Mr. Whitewater takes me down a hallway which was not part of today’s tour. In the end, he turns off to the right into a large spacious room entirely covered in books. Books line every imaginable part of it, from floor to ceiling. The ceiling is about twenty feet, just like in the rest of the house. What really makes the place special is the large bay window overlooking an orange grove.
There’s a man sitting there in the shadows. I can’t see his face, but I can see his well fitted suit and handsome profile. His hair is brushed back and his nose reminds me of a Roman emperor.
“Mr. Grayson. May I present Ms. Sophia Elizabeth Cole,” Mr. Whitewater announces.
I’ve never been presented before. I don’t know what to do. Mr. Grayson gets up and approaches me. His walk is deliberate and considerate. His shoes are so shiny they are bouncing light into my eyes even though it’s relatively dark in the library. So dark, in fact, that I can barely make out his face.
“Ms. Sophia Cole,” Mr. Grayson says. Immediately, his voice sounds incredibly familiar, but I can’t place it. Do I know him? How in the world would I know him?
Finally, Mr. Grayson steps into the light and I see his face.
It’s him!
No, it can’t be! Can it?
My mouth runs dry. I can’t speak.
It’s the guy from the cafe. The one who drives the Bentley. The one who asked me out twice.
“It’s very nice of you to join me,” Mr. Grayson says, extending his hand.
Chapter 10 - Jax
When I’m here…
Two years earlier…
I am not a particularly complicated man. I like to have fun and lots of it. I have my friends and I have my girls. Not any one girl in particular, of course. More like a revolving door. They come and go and don’t stick around for long. And that’s what I like about them. Watching them walk away.
It’s rare for all of us to get away for a weekend and not go to Vegas, but Logan had been all on us to do something fun that doesn’t involve drinking. We’re brothers after all, though probably not as close as we should be. We don’t get together very often despite the fact that we enjoy pretty much the same things in life - drinking, partying, women. The armchair psychologist in me would say that we’re the way we are because of our parents. But who isn’t, right? It’s amazing that any of us, no matter how good the childhood, emerge unscathed. My brothers and sister and I are lucky. Almost too lucky. Our dad made his money when we were young and we grew up in the lap of luxury. Fancy houses. Fancy cars. Servants. Ability to travel wherever we wanted to at a moment’s notice. But all that money…what does it buy exactly, beyond your heart’s desires? It doesn’t buy a dad who isn’t perpetually disappointed. It doesn’t buy a mom who is plugged into our lives.
Agh, fuck that. No one wants to hear about some poor little rich boy who has everything in the world and is still unhappy. Still lost.
Lost? Did I just say that? Hell, no. Not me. I’m a playboy. I like to party and I like to hook up with girls. The more the better. That’s it. That’s all there is to me, as far as my parents are concerned.
So, that’s how I find myself here. In the middle of the desert, climbing a boulder the size of a small building. I moan and complain, but if pressed, I’d have to admit the truth. This is fun. Staying up until four a.m., cruising down the Vegas Strip with the perpetual smell of stale cigarette smoke on my clothes does get old. Sometimes.
Hanging off a boulder with one hand, and pulling my whole body to the top has its challenges, but it’s also exhilarating as hell. Every muscle in my body is tense as I hang on by just my fingertips.
“You’re a natural!” Austin yells from the top. “You can do it.”
These are unlikely compliments coming from my eldest brother. But then again, this little climbing trip was all his idea. He’s the one who loves the outdoors. He’s the one who seems to be looking for answers to all our problems here.
“Thanks,” I mumble, finally getting to the top. My other brothers, Logan and Carter, aren’t too far behind. Carter is an actor, trying hard to put our family money behind him and make his own. Logan…I’m not entirely sure what he’s doing to stay busy nowadays. None of us are Austin though. He’s following my dad in the family business. He’s the apple of his eye, and by that I mean that the great Dr. Grayson only somewhat approves.
After spending the morning climbing, we leave Joshua Tree National Park and stop by the only decent looking diner on the way out of town. It’s small and dusty, full of truck drivers and locals. We stand out like sore thumbs. That’s when I see her.
She isn’t my type. Not at all. A little plump with messy brown hair and a sweaty forehead from taking too many orders and delivering food to strangers who leave her fifty cent tips. But I want to fuck her right here on the spot.
She is dressed in a plain white T-shirt and ratty jeans. The jeans drag a bit on the floor and the holes are definitely not made by a manufacturer. No respectable girl I know would ever wear something like that, and that makes me want her even more.
Her jeans are tight at the waist, and she adjusts them periodically. Pulling them up over her hips while pulling down her shirt. She is trying to hide her figure, as if she is embarrassed by her gorgeous thighs, hips, and breasts. Contemporary society is all fucked up. This girl’s, this woman’s, body is what every man with blood running through his veins wants. Every straight man of every race, ethnicity, and creed. A nice waist, shapely hips and legs, and breasts big enough to grab onto. Despite that, all the women’s magazines try to do is to convince them that they’re too fat because they’re not shaped like twelve-year-old boys.
