Until Jax
Page 22
I hate the way I feel about Jax being with other women. I don’t expect any man in this day and age to be a virgin or to have waited until marriage to have sex. But I can honestly say the idea of being with a man who looks like Jax, and who has his dating history, is worrisome. I don’t only have myself to think about; I have a daughter who watches everything I do. I don’t want to show her at an early age that some men are assholes and can’t be trusted.
Moving down the stairs, I pause. Even my lungs freeze up when I hear Jax ask, “When was she taken?” My heart beats hard against my ribcage and my legs begin to get weak. Another woman was taken. Could it be the same guys who took July and me? The same guys who had drugged that girl then brought her back so doped out of her mind she didn’t even know who she was?
I hate that one of them lived, and I hate more there are others no one knows about. I don’t want to live in fear, but I’m afraid. I can’t help but think they will come after me again. The first time they took me, I had just gotten off work at the salon and was heading for the bus stop, when their van pulled up, opened the side door, and hefted me inside like a scene out of a movie. I was so stunned I don’t even think I screamed until I realized what they were doing, that they were actually wrapping tape around my wrists, and then they told me my mom sold me to them. What kind of parent sells their only living child into sex trafficking? How does anyone even know how to get into contact with people who do traffic? The whole thing disturbs me, but one thing I do know—I have Jax now, and though I may feel conflicted about the status of our relationship, I know deep down he will protect Hope and me.
Tiptoeing toward the entryway to the kitchen, I try to be silent as I walk, so I can try to hear anything else. It does no good though, and I know Jax is still somehow aware I’m near without me ever making a sound, when he tells the person on the phone I’m there and he will see them in the office later.
“Hey,” I say softly, avoiding his eyes and moving to the counter to the coffee pot, where I pull down a mug from the cupboard, pour myself a cup, and then go to the fridge. I grab the cream, put a splash in before moving to the counter, pull a spoon from the drawer, and scoop three heaping spoonsful of sugar in then stir.
“Are you gonna look at me?” he asks.
I really want to say no, but instead, I say, “Hmm?” taking a sip of coffee and closing my eyes, letting the taste and aroma work its way through my system. I pray that I’ll magically teleport to another dimension, where I can look at Jax but not have to talk to him, where I can be invisible.
“You’ve been avoiding me since the wedding.”
Knowing I have no choice, I turn my head and look at him. “I know,” I agree rather than lying, which causes his eyes to open wider in surprise.
“You know?” he repeats as his brows pull together, causing two wrinkles to form between them.
“I could lie and say I haven’t been avoiding you, but you would know I’m lying, and I suck at lying, so I may as well just tell the truth,” I rattle out before taking another sip of coffee, trying to keep my mouth occupied.
“I appreciate that. I don’t like games,” he says as his face softens.
“Me neither,” I agree, even though I have never played the kind of games he’s probably talking about.
“So why are you avoiding me?” he asks, leaning back against the counter behind him and crossing his bare feet at the ankles. How can someone make leaning look hot? I do not know, but if I had a camera and took a couple pictures of him right now, with his still slightly damp hair, dark blue tee that’s straining against the muscles of his arms, his jeans hanging low, the warn material tight enough to show off the thickness of his thighs, I could probably sell those images for a lot of money to a catalog for whatever brand it is he’s wearing.
“I like you,” I blurt then bite my lower lip in punishment.
Why the hell did you say that?
“I like you too,” he states simply, picking up his cup from the counter and taking a sip. “That’s why I want to spend more time with you and get to know you better, and you avoiding me doesn’t really allow me to do that.”
“You’ve dated a looooot,” I drag out the word, telling him something he should know already, because obviously my filter is malfunctioning and I’m spewing out anything and everything that comes to mind.
Watching him closely, I’m surprised when I see regret in his eyes. “I’ve dated a lot.” He nods, and I nod back, because what the hell else am I supposed to do? “But—” He starts to say something else, when there’s a loud knock at the door then the doorbell goes off. “Fuck,” he mutters, looking towards the door then back to me. “I’ll be right back. Just drink your coffee,” he says before prowling out of the kitchen toward the front door.
Taking a sip, I frown when I hear a loud groan and something rattling and banging against the wall. Moving to the kitchen doorway, my heart drops into my stomach before picking up speed and banging hard against my ribcage.
The blonde from the restaurant wearing skinny jeans, cowboy boots, and a sheer blouse has her body wrapped around Jax, her long legs around his hips, her arms around his neck, and her mouth on his…or his on hers, I don’t know. But I do know that his hands are on her ass as he leans back against the entry room table.
