Page 22 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)

“Pretty girl. You’re so beautiful,” Frankie says, pressing her lips to the swell of Frankie’s breast. Jasmine’s clit aches as Frankie’s thigh hovers just far enough away to keep her wanting more.

She unhooks Jasmine’s bra with a practiced ease, and Jasmine shoves the jealousy away.

She wonders if it would help to know if Frankie has been with anyone since her.

Jasmine’s back arches, her head thrown back as Frankie runs a finger across Jasmine’s nipple.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” she says. Frankie said that the first time too, and it turns out that all being perfect got her was nothing. With the feel of Frankie’s eyelashes against her sternum, she pushes the thought away. Frankie’s hands wrap around Jasmine’s waist as her lips continue their ascent.

“Frankie,” Jasmine moans. She pulls the cup of Frankie’s bra down.

It’s all she has the brainpower for as Frankie kisses her.

Jasmine pulls her closer, her own nipples rubbing against Frankie’s.

She gasps, even though she can’t grind against her like this.

Frankie’s fingers dance up her spine like she’s playing a tune, then she drops her leg slightly, and Jasmine falls further into her lap.

She wonders how to get closer. She wants to touch her.

Jasmine never thought she’d like the idea of her pussy touching someone else’s.

It was so unnecessary for her, but now, she wants to be closer. She wants to feel like they’re one.

“Whatever I want?”

Frankie’s eyes darken. “Anything.”

Jasmine swallows. “I want your mouth.”

Frankie’s quick with it. Her palms against her thighs as she hoists Jasmine to her face.

Jasmine scrambles to keep steady but Frankie places one hand against her stomach to keep her upright, the other pulling her thighs down, her underwear to the slide.

Her tongue is heavy and warm and absolutely devastating.

“Fuck,” she mutters. Frankie pulls her closer to her mouth and Jasmine has imagined this more times than she should, but it’s better than anything she could come up with.

Frankie groans, but it’s strained. Her hand moves around to cup the back of her thigh, skirting against her lips. “Should I wash my hands this time?”

Jasmine sits up. “What?”

Frankie blinks, her mouth wet. “I just—I didn’t know if you wanted to—like last time.”

Oh. She does remember. Of course she fucking remembers.

Jasmine found a random fact deep on Wikipedia that hasn’t been referenced in years, and she took that to mean Frankie didn’t remember. She would have gotten laughed out of college for using it.

Frankie just doesn’t care about her enough to talk to her about that night.

“What?” Frankie asks, her eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”

Jasmine shuffles, ungracefully getting off her face.

“Sweetheart, talk to me, please. ”

Jasmine huffs out a laugh as she pulls her top back on. God, she’s so fucking stupid. She pulls her skirt back down.

“Jasmine.”

“I just—I’m not in the mood.”

“Did I do something?” Frankie asks, and she looks like Jasmine is sure she looked when Frankie ran out and left her.

“No,” Jasmine whispers. “That’s the point.”

“Jasmine, please,” she begs.

Jasmine wants to leave. She wants to run out and let Frankie overthink every single second of this night.

But Jasmine cares about Frankie. The thought that she’d worry about it weighs on her heart, which makes it worse that Frankie doesn’t care about her.

Jasmine runs her hand over her face as she looks at Frankie on the blanket, still topless, still unreasonably sexy, still saying absolutely nothing.

“Do you remember the night we were together?” Jasmine asks.

“Of course I do.” Frankie frowns. It should make Jasmine feel better, but the admission hits her in the chest like Frankie should have when she tried to take her down.

Jasmine huffs. “Imagine I leave now,” she whispers, “and I don’t tell you why, and I never mention it again, even though you have asked me to.”

Frankie’s face falls. Good. Jasmine’s tired of being here alone.

“I would never do that to you,” Jasmine says, pulling her lip between her teeth. She looks up at the stars, tries to find the strength they give Frankie. It doesn’t come, but Frankie’s anxiety does, and Jasmine doesn’t want to hurt her.

“So,” she says, steeling herself with a swallow, “I need you to know that you didn’t do anything wrong.

Not tonight, and not the last time either.

I’m not physically hurt. I just can’t do it again.

I’ve never slept with a woman before and I am overthinking every touch I make because I’m terrified I was awful last time, or you were bored, or I did something you didn’t want—something that made you want to leave me half-naked in bed. ”

“What?” Frankie asks, her voice broken. She doesn’t say anything else. Jasmine didn’t expect her to.

“You know,” Jasmine says, wrapping her arms across her body like it can protect her heart, “I convinced myself you had a low moment and didn’t remember it, because it’s so much easier than thinking you do remember and you don’t care enough about me to talk about it.”

“I do care about you,” Frankie says, but the declaration gets swept away with the breeze.

“I don’t know how to get it out of my mind,” Jasmine whispers. “I am trying to get over it and let it go. I want to be your friend, but I need you to give me something. We see each other all the time, and it’s…” Jasmine’s face drops.

“Don’t you think it hurts me? Don’t you care that it upsets me?”

“Yes,” Frankie replies rapidly. Jasmine wants to believe her. “I do care. I hate that I did anything that made you sad. I’m sorry I left.”

“I know you are,” Jasmine replies. “You should always leave if you want. I don’t care that you left. I care that you haven’t said anything.”

“Oh.”

“I have asked you directly, and indirectly, and you just—“

Frankie looks uselessly at her.

“You could have texted me,” Jasmine says.

“And if you didn’t because you thought we’d never see each other again, it’s different now.

I see you all the time. It’s been weeks, Frankie.

You can’t even pretend you thought I didn’t care because I have been so fucking clear that it hurts me, and you haven’t said anything. ”

Frankie worries her lip, her eyes moving frantically like she’s thinking. It doesn’t matter what goes on in her head if she never says it out loud. Jasmine would do the heavy lifting if she’d just tell her what she needs .

But she doesn’t. She says nothing.

Jasmine’s eyes well up.

“I feel like such a loser,” she whispers, giving Frankie more of herself than she’s ever given her. “I want you to want me the way I want you.”

“Jasmine,” Frankie says, but again, nothing follows.

“I’m sorry,” Jasmine says. “I should never have invited you in. You should leave.”