“What kind of call?” Jagger repeats, and I can’t help but wonder if he already knows. Maybe it’s the way he says it. With a heaviness and a hint of resignation. Maybe it’s the way he blindly reaches for me in the passenger seat, his hand finding my thigh as I shift on the cool leather. Whatever it is, he’s officially on alert, somehow tapping into whatever reserves of adrenaline his body has managed to keep on hand despite tonight’s brawl.
Giving in, Roman sighs. “Gus wants to meet.”
Jagger’s body turns rigid beside me. It leaves me cold. On edge. Though I have no idea why.
“W-who’s Gus?” I ask.
Jagger hangs his head but doesn’t answer me. Instead, he squeezes my thigh. Not in anger. In warning. Like the name alone holds the power of the boogeyman or something.
Ooookay, then?
My breathing feels stilted, but I keep my mouth shut, refusing to ask him for any kind of clarification. Not again. Not when it’s clear whoever Gus is, he isn’t a saint.
“Fuck,” Jagger mutters under his breath. He looks up at Roman standing at the window. “When?”
“Now,” Roman answers.
My eyes widen. Gus wants to meet now? Talk about trying to swing your dick around. I don’t care who this guy is, there’s no way Jagger is ready to meet someone. Not with a clear head, anyway. Between the fight, the emotional rollercoaster we’ve both been on, and the fact that it’s easily past midnight, Jagger has to be exhausted. I know I am. I peek at my boyfriend beside me, waiting for him to speak up for himself and tell Roman to reschedule or something. Instead, he stays quiet.
With a slow nod, Jagger turns to me and presses his lips to my forehead. “Take my truck, okay? I’m going to catch a ride with Roman. I’ll meet you at home after.”
Home. The irony of the sentiment isn’t lost on me.
He reaches for the driver’s side handle, but I grab his arm, halting his departure.
“Jag.”
“Yeah, Vi?”
There are so many things I want to say. So many questions I want to ask. But the thing is, none of them really matter. Not in this moment. The only thing I really need to know is one thing.
“Tell me you’re good,” I say.
“I’m good.”
“Jagger,” I warn.
“Gus is, uh,” he sighs. “Gus is The Drift’s landlord. We pay him rent to use the facilities.”
Pay him rent to use the facilities? What the hell is Jagger talking about?
“Okay?” I press my lips together, fighting not to state the obvious. Paying rent doesn’t usually warrant the kind of visceral reaction Jagger had as soon as Roman mentioned Gus’s name. But what do I know? “So, maybe he just wants rent for tonight? Right?” I offer.
Jagger glances at Roman again before plucking off my hold with his free hand and kissing my fingers. “Right.” His touch disappears as he climbs out of the truck and stands to his full height. “Go home and go to sleep. I’ll see you soon.”
Panic rises inside of me. “Will you?”
His gaze softens. “I promise.”
I want to believe him. Man, do I want to believe him. The trouble is, I’m pretty sure he has no idea what’s going to happen tonight. But will it do him any good to be worrying about me while he’s meeting with Gus? Probably not.
With a tense smile, I give him a nod, even as I’m dying inside. “Okay.” I swallow, thickly. “I love you.”
“Love you, Vi.”
Then, he walks away.
56