Stepping back into the kitchen, I set my mug on the counter, absently feeling the hot liquid hit my skin before shaking it off, grabbing my coat and keys, and then leaving through the backdoor.
Moving down the stairs, I pause. Even my lungs freeze up when I hear Jax ask, “When was she taken?” My heart beats hard against my ribcage and my legs begin to get weak. Another woman was taken. Could it be the same guys who took July and me? The same guys who had drugged that girl then brought her back so doped out of her mind she didn’t even know who she was?
I hate that one of them lived, and I hate more there are others no one knows about. I don’t want to live in fear, but I’m afraid. I can’t help but think they will come after me again. The first time they took me, I had just gotten off work at the salon and was heading for the bus stop, when their van pulled up, opened the side door, and hefted me inside like a scene out of a movie. I was so stunned I don’t even think I screamed until I realized what they were doing, that they were actually wrapping tape around my wrists, and then they told me my mom sold me to them. What kind of parent sells their only living child into sex trafficking? How does anyone even know how to get into contact with people who do traffic? The whole thing disturbs me, but one thing I do know—I have Jax now, and though I may feel conflicted about the status of our relationship, I know deep down he will protect Hope and me.
Tiptoeing toward the entryway to the kitchen, I try to be silent as I walk, so I can try to hear anything else. It does no good though, and I know Jax is still somehow aware I’m near without me ever making a sound, when he tells the person on the phone I’m there and he will see them in the office later.
“Hey,” I say softly, avoiding his eyes and moving to the counter to the coffee pot, where I pull down a mug from the cupboard, pour myself a cup, and then go to the fridge. I grab the cream, put a splash in before moving to the counter, pull a spoon from the drawer, and scoop three heaping spoonsful of sugar in then stir.
“Are you gonna look at me?” he asks.
I really want to say no, but instead, I say, “Hmm?” taking a sip of coffee and closing my eyes, letting the taste and aroma work its way through my system. I pray that I’ll magically teleport to another dimension, where I can look at Jax but not have to talk to him, where I can be invisible.
“You’ve been avoiding me since the wedding.”
Knowing I have no choice, I turn my head and look at him. “I know,” I agree rather than lying, which causes his eyes to open wider in surprise.
“You know?” he repeats as his brows pull together, causing two wrinkles to form between them.
“I could lie and say I haven’t been avoiding you, but you would know I’m lying, and I suck at lying, so I may as well just tell the truth,” I rattle out before taking another sip of coffee, trying to keep my mouth occupied.
“I appreciate that. I don’t like games,” he says as his face softens.
“Me neither,” I agree, even though I have never played the kind of games he’s probably talking about.
“So why are you avoiding me?” he asks, leaning back against the counter behind him and crossing his bare feet at the ankles. How can someone make leaning look hot? I do not know, but if I had a camera and took a couple pictures of him right now, with his still slightly damp hair, dark blue tee that’s straining against the muscles of his arms, his jeans hanging low, the warn material tight enough to show off the thickness of his thighs, I could probably sell those images for a lot of money to a catalog for whatever brand it is he’s wearing.
“I like you,” I blurt then bite my lower lip in punishment.
Why the hell did you say that?
“I like you too,” he states simply, picking up his cup from the counter and taking a sip. “That’s why I want to spend more time with you and get to know you better, and you avoiding me doesn’t really allow me to do that.”
“You’ve dated a looooot,” I drag out the word, telling him something he should know already, because obviously my filter is malfunctioning and I’m spewing out anything and everything that comes to mind.
Watching him closely, I’m surprised when I see regret in his eyes. “I’ve dated a lot.” He nods, and I nod back, because what the hell else am I supposed to do? “But—” He starts to say something else, when there’s a loud knock at the door then the doorbell goes off. “Fuck,” he mutters, looking towards the door then back to me. “I’ll be right back. Just drink your coffee,” he says before prowling out of the kitchen toward the front door.
Taking a sip, I frown when I hear a loud groan and something rattling and banging against the wall. Moving to the kitchen doorway, my heart drops into my stomach before picking up speed and banging hard against my ribcage.
The blonde from the restaurant wearing skinny jeans, cowboy boots, and a sheer blouse has her body wrapped around Jax, her long legs around his hips, her arms around his neck, and her mouth on his…or his on hers, I don’t know. But I do know that his hands are on her ass as he leans back against the entry room table.
Stepping back into the kitchen, I set my mug on the counter, absently feeling the hot liquid hit my skin before shaking it off, grabbing my coat and keys, and then leaving through the backdoor.
