“Are you serious?” I turn around, wrapping my legs around his back. “Did you talk to Jerome about it?”
“Yep.” Kingston nods. “He told me if I write him a check, he’ll sign whatever he needs to. The asshat felt the need to add that he never wanted a kid, so we were doing him a favor.”
I scoff. “Yeah, ‘cause he’s the one we’re so concerned about.”
“Right.” Kingston rolls his eyes. “Anyway... Sandra said she’ll draw up the paperwork first thing in the morning. Jerome signs, I wire the money to him, and she’s ours.”
“Oh, my God.” I frown when something comes to mind. “How much did he ask for? How much money does he think she’s worth?”
“I told him to name a figure. He said a million. I think he wasn’t expecting me to pay up, but when I agreed, the man literally jumped for joy.”
“Kingston... I can’t let you do that. I’d never be able to pay you back.” I trace his eyebrow with my finger. “I love you so much for suggesting it, but...”
He pinches my lips together. “I love her, too, Jazz. I want Belle in our lives, too. I’m doing this just as much for me as I am for you and her. I would’ve given him my entire fortune if he asked. It’s just money.”
I laugh. “Only someone who’s never struggled to keep food on the table would say something like that.”
Kingston gives me a wry look. “Focus on what’s important here, Jazz. Belle can be ours. Permanently. All you need to do is say yes.”
I crawl onto his lap and pepper his jaw with kisses. “Yes. All the yeses .”
He smiles. “Hopefully, you’re this agreeable when I ask you another life-altering question down the road.”
I smile back. “All you need to do is ask.”
“Good to know.” He winks.
“I wish my mom could see us now. See how happy we all are and that we’re together.”
I turn my face into Kingston’s palm as he places it on my cheek. “I’d like to think both our moms can see us. Hell, they’re probably hanging out in a fluffy cloud together, with their arms around each other like in that photo on the mantle, gushing about how their babies fell in love.”
I smile because I can picture it perfectly. “You think so?”
“I really do.” He nods slowly, searching my eyes. “I fucking love you so much, Jazz. I’m never going to stop telling you that, so if you have a problem with it, you’d better get over that shit right now.”
I laugh because only this man could pull off throwing curse words into a romantic statement like that. “Don’t worry, Caveman, I’m not going anywhere.”
“If you try, I’ll—”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ll hunt my ass down.”
His beautiful greenish-gold eyes twinkle with amusement. “You can bet on it, sweetheart.”
*
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Thank you for going on Jazz & Kingston’s journey with me! While their story is complete, I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to these characters, so Bentley’s getting his own book in April 2021! CLICK HERE to pre-order now!
If you’d like to see just how much Reed enjoyed his Christmas present from Ainsley, CLICK HERE to download a bonus scene.
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Still craving some new adult angst? Keep reading for a preview of Laura’s Book, BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN.
Beautifully Broken (Preview)
The secret to getting away with a fake ID is going to a dive bar. Stay away from grocery stores and classy places—they usually have scanners that can spot a fake a mile away. The last thing I need on my eighteenth birthday is a night in county jail. Or worse, I wouldn’t get the drinks that I so desperately desired. Lucky for me, dive bars are practically my only choice here on the Central Oregon Coast. I’m legally an adult now and that’s cause for celebration. Normally, I’d call up my friend, Dylan and he’d supply the alcohol…and the orgasms. The perfect combination to make me temporarily forget about all the shit I have to deal with. But that’s not what tonight is about. Tonight, I am officially free from the system. I no longer have to go to a group home, or be fostered by someone who’s more interested in a paycheck than parenting when my mom gets arrested for solicitation or possession of a controlled substance. She’s tried getting sober over the years, hence my entire childhood being one fucked up game of ping pong, but her addiction always wins. Heroin trumps daughter. Every damn time.
I never knew my father. Neither did my mother, I suspect. Besides the night he impregnated her anyway. The only thing I know for certain is that he’s Latino. I definitely didn’t get my dark features from Mom. Cybil and I couldn’t be more opposite physically. While she’s tall, fair, and willowy—I’m short, dark, and curvy. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. My curves are in all the right places and they help me appear older than I am. In case you didn’t catch it, yes, I call my mother by her first name. She doesn’t want any of her regular clients to know that she’s old enough to have a teenage daughter. She’s only thirty-four, which isn’t old if you ask me, but she tells people she’s twenty-four. It makes her more marketable . If anyone asks, we’re roomies. They’re usually too inebriated and/or horny to question it.
“What’ll you have, pretty lady?”
I raise my head and see the bartender approaching. His bushy eyebrows lift expectantly.
“Tequila rimmed with salt,” I reply as I lean over slightly, giving him a better view of my cleavage. In my experience, the portions are pretty generous when the bartender sees something he likes.
He stares at the boobage on display and gives me a smarmy smile. He grabs a bottle of Don Julio and begins filling the oversized shot glass to the rim. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”
He continues to leer as he sets my drink on the bar. Well, look at that; I didn’t even need my ID.
“Thanks,” I say. “You got any lime?”
He opens the garnish tray and plucks out a few wedges, placing them in a bowl. With his gaze still on my chest he asks, “Anything else I can do for ya?”
He’s really asking what I can do for him …and for what price. There’s a surprising amount of illicit sex in small towns, you know. I guess that’s what I get for choosing a place next to a seedy motel that rents by the hour. Too bad for him, I don’t have a habit to support. Not that I haven’t had the chance—there’s no way you live the life I’ve lived without being exposed to everything under the sun—but I’ve seen firsthand how powerful drugs can be and I have no desire to become another sad statistic. The irony of my current scene is not lost on me but I don’t have a drinking problem, if that’s what you’re thinking. If you must know, sex is my chosen vice. The main difference between me and my mother is that I don’t use it as a form of payment or to get paid. Getting off simply helps me turn down the volume for a while. Silence truly is a beautiful thing in my crazy, chaotic world.
I down the drink in one long gulp, chase it with the lime, and bat my eyelashes. “How about another?” There’s no way I’m interested in this jerk but flirting will keep the drinks flowing. Flirting like a pro is the one useful thing my mother has taught me.
He pours another and waits for me to bring the glass to my lips again. Before I can comply, a big guy on the corner shouts, “Yo, Stan! I’m empty!” Big Guy emphasizes his statement by clanking his mug loudly on the grimy surface.
Slimy Stan, as I’ve now named him, winks at me. “I’ll be back, sweet thing. Don’t go anywhere.”
I roll my eyes as he walks away to bleed the tap. I lift my glass and say, “Happy fucking birthday to me.”