Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(14)

She attracted the hamster eaters of the world. Not the smooth, charming, blue-eyed, aw-shucks-ing, lunch-with-Grandma type. Was he one of those guys who liked his women grateful? Starstruck over the attention she—a loner who used her bangs as a hiding place—was receiving from such a certified catch? Rita was surprised to feel the stickiness of hurt over that possibility. How dare he make her hurt over anything after twenty minutes together?

Irritated with herself for wondering what Jasper had thought of her appearance, Rita tore her gaze from the mirror. “He owns a bar called the Liquor Hole.” When that bit of news only made her sister giggle, Rita shook her head. “Look, the car will be repaired in the morning. Let’s just order some shitty pizza and watch Golden Girls on your laptop.”

Peggy’s eyes went wide at the mention of the only pastime they’d had in common as kids. Something they discovered when they’d both contracted chicken pox and gotten quarantined in the same room. At first they’d simply been annoyed at the forced proximity, but somewhere around the third episode, they’d been hooked. “You still watch?”

“Rose was in the lead for a while, but Dorothy is back to being my favorite.”

“I’m still a Blanche girl.” Peggy’s excitement drained away and she groaned. “No. We’ll have plenty of time to watch Golden Girls on the trip. Tonight, we’re going to the Liquor Hole.”

Rita barked a laugh. “You’re drunk. That’s not happening.”

“It’s completely happening.” Peggy leaned back on an elbow. “I’ll be your wing-woman long enough to make sure Jasper’s not a creepdog, then I’ll leave you to your road booty.”

“Road booty?”

“Hooking up on the road,” Peggy explained with exaggerated patience. “Knowing Aaron—and myself—this won’t be the last hookup perpetrated by a Clarkson before we reach New York. You should pride yourself on being the first.”

“Forgive me for not cheering.” Rita tugged on her plain, long-sleeved T-shirt. The urge to ask Peggy for something to borrow was strong, but she staunchly resisted. Going out for a beer and possibly running into a man was one thing; dressing up outside the black zone of safety was quite another. She wouldn’t even allow for the chance of road booty. Taking her clothes off and getting sweaty with a stranger was something other people engaged in. Not that she judged those who went out looking for one-night stands, but she’d never understood casual sex. Being naked was about as vulnerable as one could get in Rita’s book—nothing casual about it.

Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to decline Peggy’s offer for wing-woman support, she could still feel Jasper’s breath feathering against her mouth, the outline of his erection where it had brushed her belly. At the time, she’d told herself it was his belt buckle, but no. For some reason, he’d desired her. Some undiscovered part of her wanted to see that desire up close, just once more. Feel the gravitational pull she’d encountered outside the greasy garage, experience the earth tilting in a way that made her stumble blindly in Jasper’s direction.

It was all too fast. Too risky to her self-esteem if something went wrong, or someone else caught his eye instead. But she’d left San Diego for a reason. This was her new start. It was silly to officially begin that fresh start by putting herself into a situation where a random hookup might occur—not that she was allowing herself to hope—but maybe the mere act of going and being available was enough for now.

Rita pursed her lips at Peggy. “One drink.”





Chapter Seven



It just had to be one of those nights, didn’t it?

Every few weeks, the Liquor Hole regulars tended to get rowdier than usual. Drinking one whiskey shot over their usual limit, dancing more suggestively than they would if their mama was watching. There was no explaining or predicting when one of these witchy evenings would roll around. Jasper had even gotten out a calendar and tried matching up the occasions with the moon cycle, but no damn luck. He reckoned it was down to mob mentality of some sort. One regular acting up gave their friends the excuse to follow suit. The ugly cycle usually continued until either punches were thrown or make-out sessions got out of control at the bar, forcing the bartender to spray the couples down with water from the soda gun.

Wasn’t it just his fortune in life that a full moon should be looming tonight, when he’d finally felt interest in a woman and expected her to walk through the entrance any moment? Hell, that was an exaggeration. He didn’t expect a damn thing. That downright unmasculine tightness in his chest was hope, plain and simple. He hoped she’d walk through the entrance. Otherwise he’d have to go knocking on motel-room doors looking for her and that would just be awkward, especially if he located Rita’s brothers first. Not to mention that leaving the Liquor Hole in the hands of his two bartenders—one of whom he suspected was one toke away from a coma—would be unwise.

If the gods were smiling down on him, Rita would show up. Then she’d let him take her out for some goddamn sushi. Jasper had a hunch that eventuality was about as likely as an indoor snowstorm in June, but the only weapon in his arsenal was optimism, so he would use it. Not that it was easy when witchy nights tended to make the female population of Hurley somewhat—twitchy. Up until two years ago, when his personal wake-up call had rung like a four-alarm fire, he would have been the go-to man in Hurley for a good lay. Now that he refused? Well, getting him back into the sack had become something of a challenge for some of his more amorous past conquests. On nights like these he’d taken to locking himself in the tiny back office, only coming out to restock beer or settle disputes.