Page 7 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)
“Wait, tell me,” Frankie says, with a laugh. Jasmine thinks she’s delightful. “You have to tell me.”
“You’re so bossy,” Jasmine replies, but she’ll tell her anyway, because Frankie has her hand wrapped around her elbow. “I say brB because MSN ruined my brain at fourteen, and now, I can’t get it out.”
“God, that’s so good,” she says, between gasps of air.
Finally, Jasmine can see her house. They should have made it home forty minutes ago, but they kept getting distracted and making out under lampposts, against walls, fences…
Jasmine thinks it’s romantic. Anyone that looks out of their window will think they’re drunken teens.
The other day she tried to take a woman home, but when the travel took longer than five minutes, she decided it wasn’t as fun anymore and bailed.
It’s not like that with Frankie. Every slow step, every laugh backed up against a tree, every lingering glance has made Jasmine more excited for the rest. Still, even if tonight ends here, she’s had a good time.
Jasmine likes Frankie. She’s funny, she’s nice, and she’s interesting.
And she’s so fucking hot. But that’s not the thing Jasmine cares about right now.
It was, when she first saw her, but then Frankie’s hand landed on her elbow, her thumb rubbing while she was staring at her drink like she didn’t even realise she was doing it.
She smiled every time Jasmine asked her a question, which she then answered badly. Jasmine wants to know her.
Cam said Frankie was good at picking people up at the bar, and Jasmine can believe it.
Though, stupidly, there’s a part of her mind that wonders if that’s all it is.
Frankie is good at flirting, at keeping someone’s attention, and she’s achingly pretty.
But Jasmine hopes there’s something else, too.
“Tell me something,” Frankie says. It comes out as more of a question when she asks than it did when Jasmine said it, but it makes Jasmine smile all the same.
“Pink Starburst are shit.”
Frankie laughs, leaning against her. “You’re so annoying,” she replies fondly. Then, a moment passes, and she says, “Please.”
Jasmine thinks about it. What does she want to tell Frankie?
She could tell her she has children; that’s usually what she tells people first. She’s not ashamed of it, and she’s not asking anyone to do anything, especially not a one-night stand.
Her kids have parents, and despite Mike’s useless tendencies, he is their dad, and they love him.
She doesn’t need anyone else. But she doesn’t waste her time with people who think children are the devil.
There’s a nervousness sitting in her chest that if she tells Frankie, she might leave.
Jasmine shakes it away.
“I have two children,” she replies.
Frankie’s eyebrows rise, and Jasmine swallows.
“You do? Tell me everything! Kids are so cute.”
Jasmine smiles. “What do you wanna know?”
“Will I meet them?”
Jasmine’s eyebrows rise. “What?”
“Okay, wait, that sounded bizarre. I mean, will they be at home tonight? Do I need to sneak through the house?”
Jasmine snorts. “Do you think I’ve abandoned them to go out on the pull?”
Frankie screws her nose up. “Well, I assumed you had a childminder. How old are they?”
“Four and fourteen.”
Her jaw drops slightly. “You have a teenager?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Frankie looks her all over, and Jasmine feels hot with it. She doesn’t look like she’s judging her. More like she wants to know what she looks like naked and perhaps is curious as to how old she is.
“I’m twenty-nine,” Jasmine says, “just in case you thought I had a banging skincare routine.”
Frankie smiles brightly, swinging their hands between them. “Fourteen is old enough to be at home alone or not?” she asks.
“I’m not introducing you,” she replies, and Frankie pulls her hand away, but she’s not good at the joke because she reaches for her hand again moments later.
“You’re nervous he’ll think I’m cool as fuck and you’ll have to have me round for tea.”
Jasmine rolls her eyes. Marcel would think she was cool as fuck.
“Tell me something specifically about being a mother,” Frankie says, as Jasmine gets her keys out. “Wait, do you live here?”
“No,” Jasmine replies, unlocking the gate. “I’m breaking and entering.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious. You’re obsessed with me.”
Frankie smiles. “God, I am.”
“Do you want kids?” Jasmine asks. “In general—not mine.”
“Ha-ha,” Frankie replies, her eyes wide as Jasmine pulls Frankie across her front garden.
It’s kind of a courtyard. She has a big house; it is what it is.
Accounting is boring, but it pays well, and she could get accredited without going to university.
Getting through school and college almost killed her.
So, working up from being an intern was all she could do.
