Page 17 of Good For Me

“Twice.”

I bark out a surprised laugh. “What the hell did you do?”

“The first time was a minor in possession charge when I was sixteen.”

“Beer?”

“Pot.”

I whistle. “Miss Weaver. I’m surprised by you.”

She shrugs, smirking a little. “I told you. Badass.”

I laugh. “Yup. A sixteen-year-old with some pot. You’ll make the hardened criminals shake in their boots. Okay, you said there was a second time?”

“Shoplifting.”

“Tell me you took something awesome. A sweet sound system?”

“Makeup from Sephora.”

I laugh so hard I fall backwards on the sand. “Oh, Jasmine. You’re right, total badass.”

She laughs too. “Hey, those eyeshadow palettes are expensive! I had more than two hundred bucks worth of shit in my backpack.” I hear a soft thud next to me as she lowers herself to the sand as well, lying next to me. “From the way my grandfather acted, you’d think I’d robbed Fort Knox.”

That’s the first she’s mentioned her grandfather and I turn my face to look at her. She’s staring up at the dark sky—not many stars in LA—her expression a little wistful.

“Is that who you lived with?”

She nods. “My mom took off when I was a kid. Wasn’t around much even before she left. Never even knew who my dad was.” She shrugs. “My grandpa was the best. I didn’t really feel like I was missing anything.” She sighs. “Until the teenage years hit.”

“That’s gotta be a rough time for a girl to not have a mom,” I say carefully, not wanting to push her but wanting her to know I’m listening.

She nods again, quiet for a long beat. “I acted out. It wasn’t just the arrests. I would get trashed with friends and sneak in at three in the morning. Or not come home at all. He found drugs in my room. I tried to sneak boys in after he was in bed.” Her tone is both bitter and remorseful at the same time. “I scared him to death on a daily basis.”

She sounds so sad that I can’t just lie here. I take a chance and reach across the sand, interlocking our fingers. I can’t contain my sigh of relief when she squeezes back.

“Did you have the chance to make it up to him?”

“I tried. He had a heart attack my junior year of high school. Guess it was my turn to be scared to death. After that, I did everything I could to get my shit together, you know? I actually started going to my classes, I started to work at his diner—”

“He owned a diner?”

She smiles softly. “He did. My favorite place in the whole world.”

“Your own Ruby’s.”

She turns to me. I can still see the traces of sadness on her face but she smiles softly. “Yeah.”

I’m torn between wanting to kiss her, and asking her to continue. I know there’s more to this story than the trouble she got up to as a kid. It hasn’t escaped my notice that every time she brings up her grandfather, she uses the past tense.

She makes the choice for me, taking a deep breath as she turns her attention back to the night sky. “He had another heart attack when I was in college. Sophomore year. This time, he didn’t survive.”

Fuck. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard so much pain in another person’s voice. My heart aches for her.

“I’m so sorry, Jas.”

Her breath is a long, quiet exhale. “Me too.”