CHAPTER ONE

JASON SOMERS

SETTING THE FINANCIAL PAPERS his accountant had sent over on the desk, Jason leaned back and smiled. Relief flowed through his veins alongside with great pride. The Meat Market, which had been in his family since the 1900s, was safe from bankruptcy and financially sound.

Finally. A sense of pride flowed freely through him, accompanied by overwhelming relief and anticipation for the future.

Inheriting the butcher shop from his grandfather hadn’t been in any plans he would have made for himself and his life, but life had a way of throwing curveballs that left you blindsided. Jason knew that more than anyone. He had been raised by a single mom, and his grandfather had been the closest thing he’d had to a dad. Especially since his own father—or better yet, sperm donor—couldn’t seem to stay in their lives longer than a couple of months at a time. That was, until Mom told him she was expecting another bundle of joy, and dear old dad went out for milk one day and simply never came back.

Looking back, it was the best thing that had happened to him and his family. Luckily for Jason’s sorry ass, his grandfather had been one of the best men he had ever had the honor of knowing. The only father figure a kid needed.

Thinking about his grandfather always formed a knot in his throat, and he found himself picking up the frame on his desk. He was tempted to talk to it. The frame and the picture had come with the shop, along with more debt and headaches than he had known what to do with. But the image he held in his hands had helped him make the tough decisions he had needed to make at the time.

All to make the man beside Jason in the portrait proud. Everything he had done was so the old man would be proud of him, his attempt to make up for all the times he had let his grandfather down while he had been alive. He knew it had all been a day late and a dollar short, but he also knew he would have never been able to forgive himself if he hadn’t been able to save the butcher shop.

The picture in front of him reminded him of easier times. They had gone on a family vacation to the lake, and his mom had snapped the shot without either of them noticing. They had been laughing at something, his grandfather’s arm draped over Jason’s shoulder despite the fact Jason was taller by three inches.

Every time he looked at the photograph, his heart hurt with grief yet warmed at the memory.

Regret was a hideous thing. After Jason had graduated college, he went to New York and started working. Hard. Paving his own way on Wall Street. Too young and too hungry to make a buck, he became a man he hardly recognized at the end of the day. Taking whatever shortcuts and using whatever connections he could, all to get ahead.

Jason had broken one too many promises. Not only to the old guy but to his grandmother and own mother. Hell, he had even missed his brother’s high school graduation. So many broken promises, Jason had lost count. He knew, without anyone telling him, he had let his grandfather down. The call from his broken-hearted mother ten years ago had changed the course of his life and was seared into his memory. He’s gone, honey. He passed.

A sigh escaped from his lips as his thumb grazed the deep lines of the old man’s face before he put the frame down.

No matter what happens in life, Jason, find someone who can make you laugh, his grandfather’s voice reminded him. Pop had always said it was the key to happiness and making life matter. His grandpa’s words of wisdom had been on repeat recently. More than recently, if Jason was being honest with himself. Every time Pop’s words played in Jason’s head, only one face came to mind.

One very familiar face.

Rocio Padilla.

But between the bad economy and the debt his grandfather had accumulated, Jason had been in over his head with the shop and about to call it quits on a place that meant so much to their family. Eight years into trying to stay afloat and not let the shop drown to bankruptcy, an idea had hit. An idea that made having her impossible. Making the decision to do what he needed to do hadn’t been easy. But important ones usually weren’t.

His younger brother, Jax, had been in the shop when Jason had accidently overheard two women talking about how they would happily buy “his meat” for the night. Since Jason had dabbled one summer in college escorting and keeping older woman at a country club company, he knew exactly how easy it would be to make some serious cash.

He wasn’t ashamed of his past. At the time, Jason had been a young, twenty-something guy getting laid and paid. But he was older now, and he hoped somewhat wiser as he created another side to his grandfather’s business with the help of his brother and friends. And what felt like overnight, The Meat Market had been reborn.

Becoming a hell of a lot more successful than anything he could have imagined. It had helped not only himself but each of the men who put themselves out there as one of the meaty specials offered to their female clientele.

But it had only been a means to an end and had served its purpose and run its course. The doors to that side of the business were now officially closed.

For good.

His guys all dropped like flies, one by one, willingly handing their balls over to their women. Each time leaving him with one less “special” to serve. But financially, Jason had The Meat Market where he needed it to be, so he could move forward. He wasn’t complaining.

Hell. He was relieved.

He had even traded his butcher’s apron in to play matchmaker for some of his guys, happily setting them up with women they’d quietly had their eye on but for whatever reason hadn’t had the balls to take a chance on. Maybe now he could take a chance on the one woman he had always compared everyone else to.