She didn’t grow up poor, but money wasn’t something they had, and it certainly wasn’t something they had in abundance when Marcel was young.
She’s secure now, and knowing that her children will be fine whatever happens is something she worked hard for.
“Nah,” Frankie says, when they stand under her porch. The light flicks on moments later as Frankie adds, “I’m bipolar.”
Then, before Jasmine can react, Frankie’s entire body tenses, her eyes wide.
She pulls her hand from Jasmine’s, and Jasmine doesn’t like it.
As if she’s ashamed about it—as if she’d have any control over it.
Jasmine doesn’t know much about being bipolar, but she has been researching anxiety and depression for Marcel, because he’s down.
More down than she thinks he should be for an everyday teenager.
“Okay,” Jasmine replies, opening the door. “I don’t know much about that. Tell me?”
Frankie swallows, and Jasmine thinks she might run, but she follows her in, slipping her shoes off when Jasmine does. No holes in the socks. Jasmine sighs with relief.
“Um, I just—I do like kids, but I don’t want to pass it down. That’s what I meant.”
“Okay,” Jasmine replies. She grabs them some water, running the tap until it’s cold as she looks at Frankie, observing. The hunch of her shoulders, the way she looks at her feet. Frankie can’t take it back, but Jasmine can put herself in the same space.
“I love my kids,” Jasmine says. She does; it’s true.
The next part is true too, but she’s never told anyone.
“But I want to be more than a mother. I want things that are for me, even if I want to share it with them. They’re the most interesting thing to me, but I worry that I’m not interesting enough on my own, without them. ”
Frankie frowns, and Jasmine says, “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that. In case you wanted to feel better about sharing things. ”
Frankie hums a laugh, but she looks at her palms, a shell of the person she was moments ago. Jasmine likes her either way. She wonders if she could tell her that and she’d believe it, or if she should say something else.
“Do you want to go out with me tomorrow?” Jasmine asks.
Frankie blinks rapidly. “What?” Her eyes are wide, and Jasmine is sure she moves back a bit. Not the reaction she wanted, but it’s not the end of the world. She could say never mind, but she’s learning that asking for things she wants won’t kill her. Sometimes, it gets her what she wants.
“I have to plan things around schooltime, but, if you wanted to get lunch with me or something, let me know.”
“Tomorrow?”
Jasmine pulls her lip between her teeth. “Yeah. Or another day.”
“Tomorrow,” Frankie repeats, but it’s not a question this time. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Or, you know, we could have breakfast.”
Jasmine smiles, and Frankie matches her.
“Breakfast sounds nice.” The sparkle in Frankie’s eye is back, and Jasmine is ecstatic. She wonders if she could ask Frankie to wash her hands with her. Would it ruin the moment? Perhaps.
Frankie touches Jasmine’s lips with her own, and Jasmine smiles.
“What are you thinking about?” Frankie asks.
“You.”
Frankie hums, moving closer. “Fibber, but I’ll let you get away with it if you want.”
“If I want?”
“Mm-hmm. You can tell me what’s on your mind, or you can kiss me. I don’t mind which.”
“You don’t?” Jasmine asks, placing her glass on the side. Frankie mirrors her .
“Well, actually,” Frankie says, with a small laugh, “I really wanna know what you were thinking, but the idea of choosing anything that’s not kissing you seems insane.”
Jasmine hums and runs her finger down the side of Frankie’s neck until it hits her collar, then pulls her towards her. “That’s sexy.”
“Yeah?” Frankie asks, her hands against Jasmine’s hips. She pushes her backwards until her back touches the edge of the worktop.
Jasmine smiles, leaning in. “Now we have to think about how badly I wanna fuck you, while I tell you my life traumas.”
Frankie laughs—a head thrown back, can’t hide her smile kind of laugh. It turns Jasmine’s brain inside out.
“Fuck,” Jasmine whispers, her hand lightly against Frankie’s jaw. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding that from me this entire evening.”
Frankie moves towards her, the small amount of moonlight illuminating the light in her eyes.
She’s dangerously attractive. She could ask Jasmine for anything, do anything, be anything.
If she looked at her with only disgust in her eyes and told her to get on her knees and pull out her heart, Jasmine would think about it.
She’d say no, but she’d think about it for the longest time.
Frankie leans in quickly, her lips against Jasmine’s before she can move.
It doesn’t matter; Jasmine was only going to kiss her too.
