Jasmine and Ava just stared at her.

“What?” Michelle threw up her hands. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Jasmine flopped back on the bed. “No, you’re right. I just don’t know how to navigate this. I’ve had so many relationships but this, somehow, feels way more real than any of the others.”

“Why don’t you talk us through it?” Ava suggested.

Jasmine thought back. “The first time he came over, yeah, we’d both been drinking, and it was hot and spontaneous. But we just fooled around. And he stayed the night, which—well, I didn’t expect it, and I don’t think he did either, but it was really nice, you know? And then the second time—”

“Whoa, hold on. Wait.” Michelle stopped her. “There was more than one incident? When were you gonna tell us so we can live vicariously through your affair with the telenovela star? Which, by the way, would be a great title for a memoir.”

Jasmine sent her a dark glare. “I’m telling you now.”

“All right, sorry. Continue.”

“Anyway, he came over the next night, and I think we were both kidding ourselves. He brought his script and we started off like we always do, rehearsing our lines, but then suddenly we were both naked and I was having the best sex of my life.”

Ava sighed. “Jealous. Keep going.”

“That night, he didn’t stay, but since then, we’ve been . . . together. A lot.”

How did she even explain what was happening between them when she didn’t fully understand it herself? On the surface level, it was simple. They were two consenting adults having sex.

Okay, there was nothing simple about sex with Ashton, but she couldn’t explain why. Aside from the fact that he was very, very good at it.

Jasmine stared up at the ceiling, trying to put her mixed-up emotions into words, when Ava interrupted with a question.

“Do you want a relationship with him?”

The answer was yes, and they all knew it. Jasmine wanted a loving relationship more than anything in the world. But for once, she didn’t want to rush it or imagine things that weren’t there. She’d never had this sort of open connection with anyone else before. But they hadn’t discussed commitment or plans for the future, and her biggest fear was that Ashton would drop her like all the others had.

“I really like him,” she admitted. “It’s . . . I don’t know. I think he’s different?”

“Do you want to keep having sex with him?” Michelle asked in her typical blunt fashion.

“Well, yes, but . . . I don’t know if I should.” Jasmine sat up and sent them a pleading look. “I’m fucking up my Leading Lady Plan.”

“Is that what this is about?” Ava asked gently. “Jas, you’re not being graded on it.”

“But I am. This is work. I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Then don’t,” Michelle said, as if it were that simple.

“Aaaaa-vaaaa,” someone yelled from downstairs. “¿Dónde estás?”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Titi Nita wants my help with the lasagna. I asked why we’re having lasagna at a summer barbecue, but they told me not to question the adults.”

“We should go downstairs anyway.” Jasmine got to her feet. “If we’re gone too long, they’ll start talking about us.”

Michelle snorted. “They’ll do that whether we’re there or not.”

While Ava got roped into helping with lasagna, Jasmine and Michelle escaped to the backyard and sat on plastic patio chairs, munching on chips. Someone moved into the sun, casting a shadow over them, and Jasmine looked up to see Sammy. She didn’t like the joking grin on his face, but she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“What’s up, Sammy?” she asked. “How’s Erica’s new job going?”

Maybe if Sammy started talking about something else, he’d forget whatever bullshit he came over here to say. Erica was his seventeen-year-old daughter, and she wasn’t at the barbecue because she’d just started working at the Gap on weekends to save money for college.

He shrugged. “She’s happy to have the clothing discount.”

“That’s good.”

Then Sammy waggled his eyebrows at her. “So, when’s McIntyre gonna put a ring on it? Or did he just mack and tire?”

“Oh my god.” Jasmine pressed her fingers to her eyes.

“Get it? Like he got tired of y—”

“Shut up, Sammy.” Michelle shot back. “You’re just jealous ’cuz you love that douchebag’s music.”

“Michelle! Language!” Esperanza shouted from inside the kitchen.

“The kids are all downstairs, Abuela!”

“This.” Jasmine bolted up from her chair and jabbed a finger in Sammy’s direction. “This is why I live three thousand miles away.”

“Aww, Jas, I’m just messing with you,” Sammy called after her as she stormed back into the house.

Jasmine didn’t know where she was going—maybe upstairs, maybe the living room, maybe out the front door and back to the hotel where she could brood about Ashton in peace. Hell, maybe even all the way back to California. But Esperanza intercepted her on her way through the kitchen.

She placed her hands on Jasmine’s cheeks and peered into her face.

“Muchacha, are you using that snail eye cream I told you about?” Esperanza sounded deeply concerned. “You look tired.”

“Sí, Abuela,” Jasmine replied through gritted teeth. “I use eye cream every day.”

“And night?” Esperanza raised her eyebrows, waiting on Jasmine’s answer.

Oh, for the love of—“Yes, every night.”

“Bueno.” Esperanza patted her cheeks and went back to stirring the rice on the stove.

Her grandmother was obsessed with skincare, and now that she’d discovered text messages and online shopping, she was forever sending Jasmine links to anti-aging products. Excessive nagging was how Esperanza showed she cared, but Jasmine couldn’t deny she was feeling worn-out today, and it probably showed.

“Give la nena a break.” Willie Rodriguez, Jasmine’s beloved grandfather, eased up behind his wife and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “Jasmine’s eyes are beautiful.”

“Thanks, Abuelo.” Jasmine gave him a grateful smile. He was barely taller than Jasmine, with brown skin, a mustache that had gone white in recent years, and the kindest face she’d ever known.

The door behind Jasmine opened. Michelle entered the kitchen and signaled for Ava to get away from the oven.

Esperanza held up her hands like she was backing off, when in truth she never backed off from anything. “Yo lo sé, pero it’s never too early to start fighting wrinkles.”

Willie sent Jasmine a wink, and she took that as her cue to beat a hasty retreat. Jasmine ducked out of the kitchen with the Primas of Power on her heels.

“Basement?” Michelle suggested. “I stashed two bottles of wine down there.”

“Basement,” Jasmine agreed. She’d take her chances with the children, who at least acknowledged that being on TV was a real job.