His phone rang, and a smile washed over his face much like anytime he caught a glimpse of her smiling face. Rocio Padilla.

“Hey, Row your boat,” he answered, calling her the nickname he had teased her endlessly with for years.

“You know you’re forty, right?” she asked, full of sass. He was a sick fucker for enjoying it.

“I remember someone sneaking around, helping my mom throw a surprise party and there being a cake that should have had the fire department on standby,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair, unable to hide the smile on his face. Fuck, she was perfect.

“Glad you aren’t forgetting much in your old age, other than acting your age, not your shoe size.”

“Cute.” He chuckled.

“I try.” And she more than succeeded. He just couldn’t straight up say it. Not yet. But he would. Soon.

“What’s up? There a reason you called more than to remind me of how old I am?” he teased her.

“Shut up. You’re not old. And yes, I called for more than to tease you.” He could tell by the tone of her voice he was starting to frustrate her.

“So?”

“What are you doing tonight?” If he was a lucky man? Her.

“Umm,” he cleared his throat, trying to brush away the images that bombarded him. “Got nothing planned. What’s up?”

“Can you meet me at The Brown Bottle?”

“Sure.” He would meet her at the ends of the earth if she asked. “Any reason in particular?”

“Kind of.” He didn’t like the uncertainty in her voice. A frown covered his face.

“Kind of? What’s going on, Row?” He didn’t like the worry in his gut.

“Nothing. I just… We need to, umm… talk.” Talk. That was never good.

“About?”

“Brown Bottle. Tonight. Whenever you can get here.” Something about her tone was off.

“You’re already there?” he asked, looking up at the clock on the wall. “Babe—”

“And Jason?”

“Yeah?” he asked, wondering what the hell was up with her.

“Don’t let me chicken out,” she whispered, leaving him dumbfounded.

“Chicken out?” he repeated, but he was too late. She had already hung up.

_________________________________

He stepped into The Brown Bottle and immediately spotted her.

As she sat at the bar, her jet-black hair whispered across her bare shoulders, and he took his time soaking in the beautiful sight. By what she was wearing, she had come straight from the jewelry store where she worked. Her emerald-green satin tank flowed down her torso, accentuating every perfect curve as did the black dress pants that were painted on her long legs and perfect ass. If he could make a guess, and because he knew her like he did, she’d already switched from whatever sexy-as-hell high heels to strappy sandals that showed off her petite painted toes. Next to Rocio was her huge purse, in which he knew she had everything she could ever need and then some. Not to mention her signature black blazer draped over the back of her barstool.

She shifted slightly, and he was able to get a peek of her profile. Without fail, it was like seeing her for the first time all over again.

She was breathtaking.

ROCIO PADILLA

Sipping my beer, I tried to relax, but it was close to impossible.

Now or never, I reminded myself for the hundredth time since I had stepped into the bar. The carpe-diem mantra did nothing to soothe the nerves that had settled into the pit of my stomach the moment I’d ended the call to Jason.

With my fortieth birthday on the horizon, it was time to put it all on the table.

Now or Never.

It was time. I had fought how I felt about him throughout the years. Dating other men. Some great, some not so much. But it didn’t help. Jason Somers was the one no one else could ever measure up to. Not that my lifelong buddy was perfect by any means. He wasn’t. Not even close. The heart wants what it wants, my mother’s voice rung in my head and made me want to laugh.

At my age, I was a realist. Any fairy-tale notions about the man who had been my best friend for over half my life were gone. The thing about him was that I knew him. Really knew him.

I knew the bad, the good, and then some. Yet, I still found myself in love with him.

In love.

I had always been in love with him, no matter how much I’d tried to talk myself out of it. But something about this milestone birthday made me feel like I was at a point in my life where I had to take a chance. I refused to waste any more time waiting for him to see me as more than a friend.

I glanced at my wristwatch, then around the front of the bar. I tried to calm my heart from going into overdrive at the sight of the man who unknowingly owned my heart—never had an inkling of it.

God, I was pathetic.

Jason Somers.

My best friend.

One of the easiest-going, down-to-earth, kindest men I had ever known. He was also the one man who didn’t seem to care I was a woman.

I remembered how it had all started. With a foolish schoolgirl crush in high school and the first couple of years in college. But when he’d confessed, in more details than I’d needed or wanted, about his summer job his sophomore year and how he was entertaining women right and left, hope had swiftly died inside me.

I was the one he relied on. The one he went to. Yet he didn’t see me. Not really. That reality had been the green light I had needed to start dating, and I had.