Frankie’s tongue is light, but she uses it spectacularly until Jasmine moans down her throat.
Her hands don’t stay in any position for long, and part of Jasmine’s brain capacity is taken up by following them around her body.
Her fingertips are tight against her hips, then light when they travel to her shoulder blades.
She’s so intentional with her movements that Jasmine clenches her thighs together.
Then, as if she noticed, Frankie’s hands are against her thighs, and she lifts her with ease onto the kitchen counter.
“Okay,” Frankie pants. “Start with birth. ”
Jasmine takes a moment to gather her thoughts and realises Frankie is joking. “You’re so—”
Frankie hums, and Jasmine wonders if she’s standing on her tiptoes to kiss her right now. Lani would say Frankie is two apples tall because she’s the cutest. Jasmine wonders if it would make Frankie laugh.
“So what?” Frankie asks.
“Spectacular,” Jasmine whispers, her eyes glancing across her face. It’s the only word for her. Frankie’s mouth falls into a pretty O. She’s thinking again. Jasmine likes how obvious she is with her expressions, even if it’s not on purpose. She doesn’t mind the work of figuring it out.
God, she’s so unreasonably excited to have her first time with someone she likes.
Sleeping with Mike was born out of desperation.
Jasmine never thought she’d get a do-over.
But Frankie touches her like she wants to.
She looks at her like she might never stop.
Jasmine is almost hopping with excitement.
Before Jasmine can ask her anything, Frankie’s hands are sliding up her top.
“Can—” Jasmine starts, but she feels Frankie’s fingertips against the bottom of her bra. She won’t die if they don’t wash their hands. Lani isn’t even here to catch anything.
“What’s up?” Frankie asks, her hands moving back down.
“Nothing,” Jasmine replies. She kisses her once, and Frankie lets her. It’s soft and not rushed, and still, it warms Jasmine from her toes, until Frankie pulls back.
“Please tell me.”
Jasmine hums out a laugh. “Can we wash our hands?”
“Sure.” She lifts Jasmine by the hips with ease, and Jasmine almost tells her not to worry because her shoulders bulge, but then she places her next to the sink. Frankie moves around her kitchen like she’s been here before.
While the water warms, Jasmine tells her something because she wants to. “Kehlani gets sick easily, so I’m used to washing my hands a lot.”
Frankie smiles. “I can’t believe you won’t let me meet her.” Jasmine laughs as Frankie lathers soap in her hands and then washes Jasmine’s for her. She’s sweet.
When Frankie has finished drying their hands with a tea towel, she asks, “Anything else?”
“You can’t wear outdoor clothes on my bed,” Jasmine replies.
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” she whispers, her lips against Jasmine’s before she can ask why. Her hands slide under Jasmine’s top again. Frankie pulls it over her head, and her eyes go glassy when she looks at her. It’s the hottest Jasmine has ever felt in her life.
“Yeah,” Frankie whispers, her fingers playing with the green strap of her bra. “No clothes is fine by me.”
Jasmine snorts. “You’re so cheesy.”
Frankie smiles as she kisses her again.
“And yet, you’re letting me undress you,” she replies, as she unbuttons Jasmine’s trousers.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like you.”
Frankie gasps, one arm around Jasmine’s waist to lift her and one pulling her trousers down. “You like me?”
“Shh,” Jasmine replies. She kisses her, and Frankie sighs.
She’s quieter in the house, and she wasn’t particularly loud outside.
Jasmine will catalogue every shy noise, every light moan, every clench of her fingers with the same glee she had collecting Pokémon that one summer when the entire country liked each other.
Frankie tilts her neck, and Jasmine fills the space with ease. Frankie moans lightly, and Jasmine wants to know what she sounds like when she comes. She thinks she’ll be quiet, her body doing most of the talking. It sends her giddy.
Jasmine undoes Frankie’s trousers. There’s a chance if she takes her top off, she’ll fuck her right here.
“I want to take you upstairs,” Frankie mutters .
Jasmine hums, bringing her mouth close to Frankie’s only to pull away as Frankie moves to kiss her. “I don’t have stairs.”
Frankie smiles, her hand at the back of Jasmine’s neck so she can’t move again. “Sweetheart, I will fuck you right here.”
Jasmine’s tongue touches Frankie’s, and she pulls her closer. There’s pressure against her now, but not enough.
“Let’s go.”