Free Jagged by Kristen Ashley

get me evicted from my new pad by being nosy and in your face with Ham,” I demanded.
    Her brows shot up. “Girl, I got finesse.”
    “The finesse of a rhinoceros,” I returned.
    She looked away, put her beer to her lips, but didn’t drink.
    Instead, she said, “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” Then she drank.
    I put my beer to my lips but didn’t drink, either.
    Instead, I smiled against it and replied, “Whatever works for you.” Then I drank, too.
    “Suck that back. I’ll get us another one. Then another. And I’m payin’. I’m also not takin’ any lip about payin’. You can catch me on the flipside,” Arlene ordered.
    “I drove here, Arlene,” I informed her.
    “And I own a taxi company, Zara,” she shot back. “Bottom’s up. Girls’ night, on me. Live it up.”
    That was an order, too.
    Arlene, incidentally, was like Maybelline.
    You just didn’t fight it.
    So I bottomed up, caught Ham’s eyes, lifted my empty, and got another smile as he moved our way.
    Yes, absolutely.
    This was going to be a struggle.
    Luckily, beer helped.
    And so did knowing Arlene and Maybelline cared so much about me.
    I just might make it through after all.

Chapter Five
Fair
    Three weeks later…
    I felt rather than saw Ham round the corner into the kitchen as I was wiping the counters.
    “I’ll be ready in a few. Just gotta get this done and get my boots on,” I told him.
    I’d been back at The Dog for three weeks now.
    I’d also been wrong. Waitressing at The Dog didn’t double or triple my pay.
    It quadrupled it.
    It had been a long time I’d been away. I guess I didn’t remember how good it could be.
    And it was good.
    In fact, it was all good. Living with Ham. Working with Ham. Having cash in my pocket. Not freaking because my gas tank was edging toward empty. Having beer in the fridge.
    And Ham and I were back. Not, of course, the good stuff like my having his fingers, his tongue, and other parts of his anatomy but the
other
good stuff, like Ham making me laugh, Ham being mellow and tucking me snug in that mode, Ham being cool about everything.
    I couldn’t say that occasionally things didn’t hit me and sting. Like when I saw him flirt with a customer. Or when I’d let my guard down while looking at his hands or his lips and remember those used to be mine for a time, I was free to touch them, put them on me, put mine on him.
    But I found my way to beat that back and move on. These ways mostly had to do with my having cash in my pocket, a job I actually enjoyed, and Ham in my life on a daily basis, even if it wasn’t how I would want him.
    “We gotta talk,” he told me.
    “We can talk in the truck,” I replied as I tossed the sponge into the sink. “I’m on shift in twenty.”
    Incidentally, there was another reason I had cash and didn’t freak that my gas gauge was heading to empty. Nearly every night, Ham drove me to work.
    “I know you’re on in twenty, babe. I wrote the schedule. Remember? We gotta talk now.”
    At his tone, my eyes went from my hands, which I was drying with a towel, to him.
    His tone wasn’t angry but it was unyielding and, therefore, surprising.
    I looked to him even as I folded the towel and said, “Okay.”
    “You did my laundry,” he stated.
    “Yeah,” I agreed.
    “You did it last week and the week before, too.”
    “So?”
    “You cleaned my bathroom yesterday,” he shared something I knew since I was the one washing his whiskers down the sink.
    I felt my eyebrows draw together. “And?”
    “Darlin’, we’re roommates.”
    I was no less confused at this short explanation. “I know.”
    It was then he moved into me. Not only moved into me, he lifted one of his big, calloused hands, curled it around the side of my neck, and pulled me to him so I had to tip my head way back and he had to dip his chin deep so we could hold each other’s eyes.
    Ham had to be six-four, maybe even six-five. I was five-six. Even in heels, he towered over me.
    I’d