I threw myself into making something out of my life. I dove headfirst into every activity that called my attention in college, all in order to be too busy to think of Jason. I tried to find someone else. Before I knew it, the clock of life had ticked by, and now I found myself here.

Still in love with the same boy, who was now a man.

Six months ago, I’d declared I was done dating, and like the snap of my fingers, something had changed between us. There had been a shift in the way Jason behaved around me. Touchy-feely, almost flirtatious in a way he had never been before.

I didn’t take my eyes off him as he walked into The Brown Bottle and right toward me. I was going to dig deep into myself and find the courage to lay it out there.

Now or never.

His casual, calm demeanor was almost soothing as he swaggered in, but there was something else. He was steadier, more confident as he swerved and smiled at the people he passed by, as if there had been a weight lifted off his shoulders.

He was gorgeous, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Women, young and old, all did a double take whenever he was around.

Tall, an even six feet, he was solidly built. Always had been. Packed muscles without being overly beefy or overwhelming. Masculine perfection. Perfection that, no matter who you were, made your mouth water at the idea of skimming his body with your hands to memorize every dip and edge until your dying day. Dark hair that curled when wet or too long. Bright blue eyes that gave Caribbean waters a run for their money.

A classic masculine face with a slight edge of ruggedness thrown in, so you wouldn’t think of him as a pretty boy. He was also a man time had been extremely kind to. At forty, he was better looking than when we had first met at seventeen.

He was also the main reason my heart played patty cake with my rib cage and every nerve in my body did jumping jacks.

I managed to tear my eyes away from him and get the attention of the bartender, quickly ordering two beers. I was going to need more than beer for liquid courage, but it would have to do.

The green glass bottles were set in front of me. With a smile, I thanked the easy-going bartender before I took a long pull. As the cool liquid ran down my throat, I prayed I would find the inner courage to ask for what I wanted.

It was time to do something about the way I felt about him. My fortieth birthday was only days away and the perfect reason to treat myself. He didn’t see me the way I wished and dreamed of, but maybe I could pay him to.

Just for a night.

“Hey,” his deep voice rumbled at my ear and draped over my skin like smooth velvet. I turned toward the voice that turned me on and was surprised to find him standing close. Very close. So close I could smell the soft scent of his manly cologne.

“Hey,” I breathed out, a little too huskily, and was taken aback when he didn’t move, crowding me slightly.

“This mine?” he asked without taking his eyes off me, and just like that, my mouth ran dry. With him looking at me like that, asking if what was his? Me? God, I would be. I was even willing to pay him for it.

“Wh-what?” I stuttered, fighting from wincing at how stupid I sounded. He was my best friend. I needed to get it together.

“Row, is this mine?” he asked again, bringing the extra beer bottle into my sightline, crushing my heart like a bug without knowing it. I couldn’t ask him. There was no way. I would make an idiot of myself if I did.

“Yeah,” I clipped harshly, feeling stupid.

Here I was daydreaming about what being his would be like all because he was asking me if the beer was his? What other sign did I need to see it was time to move on?

Not that I had been holding my breath for him for the past twenty-three years.

I hadn’t.

I just needed to find a way to forget how being around Jason Somers made me feel. I needed to put some space between us.

Serious space.

Miles of space.

I took a long swig of my beer and pretended the Cubs game was captivating. What was I thinking? How could I ask if it would be okay to pay him to fuck me like crazy?

Without a word between us, he sat down on the barstool next to mine. His thick, muscular thigh brushed against mine, and the heat his body radiated penetrated and drove me crazy.

Maybe I could ask?

“You asked me to meet you.” he reminded me, and I shut my eyes.

“Yeah.” I shrugged, opening my eyes, not bothering to look at him, trying to figure out my next step.

“So we could watch the game?” He leaned toward me, playfully bumping his shoulder against mine.

“No.” I wanted to see if I could pay you for sex. My eyes narrowed at how ridiculous that sounded. Never mind the fact he was the man in charge of what used to be our town’s dirty secret escort service, dubbed The Meat Market, which had women all over in a tizzy.

And I was about to place my own order?

“Then?” he pressed, and I shook my head.

“Forget it.” There was no way I could ask. Would he laugh or simply feel disgusted at the idea of taking me to bed?

“So, you asked me to meet you here for no reason?” he pushed.

“Look.” I turned to stare at him, and my breath caught in my throat. God, he was handsome.

Closing my eyes, I shook my head. I couldn’t do it. He had never seen me as more than one of the guys, permanently benched in the friend-zone, and it was time to let it go. A man like Jason would probably end up with a twenty-something perky, bubble of energy who would be his arm candy and give him a family. At almost forty, that was probably a door that was closed for me. My eyes stung with how stupid I had been.