The name tag on her shirt says ‘Sophia,’ which is a fancy name to have for a girl who works at a crappy roadside diner. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this is her full-time job. I would be surprised if she works here to get through school. There isn’t an institution of higher learning for a hundred miles in any direction.
No, this Sophia is all wrong for me.
And the worst part? She doesn’t have any money.
The thing is that I don’t like girls without money. Hear me out. It’s not because I’m shallow. It’s because I’m practical. I don’t fuck girls without money because it gets too complicated. It’s much more likely to make things more complicated. Girls without money feel taken advantage of. They want to see me more. They think that a one-night stand is unreasonable, and if it goes past one or two nights then they want me to save them. Rescue them from their pathetic little lives - their words not mine. But I’m not a prince. I’m not a white knight. This isn’t the eighteenth century. I don’t have it in me, even though I do own a white horse that I love to ride.
I don’t like to rescue girls. I don’t like needy girls. No, the girls I fuck have to have their own careers – a starring role in a TV show, a signed contract with a leading modeling agency, or at the very least, a reasonably-sized trust fund with one or two million from mommy and daddy. Oh, hell, who are we kidding? It’s always from daddy.
I established these rules long ago, and I abide by them religiously. They are there to keep both of us safe. To make sure that we both have fun, but not too much. I don’t want the girls I fuck to have expectations of me. If my father taught me anything, it is that I don’t live up to expectations.
And now, walking into this cafe and seeing Sophia, I’m ready to toss all of these rules out of the window. I want her. I want to thrust myself deep inside of her and pull her hair until she moans.
I get hard just watching her take an order from an old trucker at the next table.
“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sophia says, pushing his hand away from her ass.
I was too focused on her breasts and I hadn’t even noticed the trucker’s itchy hand reach out and grab her behind.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he says sarcastically and laughs to his friend.
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” she says, grabbing his unea
ten plate of food.
“What are you doing?”
“You can’t just go around touching women without permission. Get the hell out.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get the hell out,” she repeats herself calmly.
“But I’m not done eating.” The trucker stands up. He reaches for his plate, but she moves it away from him.
“Yes, you are,” she says, sending goose bumps down my arms. “Leave or I’m going to call the police.”
“For what?”
“For grabbing my ass. That’s assault and I’m not putting up with it.”
“Assault? Are you kidding?”
“You think you can just touch someone’s body without their permission?”
“Yes, I do. What are you going to do about it?” he says, towering over her. Threatening her. His hairy arms are covered in fading tattoos. Just as I’m about to stand up and confront him, Sophia steps forward.
“Then how about this?” she says, grabbing him by the genitals. She squeezes so tight that his whole face gets a sad, sour expression on it. His knees buckle and he sinks a foot below her.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, raising his hands.
“Now, are you going to leave or should we wait for the cops?” she says, squeezing again.
“Agh!” he yelps in pain. “I’m going to go. I’m sorry.”
She lets go and color returns to his face.
“I’d like to see your manager, you little cunt,” the trucker hisses, adjusting his dirty hat. “You’re going to get fired.”
“I’m the manager here. Now get the fuck out!”
I get out of the booth and stand next to her.
“You heard her, sir,” I say. “The lady would like you to leave. So, please leave.”
People at the nearby booths start to clap and cheer, and my friends join in. The trucker and his friend curse her out one last time, but head toward the door.
“You’re a real bitch. You know that? We’re never eating here again.”
Chapter 11 - Sophia
When I’m flustered…
I’m standing right next to her and, though she’s trying to stay strong, I can see that she’s really shaken. Her chest is flushed, and the trucker’s plate is rattling slightly in her hand.
“That was really impressive,” I say.
She turns to me.
“I’m probably going to get fired over it.”
“I thought you were the manager?”
“No.” She shakes her head and starts to gather the plates and cutlery from the trucker’s booth. “The manager’s coming in later tonight. I’m just the waitress.”
“Well, I don’t see why you’d get fired. He had no right to grab your ass like that. He was a real asshole.”
“Thanks.” She smiles. Her smile lights up the room. “Can I get that in writing from you?”
“Yes, of course.”
I startle her. Catch her off-guard in a good way. I like that.
“I’m just kidding,” she finally says. “Let me just get all this stuff to the kitchen, and I’ll come back and take your order.”
When I return to the booth, the guys laugh and slap me on the shoulders. They know she’s not my type; they know that I’m breaking my rules.
“I don’t know, Austin. Looks like Jax’s in love.” Carter laughs.
“With a waitress!” Austin chimes in.
“What happened to only dating girls with jobs or rich girls? Preferably both?” Logan asks.
“She’s got a job,” I say. “We’re at her job.”
