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“Her wedding is in a few days too. Do we want her to be pissed at us then? She’s already stressed out.”
“Are you saying you don’t think we should tell her?”
It was my turn to sigh. “I want to tell her, Jess. I just don’t know if we should drop it on her now.”
She considered it. The air between us was filled with all the things we couldn’t say. “You’re probably right. I’m leaving anyway.”
“Yes, you’re leaving.”
Christ, I hadn’t been so sad about something in years. Just the thought of her being gone left me with a tear in my chest so painful, I rubbed my sternum absently.
Jessa sat up, giving me a resigned smile and smoldering eyes. “Then we’ll drive Henry mad instead.”
“You know that’s my new favorite hobby.”
She gathered up her legs and crawled into my lap, putting her back against the rail. “And we’ll enjoy what time we can without upsetting Cass.” She hooked her arms around my neck.
My hands slid up her back. “It’s a good plan.”
“Have you ever fucked on the water tower?” she asked, her lips inching toward mine.
“Not even once.”
Her hands were already undoing my jeans. “Good. Then you can do something bad too.”
The kiss was deep and unrelenting, her hands freeing me, then sweeping the leg of her shorts to the side and guiding me until my tip slid into the wet heaven I’d come to need so insistently. And then she sank down my shaft, inch by fucking inch.
I don’t know how long she rode me, only that I was already too close to coming. Her strap was down her arm, her breast in my hand.
When the whoop of a police siren sounded below our feet.
33
the audacity
REMY
It was near three in the morning when Jessa’s mother bailed us out of jail.
If it’d been anyone but Jessa, getting arrested for fucking on the water tower would have been funny. But sitting next to her in the back seat of Bailey’s squad car just made me feel like an asshole and a chump. I’d sullied her once again with a first I never wanted to give her.
As much as I enjoyed getting her filthy, I hated to tarnish her like this.
I told her not to call her mom, but there was nobody else to ask if we wanted to keep things under wraps. The last thing any of us needed—Cass least of all—was to have my stressed out, bedraggled cousin screaming at us in front of the Roseville Police Station in the middle of the night.
Jessa was certain her mother would be discreet, which I didn’t doubt. Our reputation was her reputation too, and she was the kind of lady who cared too much what people thought of her. But discretion wasn’t my concern.
I was more worried about how much Grace would hate me after landing her daughter in jail for the first time. And when we walked out of holding, I hated to find out that I was right to be concerned.
Grace Hastings stood beneath the fluorescent lights of the police station, proud nose in the air. Her tired eyes were narrow and her lips a flat line, just like the expression I hated to invoke on Jessa. She wore silken loungewear with a tan trench coat hanging from her shoulders, and underneath, an expensive-looking bag was hooked in her elbow, her hand elegantly poised.
Her cool eyes cut from Jessa to me, narrowing a sliver farther.
She said nothing, turning on her heel to march out of the station. Jessa and I shared a worried look and followed.
Grace stopped next to the Bentley’s backseat door, held open by the driver. She stared Jessa down.
“Get in the car,” she said, the words clipped.
