Page 57 of Summer Breakdown
“Like, five minutes ago,” Frankie replies. Jasmine pulls her phone out of her bag, and she’s looking for something Frankie didn’t have the decency to give her.
She frowns. “You didn’t call?”
“I’m sorry,” Frankie says. “I—it just slipped my mind.”
Jasmine works her jaw. “Did you look at the register?”
“Pardon?”
“Did you look at who was supposed to be picking them up before you called me, or did you just jump at the opportunity to be rude to me?”
Rude to her? Frankie isn’t rude to her. Is she? She spends all her time trying to figure out how to talk to her; why would she waste the time she could being rude?
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Frankie replies. She panics. There’s a reason she overthinks every conversation she has in her head before she dares speak a word. It’s exhausting, but Jasmine is worth anything.
“Sure,” Jasmine replies, then turns to leave.
The pressure hits Frankie’s chest, and she should run. She wants to run, but getting anything worthwhile never came easy. But the text from Ezra this morning looms in her mind.Do it terrified.
“I miss you,” Frankie says quickly. Jasmine halts by the door, but Frankie’s not sure if it’s because Frankie is talking, or because the rain somehow gets heavier. It’s useful, though. Easier to talk to her when she can’t see her face.
“I miss you,” she repeats. Her palms are sweaty, and she can feel the heat crawl up her neck. “I miss you, and you’re not talking to me, and I know—I know it’s my fault, but I don’t… I miss you. I miss you, and I’ll fix it. Okay? I’ll fix it.”
Jasmine runs her hand through her hair. It’s half up and half down, and it’s curly. Frankie wants to know if it’s because of the rain or if she did it on purpose. Frankie’s gaze drops down her body. The curve of her hips, the swell of her arse. Frankie swallows and averts her gaze quickly when Jasmine turns around. She’s wearing more jewellery than usual, and she’s got eyeliner on.
Fuck. Frankie might have ruined a date. She’s not entirely sure she’s mad about it, but she hates the jealousy roaring in her chest. Jasmine isn’t hers. She never was; she never will be. Frankie hates it all the same.
“I miss you,” she repeats, and Jasmine finally looks at her. “Please.”
“You don’t,” Jasmine replies.
“I do,” Frankie replies, as she watches a raindrop roll down Jasmine’s neck. “Come with me.” She spins and walksto her office before Jasmine can tell her to fuck off. Jasmine follows her, but she hovers in the doorway.
“Here,” Frankie says, handing her some dry clothes. It’s just shorts and a sweatshirt, but she’s nervous Jasmine’s about to catch her death or something.
Jasmine avoids her gaze. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re dripping onto my carpet.”
“It’ll dry,” she replies, and she’s right—it will—but Frankie needs to do something.
“Please,” she begs, moving closer until the clothes are basically pushed against her. “Just take them.”
She watches as Jasmine tries to figure out if she wants to entertain her or not. Frankie wishes they were back on the first night they met each other. The day she thinks her life changed. But they aren’t. Jasmine barely looks at her. Still, she tries.
“I’ll tell you something,” Frankie bargains.
Jasmine’s gaze flicks to her. “Something good?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“How good?”
Frankie rolls her eyes and pulls Jasmine into her office. She closes the door, even though no one is likely to come in, and hands her the clothes.
“You have to turn around,” Jasmine says, and Frankie spins to face the blinds. It’s quiet, and she can hear Jasmine’s zipper roll down. God, she wants to see her. Then her dress drops to the floor, and Frankie almost dies. It’s too quiet. Jasmine’s going to hear the beating of her heart.
“Were you on a date?” Frankie asks, even though she doesn’t want to know the answer.