“Oh, please. A waitress? That’s not a real job. You’re breaking your rules, and you know it,” Carter jokes.
It’s all in good fun, but right now I hate their teasing. They’re right of course, and still I want her.
“Nothing’s happening. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say as assertively as possible.
“We see the way you’re looking at her,” Logan says. “We’re not blind.”
“I was just impressed with what she did. Sophia’s got spunk.”
“Oh, Sophia, is it? You two are on a first name basis already?” Austin chuckles. Dammit. I shouldn’t have let that slip.
“It’s on her fuckin’ name tag, idiot.” I try to save myself. But they’re not buying it.
Sophia comes back to our table to take our order. After writing down everyone else’s orders, she looks up at me from her notepad. I get hard again, and I press on my crotch to keep things at bay.
“You know, you made quite an impression on our brother, Jax here,” Carter suddenly says.
“Is that so?”
“I really liked how you handled that trucker,” I say. I feel like I’m on my back foot. I don’t like coming on to girls in this manner. I glare at Carter, but he doesn’t stop.
“Jax was just telling us that you’re not at all like the girls we’re used to,” Carter continues.
“Well, working for a living would do that to you,” she says with a smile. I hate how she mocks me for having money. I want her even more now. I want to push her down on the bed, and I want her to let me tie her hands to the bedpost. I want to tease her until she screams my name.
“So what would you like? Jax, is it?” She turns to me.
I had picked out something on the menu, but now I can’t remember what it was.
“What would you recommend, Sophia?” I say, reading her name tag. Her name is burned into my brain, but I can’t let her know that. Not yet.
“Our spinach omelet with feta cheese is quite good.”
“Okay, I’ll take that.”
The cafe clears out a bit. While my brothers continue to pick at their food, I excuse myself and head toward the bathroom. Before I get there, I pop into the back and find Sophia sitting on a crate reading a book. She quickly puts it away, but not before I catch the title. Jane Eyre. My old English teacher’s favorite.
“Can I help you with something?”
“No, not really.”
She stares at me. I know I need a reason for being here.
“Yes, actually. I was just wondering if I can take you out for a drink sometime.”
I catch her off-guard. Her face lights up, and a brief smile crosses her face.
“That’s probably not a good idea,” she says with a forlorn sigh.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, for one thing, you don’t even live here.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
She furrows her brows and folds her arms across her chest, pressing her breasts together in front of me. They look as if they are on a platter, and it requires all the strength within me not to reach out and touch them.
“People who drive Bentleys don’t live around here.”
She’s right, of course.
“And the other thing?”
She takes a deep breath.
“I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Who said anything about a relationship?” I ask and immediately regret my choice of words.
“And I’m definitely not looking for anything casual.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
I should just drop it, but I can’t. No one, and I mean no one, has ever turned me down. I can’t even believe that this is really happening. Maybe she’s just toying with me. Maybe she’s just flirting.
“Because I’m not into one-night stands, Jax,” she says and walks away. I love the sound of my name in her mouth. I want to put more of me there.
Sophia avoids eye contact with me the rest of the time that we are here. That makes me want her even more. She is feisty and hot, and she doesn’t take shit from anyone. An unusual girl. I want her so much, I think I am going to explode.
When she comes over with the check, I purposely extend my hand. She tries to place the plastic cover with the check into my hand, but I take the opportunity to reach out and touch her. Her touch is electric. It sends shivers through my body.
Suddenly, Sophia lets g
o of the plastic cover, and it drops to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so clumsy.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” I apologize.
I see Carter, Austin, and Logan smirking at me from around the table, but my eyes remain fixed on Sophia. When she bends over, her cleavage expands, and her breasts look like they are going to spill out of her T-shirt.
“Thank you,” I say and hand Carter the check.
It is Carter’s turn to cover the bill. We never split the bill, unless it is a VIP table at a Vegas nightclub or something extravagant like that. The bill at this roadside café hardly registers as real money.
I make sure that I am the last one out of the booth and quickly slip a one hundred dollar bill under the check.
Chapter 12 - Sophia
When I see him…
I notice him just as he pulls into our little dusty parking lot with his Bentley. That car costs more money than I’ll make in a decade. There are five guys in it, all equally attractive and cocky, but he is the only one who catches my attention.
Tall, handsome, tan. Blue eyes and dark sandy hair that made him look like a brooding dark stranger and a surfer boy, depending on the light.
He strolls into my cafe with a confident and laid back swagger that would make male models jealous. There’s a carefree nature to his demeanor and yet, at the same time, there’s something very intense about him.
I like the way that he says my name. I like the way that he’s impressed with my ability to deal with annoying, pestering old men. What he doesn’t know is that, unfortunately, I’m used to unwanted sexual advances from gross strangers. What that trucker did was one of the least offensive things, frankly. The men who come in the middle of the night try worse things.
Debt Page 4
