“Jer, show Jas that video of Mason doing a somersault,” her father said, and Jeremy passed Jasmine his phone as reluctantly as if she’d asked for one of his kidneys. Mason was almost three, and absolutely darling. But today, Jasmine couldn’t take one more reminder of what she was missing in her life.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, grabbing her own phone and shoving her chair back. “My agent just called.”

Riley had not called, but they didn’t know that. Jasmine just needed a break.

The waitress intercepted her on the way, holding a champagne flute in each hand.

“They’re light on the orange juice,” she said, handing the drinks to Jasmine. “Figured you could use it.”

Jasmine took them gratefully and made a mental note to leave an extra good tip. “You are a lifesaver.”

The waitress bit her lip, stalling like she wanted to say something, and that was when Jasmine knew she’d been recognized. People always got that nervous look before they asked—

“Were you on that show? Sunrise Vista, I mean. Was that you?”

Jasmine nodded and smiled. No matter how she was feeling, she was always kind to fans. It took courage to approach someone considered to be a celebrity, and everyone remembered when those celebs let them down. “Yes, that was me.”

The woman gave a little squeal and pulled out her phone. “I thought so! Oh my god, I loved that show. I used to watch it before my late-night bartending shifts, and was so sad when it ended. Can I take a picture with you?”

“Sure, just crop out the drinks,” Jasmine said with a wink, then leaned in to take a selfie with her. “What’s your name?”

“Bethany.”

“Thanks for the drinks, Bethany.”

“You’re welcome. Also . . .” Bethany pointed to an empty stool at the bar. “There’s a spot there if you need to have a moment alone.”

Shit, how much had she overheard? With a grateful nod, Jasmine carried her drinks over to the bar and took a seat. Sipping slowly, she texted the Primas of Power for support.

 

Jasmine: Help.

Ava: Are they being awful?

Jasmine: No more than usual.

Michelle: Bad enough.

Jasmine: I have mimosas. So it’s not all bad.

 

She added some champagne glass emojis.

What she really wanted to do was tell them about Ashton and what she’d done with him last night. How he’d slept beside her and been so sweet this morning, holding her before he left.

And damn could he kiss. She didn’t understand why he’d made a point of saying they shouldn’t have intercourse, but it didn’t bother her. He’d still made her feel cherished and wanted, and the orgasm had been amazing. Maybe he had an STI, and hadn’t felt comfortable telling her in the moment? Or maybe he just wanted to take it slow, since this was technically their first real kiss? Either way, they could discuss it later.

She started to type a message to her cousins, but held back. The part of her brain that knew she was making stupid choices where a man was concerned had been flashing all sorts of warning signs. She just had years of practice ignoring them. If she told Ava and Michelle, she’d have to listen to that part of her mind, and then she’d have to listen as her cousins pointed out—rightly so—that she was not adhering to any of her goals. They’d remind her of the Leading Lady Plan and ask where she was on the Jasmine Scale. She’d blown so far past Crush that she didn’t even want to think about when Infatuation had taken root.

Being with Ashton had been worth whatever second-guessing her common sense wanted to do. He’d made her feel special. And she hadn’t only enjoyed their time in bed together—they’d had real fun during karaoke, and now that they were communicating, he was wonderful to act beside.

They’d have to “communicate” about this—about the way he’d touched her, stroked her, kissed her. Part of her really wanted to talk about it. But the other part knew they were better off sticking to the original plan of practicing their lines together, and no more.

She knew it. She just didn’t care.

After finishing both drinks, she stood up, a little wobbly but with a nice enough buzz that she felt ready to face her family again. Determined to get through the rest of the meal without making any more passive-aggressive jabs—she’d be the better person, this time—she returned to the table . . . just in time for them to rehash all their old jokes about her vegan “phase,” which had actually been an elimination diet to uncover food sensitivities.

Jasmine waved and got Bethany’s attention again. “Just champagne,” she said in a low voice. “Keep it coming.”

Chapter 24

Ashton returned to Jasmine’s room that evening with the script for episode seven and the best of intentions.

He’d spent two hours that morning sweating it out on the treadmill and with the weights, and then had an hour-long video call with his son that had reset his priorities. Yadiel was worried about the new school year because he’d heard from one of his friends that fourth grade was really hard, and he had a lot of thoughts about the latest Marvel movie. Afterward, Ashton had caught up with his father, who’d shared that Abuelito Gus’s cough hadn’t worsened, but neither had it gone away, and that Abuelita Bibi was experiencing knee pain but had refused to stop cooking at the restaurant.

Still, even with all that to think about, Ashton hadn’t been able to put Jasmine out of his mind.

Bad idea, his brain told him as he knocked on the door. You’re going to end up hurting her.

But he couldn’t stay away.

Jasmine opened the door wearing a bright smile and the yellow floral romper she’d worn during their first rehearsal with Vera. Instantly, his anxiety eased.

“Hi,” she said. “Come on in.”

He followed her inside and was hit with the smell of hot pizza.

“Dinner?” he asked, spotting the box on the dining table. A half-eaten slice sat on a plate next to it. She picked it up and took a bite.

“I spent the day with my family and drank my weight in mimosas,” she explained after she’d chewed. “All I want is pizza right now. Real New York City pizza with a soggy thin crust and too much cheese and oil.”

“When in Rome, I guess.” Ashton took a slice from the box. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What, pizza?”

“No, your family.”

She sighed dramatically and dropped into one of the chairs. “Not really? Maybe you can tell me about yours instead.”

This was dangerous territory, but he sat and tried to answer without giving away too much. “My family owns a restaurant. My mother passed away ten years ago, but my father and grandparents still work there.”

“They’re in Puerto Rico, right?”

“Yes. I moved them to Miami after Maria, but they wanted to go back.”

She took a fresh slice from the box. “They’re okay with you being an actor?”

“Of course. They’re my family. They’ve always supported my art.”