show,” I say, desperately trying to find something, anything, to talk about that doesn’t involve the first man-sponsored orgasm I’ve had in ages.

“Yep,” Jasper replies, not taking his focus off the screen. Ah, yes, the sound of two people tiptoeing around the elephant in the room.

I focus on my pizza, but even that feels weird now. Like, is there a certain way to eat pizza postorgasm? Should I be dainty? Take smaller bites?

The silence stretches on, filled with the revving of engines from the TV and my increasingly ridiculous thoughts. I chance another look at Jasper. He’s relaxed, at ease, the complete opposite of my internal meltdown. How does he do it? Did he take a class on post-finger-banging composure?

Jasper turns to me, his smile making my chest tighten. “Good race, huh?”

“Yeah, the way those cars just . . . raced,” I say, nodding sagely. Because clearly, I’m now an expert on all things that involve speed and not getting caught up in feelings.

Later, when he leaves and I follow him to the door, I lean against the wall and watch him button his shirt back up, then put on his jacket. With a small wave, he tells me bye, and then he’s gone. The apartment is silent. So silent.

And just when I think worries about Tomas will intrude and keep me up, when I crawl into bed, it’s Jasper I’m thinking about.

I close my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts. But every time I try to escape, his image resurfaces, his touch still lingering on my lips. I knew this would happen, that allowing myself to be vulnerable would only complicate things further.

Yet, part of me yearns for the forbidden.

As I lie there, tangled in a mess of sheets and emotions, memories of us kissing flood back. The way his hands felt against my skin, the intensity in his eyes. Ugh.

My mind drifts to Londyn. She deserves a stable life without complications.

And Jasper? He’s one big headache just waiting to happen.