Pining away for the impossible.

Why didn’t I take a risk with someone else years ago?

I could have made a life with my ex, Brad. It wouldn’t have been with the man of my dreams, but I would have had something more than a small, empty house waiting for me at the end of a long workday. I shook the thoughts away because I knew myself. At the end of the day, I would have known I had settled. I was a lot of things. Stubborn and pushy. But settling had never been my thing, especially not in matters of the heart.

I needed to get the hell out of there. If I didn’t, I would make a crying spectacle of myself.

“I gotta go,” I blurted, hopping off the stool and grabbing my purse. “What was I thinking?” I muttered to myself, searching for my wallet, then placing a couple of bills on the bar top to cover our beers and tip.

“What?” He frowned, obviously confused by my behavior, and I couldn’t blame him. I was acting like a bipolar maniac.

“I have to go,” I repeated, not looking at him, feeling like a complete moron.

“Row, row, row your boat, what’s going on?” I scowled, my eyes pinned on the man of my dreams.

My poor, pathetic dreams.

God, I was an idiot. Pinning my heart to a man who after all this time still had a stupid, silly little nursery rhyme nickname for me.

His words were like an ice-cold pail of water being dumped over my head.

“You’re forty,” I pointed out, poking his hard, muscular chest, trying to ignore the images of him shirtless that flashed in my head. His eyes widened in surprise. “Can you knock it off with the teasing?”

“Babe—“

“I gotta go. I’m sorry I wasted your time, Somers,” I clipped, knowing he hated it when I called him by his last name. I turned around and walked right to the exit.

“Rocio!” he called out, but I ignored him.

It was past time to move on.

I had let myself believe something was changing between us. That maybe, just maybe, things would take a turn toward the fairy-tale ending every woman, young and old, dreamt of. But it wasn’t. Not even close. I was just the stupid one who had let myself think his hugs lasted a little longer than usual and that his sweet endearments of baby meant more than they did.

Why had I held on to hope for so long when it came to Jason Somers?

For all I knew, it was his own personal exercise for how to be with strange women when he wined and dined them for work. Not that I was even sure he offered himself up as a “special,” but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

Hell, he was probably his own bestseller. Though the way he had been talking, his guys retiring, I had wondered if that side of his business was over. Obviously, he didn’t think it was any of my business, or else he would have shared like he shared everything else.

I reached my car and searched for my keys when two strong hands gently grabbed my shoulders.

“Rocio,” he whispered in my ear. I hated how much I liked his hands on me. How much my name on his lips awakened not only my body but my soul.

“Honey, talk to me,” he gently pushed, and my shoulders slumped forward.

“Nothing—“ Except I have to move my ass across the country, so I’m not pining away for you like some crazy schoolgirl instead of being the grown, confident woman I am.

“I know you, Row. Talk to me, baby.” Baby. One stupid, four-letter word took my breath away and made me cling to hope. Stupid hope.

“I’m tired,” I lied.

“Row, look at me,” he pleaded, his scent surrounding me. Woodsy and slightly citrusy from the soap he constantly used to wash his hands at work. Being close to him made me feel safe, a small torturous glimpse of what I had wanted from him for way too long.

I turned in his arms and stared up at him under the moonlight. While pressed so close to his body, it was hard to ignore the way he made me weak at the knees. “You’re sad,” he pointed out, and I laughed. I was sad. Sad and pathetic, not that I would admit that to him.

“I’m not. I’m just—“

“Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?” His hands stroked up and down my shoulders.

“I…”

“You look like you’re going to cry.” His eyes filled with worry. “Jesus, babe, is it your mom?” I smiled weakly at how sweet he could be without realizing it. My mom had suffered a heart attack last year and had been having a hard time recovering.

“No, Jay, she’s fine,” I put his mind at rest.

“Then talk to me. What is it?” he pressed, leaning closer, and my heart went from beating fast into overdrive.

“What are you doing?” I asked a little too harshly.

“Asking my best friend what’s making her upset.”

“Is that what I am to you?” I asked, searching his eyes, trying to find any indication that maybe, just maybe, he cared a little more.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I sighed and took a deep breath.

Fuck it, it’s now or never.

“Is it true that The Meat Market is closed?” Not the smoothest way to bring up the subject, but then again, graceful had never been my middle name.

“What?” he frowned and released my shoulders, making me instantly yearn for his touch.

“You know, the after-hours meat shop,” I asked again. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Why?” His arms crossed over his delicious chest, only defining the muscles tugging his shirt, and I shook my head so I could focus.

Screw his meaty choices. For me, only the butcher would do.