Free High Risk Love by Shannon Mayer Page B

than a trace of amusement. “You tie him up in knots, you know that, right?”
    “I doubt that very much. Look at the women he could have.” I waved my hand to indicate the entire beach. “Stunning, willing women who would be more than happy to oblige and not complain when he shooed them out the next morning. Women who won’t mind him touching them. Women who would gladly let him break their cameras.” I glared at the closest woman, who was watching the receding figure of Jet with an interest that would make a hyena look reserved when eyeing a hunk of meat. What was with these women anyway? He wasn’t that gorgeous.
    With a smile, Hugh slowly shook his head. “Yeah, that’s true. Maybe I should suggest it to him.”
    My gut clenched at the thought of Jet in bed with a woman. Like the blonde woman, Elise, his one night ‘mistake.’ I bet if she offered, he’d jump on it—her, literally.
    Hugh and I followed in Jet’s wake in silence for a few minutes before I sucked up what was left of my pride and started questioning him about his friend.
    “How long have you known Jet?”
    Hugh squinted one eye closed with thought. “Since we were about seven years old. So going on twenty years now. We lived next door to each other. Our fathers were friends. Drinking buddies.”
    “Any good stories about him growing up?” I glanced over at Hugh’s profile. His eyes were drawn and he shook his head
    “No, not really. Nothing I could tell you anyway.”
    Now that was weird. How did you grow up with someone, next door to them no less, know them for twenty years, and then say you didn’t know any stories about them growing up?
    I wasn’t going to let this go. “Did he get picked on a lot, because of his name?”
    Hugh’s lips tightened. “I don’t really remember.”
    What the hell was this crap? A tingle of unease wormed through me and I felt a cool shiver, even with the sun warm on my skin, teasing at what I knew was going to be the sunburn from hell if I didn’t get into some shade soon.
    We rounded a corner and I fiddled with my camera, thinking about ways to draw the two men out. After how outgoing and gregarious they’d both been, this turn of behavior threw me for a freaking loop. Ahead of us was a touristy restaurant called the Tortilla Shell, complete with a giant sombrero hanging off the edge of the sign. Super touristy, nothing like the local cantina Jet had hidden in the day before.
    Jet was already there, charming a pretty little red head who leaned into him, batting long fake eyelashes with the subtlety of a linebacker in a lingerie store. With a shift of her shoulders, her cleavage lifted upward, giving—even me five feet away—an ample view of her fake boobs. He wasn’t really going to buy into that move, was he?
    His hand snaked around her waist, tugging her close. Apparently he was. Not that it mattered to me, not one bit. Jaw tight, I stepped up and smiled, holding out my hand.
    “Hi, I’m Jasmin Vargas.”
    The red head smirked at me, offering me her hand like a queen offers a servant a dirty plate. “Tina.” Her handshake was like gripping a limp noodle and I had to restrain myself from either admonishing her to shake hands like a grown up, or squeezing her hand until she winced. I did neither, letting her hand go and then sliding into one of the barely cushioned chairs under the umbrella table.
    “So, Jet, handsome boy, darling. Are we on for later? Say around nine?” Tina said in a stage whisper that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. She circled his neck with her arms, and pressed her body up against his, kissing him with a ferocity that made me think she might try and eat him. Like a prime cut of steak. Claiming her territory? Lord, what a ridiculous thing to do. I was no competition for those big bouncing boobs.
    “What a fake,” I mumbled, and then froze as I realized I’d said it out loud. Hopefully not loud enough for her to hear me while her lips were locked on