Page 79 of Good For Me

Will groans loudly. “Aw, Jas. I thought you were cool.”

“What’s wrong with EDM?”

“I like musicians who playrealinstruments.”

I roll my eyes, then list off five DJs who play and mix their own instrumentals. Cash studies me with narrowed eyes while I talk. Eventually he nods, face relaxing. “That’s acceptable. You can keep the apron.”

“Hey, didn’t we tour with someone named Alana Kicks one summer?” Daltrey asks, naming one of the DJs I’d just listed. “One of the festival tours—maybe five years ago?”

“Yeah, I think so,” another of the brothers—Lennon, maybe—says. “She was pretty good, right? A little repetitive with some of those beats, but she put on a good show.”

Cash snaps his fingers. “The Summer City Festival,” he says. “Seven years ago.”

“I was at some of those shows!” I say excitedly. “My friend Brie and I followed that festival around for two months that summer.” I shake my head. “That was the summer I learned the danger of Jager bombs.”

River raises an eyebrow at me. “Weren’t you like, sixteen seven years ago?”

I shrug. “We had fake IDs.”

River’s uncles all laugh and I feel like I passed some kind of test. I go back to flipping pancakes. It’s a few moments before I realize River is watching me, a strange expression on his face.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just thinking…it’s weird. I was with them for part of that tour.”

“Huh.”

“Strange to think that we were in the same place at the same time and we didn’t even know each other.”

That does seem strange to think about. The twinge of an ache I feel deep in my chest seems even stranger. So I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “You’re not going to give me any lame shit about fate are you?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, the way they always do when I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. Somehow, knowing that only makes the ache in my chest worse. What is wrong with me today?

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in fate, Jasmine Weaver.”

“Do you?”

“Sure.” He bumps his shoulder against mine as we work the griddle together. All of a sudden it feels like he’s standing awfully close. No one else in the kitchen seems to be paying any attention to us. Everyone is either chatting or singing along to the music while they work. I try to concentrate on the pancakes in front of me but it’s hard to focus with River right there. The now familiar scent of him—something fresh and earthy that I can’t identify but makes me think of the ocean—is somehow stronger than the breakfast smells filling the kitchen. It’s making my knees feel awfully weak.

“Does that really surprise you?” River continues, something about his low voice so close to my ear sending all my senses on high alert.

It takes me a moment to remember what we were talking about—fate. “Not really,” I say. “Youarea surfer boy. Let me guess, you sit out there on your board, watching the water, thinking deep thoughts about destiny and the universe, right?”

He chuckles. “You say that like it’s such a bad thing. The ocean is amazing, man. Who the hell can sit and look at the ocean and not think deep thoughts about the universe?”

The last time I spent any time looking at the ocean I was mostly thinking about how hot the man next to me was and how very much I wanted him to take me to bed. But I don’t say that.

“Such a cliché, River,” I say instead, keeping my voice light to try and hide the sudden flash of heat I’m feeling at those memories.

His fingers brush mine as he reaches for a whisk and the flash of heat simmers even hotter. My mind jumps to the way his fingers had felt last night, brushing hair out of my face while we were skating. I’d been so sure he was about to kiss me, right there in front of his brother

Would I have let him? It’s hard to imagine myself refusing when just the gentlest touch of his fingers feels so damn good right now.

“I think you should flip that one,” he says, pointing at one of the pancakes.

“Fuck,” I mutter, forcing my attention back to my task. The edges of the pancake are way too brown. My movements are jerky and fumbling when I reach for it with the spatula, and I nearly drop it on the counter when I try to flip it.

“You seem jumpy all of a sudden,” River murmurs. Is it my imagination, or did his voice drop another few notches? And is he standing closer to me?