Page 81 of Sweet Surrender

No doubt this will be posted and misconstrued a dozen different ways in the coming hours on social media, but the last thing I need to do is throw Hendrix into the fire the first night.

What an ass I was thinking this would be right.

“Jase? I thought we were going to dinner here.”

“We were,” I say as I pull out of the circular driveway and back onto the road.

“Was that considered a PR stunt?” she asks, concern woven into each word.

“The kiss?” I ask as I look over my shoulder before changing lanes.

“Well, I know that was. I meant—”

“No.” I stop at the light and lean over and kiss her softly again, shocking the hell out of me and twisting up my insides even more than they already are. “That was because I wanted to. It’s been a long fucking day and the thought of kissing you has been front and center in my mind.”

“Oh.”

I love when she makes that sound, that startled oh that she uses for a myriad of responses. “The restaurant? Yes. I had plans to take you there, but honestly, that’s not what you wanted and it wasn’t fair to ask that of you after a long day of work. So now we’re going to share the want.”

That would have been feeding her to the wolves. Is she beautiful? Fuck yeah, she is. But after a long day of work, tired and flour-covered, the “Hollywood standard” would have eviscerated her. I thought up Operation Live-A-Little to bolster her self-esteem, to make her see herself how I do—gorgeous, driven, funny, honest—and parading her around when she didn’t feel her best would have done the exact opposite.

“I get we’re married and all, Jase, but you just lost me,” she jokes and then lets her head fall back against the seat again. But I like how she angles it there so she can look at me. I like the feeling of her eyes on me like I’m the only thing she sees.

“I’m hungry. You’re hungry. We’re both tired. Let’s skip the fancy and go for what will hit perfectly.” I end the comment with perfect timing as I pull into the drive-thru line at In-N-Out Burger.

“Really?” Her eyes widen and she perks up in a way that tells me this was the right decision.

“Yes. Really. But”—I hold a finger up— “pretty sure I can top The Vine.”

“No way,” she gasps.

“Yes way.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Gizmo

The crash of the waves beyond is like a soothing soundtrack to the crinkle of the paper bag every time we reach in to grab another couple of fries.

We’re backed into a parking spot at the beach. There are other people milling around, but the night is moonless, and while that prevents a view of the waves, it also prevents people from recognizing me.

And I’m beginning to realize I might have needed this just as much as she did.

There’s a rush that comes with being recognized. A feeding of my ego that becomes addicting after you’ve had it for so long. But this is simple. Real—just like Hendrix—and I mean that in the best way possible.

“This is heaven,” she says as she takes a sip of her drink and leans back against the back part of the seat from where we’re seated in the cargo area of my SUV.

“I am definitely not complaining.” I chuckle when I finish chewing. “This was our staple when we first started—before we made it. The burgers are cheap and the beach is free and man, that goes a long way when you’re broke.”

My mind flashes back for a second. To the long days and endless hours trying to make something of ourselves. To this being our only hope, our only chance to be the men we saw in each other when our own parents didn’t or couldn’t see it themselves. The laughs we had on this beach. The memories. The arguments. The baring of our souls to one another. BENT was forged in this sand.

Funny how a woman who isn’t supposed to be a part of my life but now very much is, made me see that.

“You went quiet there for a second,” she says, knocking her knee against mine. “Where’d you go?”

“To back when the only thing I ever had was dreams.”

“Dreams are good,” she murmurs and rests her head on my shoulder.