Han was dangerously close to violence, but he did his best to keep that edge out of his tone as he told the most efficient lie to get him the information he wanted. “I’m her boyfriend. We live together.”
“Oh…” the blond visibly deflated. “In that case, I saw her walking toward the office with her nephew. She said something about them calling his mom….”
“Where’s the office?”
“Right over there.” She pointed to a prefab trailer covered in wood paneling at the edge of the parking lot. He’d been so focused on getting to Jasmine, he’d passed by it on his way to the bonfire.
Han’s phone buzzed, and he found a message from Chen.
CHEN: She just texted that she’s in the office. Helping her nephew make a call.
“So, you’re Jazz’s boyfriend,” the blonde said, appearing to have forgotten about the guy she was flirting with. “Do you have a brother or a friend who looks exactly like you?”
Han didn’t stick around to answer that question.
Though relief muted the alarm bells from before, the need to lay eyes on his surfer girl continued to rage inside of him even though she was totally fine, as Jasmine herself might say. He forcibly calmed his mind on that thought before opening the door.
Then froze.
Jasmine was fine. That was true. She was also in the arms of another man. He held her close, his whole body wrapped around hers, like a soldier back from the war.
And though his eyes were closed, Han recognized him in an instant.
It was Brad Kaminski…the pro-surfer, who all the articles he’d read about her had made sure to mention was her boyfriend.
“Aw man, I’m sorry, Jazzy. I was stupid,” he was saying. “I can’t believe I let a good thing like you get away.”
In an instant, Han’s forced calm gave way to icy anger.
20
JAZZ
It was one of the best Fourth of Julys of my life…until suddenly it wasn’t.
First, Brad had shown up out of the blue. Like a ghost from my past—one I had absolutely zero desire to see.
He’d greeted Albie with a “Hey, little man,” which made me 99% certain that Brad didn’t remember his name, even though I’d talked about Albie constantly, and he was one of Albie’s biggest surfing heroes.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, too stunned to keep the shock out of my voice.
“I ended up getting the chance to come home early from the Atlantic Crush Challenge, and Dad asked me to put in a special appearance at the 4th of July bonfire. You know, give the campers a special treat.”
Brad lifted a shoulder, the very picture of humble brag, even though “getting the chance to come home early” was probably code for him not making it past the first round of competition.
“Well, the kids are out on the beach,” I let him know.
“Yeah,” Brad said. “I can’t believe we’re both here. Remember that Fourth of July after the ABANCA Galicia Pro when we went to that embassy party in Madrid, and we snuck into that one dude’s office and….”
“Had a great time,” I finished before he could reveal to my nephew that we’d had some not-great drunk sex on top of some poor diplomat’s desk.
“What made it a great time?” Albie asked. Of course. He was a freaking bloodhound when it came to sniffing out adult-only conversational topics.
Brad snickered.
“I’ll tell you the story when you’re older, little man,” he told Albie before turning his blinding white smile right back on me. “But check you out, Jazz. You look great. A lot of the girls let their bodies go after they’re done with their careers—you know, babies and shit. But I can see you’re keeping it tight.”
I blinked, so totally appalled, that I didn’t move to block him when he went in for a hug.
“Man, it’s good to see you,” he said, squeezing me like I was a long-lost friend.
He pulled back, but he didn’t let me go. “Why did we break up? Can you tell me that? I mean, I just dumped my last girlfriend. She was a nightmare. My dad hated her, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I let you go.”
“You didn’t let me go,” I reminded him. “You made me choose between you and my sick father.”
Albie had gone uncharacteristically quiet at this point, his wide eyes ping-ponging back and forth between us. All he needed was a tub of popcorn, and he’d be all set.
“Is that how it went down?” Brad asked with almost laughable sincerity like he truly didn’t remember. Then he pulled me into an even tighter unwanted hug than before. “Aw man, I’m sorry, Jazzy. I was stupid. I can’t believe I let a good thing like you get away.”
“I’m not a thing,” I pointed out.
“I know, babe,” he said. “You’re precious. Utterly irreplaceable.”
