by Parker, Zoey
I look around the room. It’s like a picture from a book, right down to the hound dog curled up in front of the fire. Two rocking chairs, facing one another on either side of the hearth. A rug between them. Copper pots and pans hanging from a rack over an old stove. A small table with an old-fashioned lamp suspended above it. I would never in a million years see a man like Jax living here. A little old lady living on a pension? Sure. Not a heavily inked, muscular roughneck.
I pace back and forth in front of the fire long enough to get the dog’s attention. He jumps up and wags his tail at me.
“Sorry, old boy,” I say, scratching him behind the ears. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just wondering what to do with myself now. Any suggestions?”
He walks over to his food bowl and noses around inside. “Feed me,” he’s saying. Well, that’s just about as good an idea as any. I open a few cabinets, looking for food. Finally, I find a stack of cans, one of which I empty into his bowl. Meanwhile, now that I’ve looked around some, I see that this kitchen is better stocked than I expected. Once again, Jax is surprising me.
I impulsively start pulling out ingredients: butter, eggs, flour, sugar. I turn on the oven, checking to make sure the pilot is lit before mixing up a dough. There are no chocolate chips, but there’s peanut butter. Peanut butter cookies it is. Before long, I’m rolling balls of dough, coating them in sugar and making crisscross patterns in them with the tines of a fork. I put them in the oven and go back to the window, checking on Jax’s progress. He’s still working out there. I can’t believe he hasn’t collapsed yet, honestly. Nearly the entire driveway is cleared. He has to be ready to collapse at this point.
The timer I set over the oven goes off, telling me the cookies are finished. I pull them out, then put on the kettle in case he wants something hot to drink when he comes in. It’s the least I can do, considering that he saved me from freezing and is giving me somewhere to spend the night.
The door opens, a blast of cold air making me shiver. He leans against it to shut it, then takes off his coat and boots. I hear him sniffing the air. “Cookies?” That’s all he says, and the word is heavy, like he’s disgusted.
“Mmmhmm,” I reply, trying to sound casual, as though I didn’t just invade this man’s kitchen. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? It must be the whiskey. What else would have driven me to make myself at home like this? I wish I’d never gotten out of the chair by the fire.
I glance at him, his face unreadable. There’s tension in the air. Is he going to flip out on me? Maybe he’s really sensitive about people going through his home and treating it like their own. I know I would be. God, how could I have been so stupid?
The kettle whistles, breaking the moment. I turn to pull it off the burner.
“I thought maybe you’d want something hot to drink, to warm yourself up,” I say, feeling insanely lame now. I wish I could sink into the floorboards and never come back.
He moves for the first time since noticing the cookies, putting his gloves back on the radiator. Steam rises up as they drip onto the hot metal. He hangs his coat over his boots, which sit on a pile of newspapers to catch the melted snow. Then he crosses the room, his large body moving smoothly. I tense up, waiting for his reaction. By the time he reaches me, standing directly beside me, I’m holding my breath.
He reaches past me, taking a cookie from the sheet. He takes a bite. I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye and see that he’s chewing with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“You know,” he says, still chewing, “you’re gonna make some guy a terrific little housewife someday.”
“Oh, screw you.” I lean against the sink, arms crossed. I’m relieved he’s not murderously pissed, naturally. But he doesn’t have to be a dick about it.
“I mean it. Some guy out there is gonna be pretty damn lucky. I mean, homemade cookies after coming in from shoveling all that snow? The only thing better would be a blowjob.”
“You’re disgusting.” I take a cookie and stomp over to the chair by the fire, slamming myself into it. I’d almost rather he be angry than disgusting, the pig.
“Touchy, touchy,” he murmurs, fixing himself a cup of what looks like instant coffee. “You want a drink? Maybe some more of that spiked tea. I liked you better when you were buzzing.”
“I liked you better when I was buzzing, too.”
He has his back to me, and I can tell from the way it shakes that he’s laughing. This only enrages me further.
“You know, just because you did something nice for me doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like this.”
“What, like a normal human being?”
I laugh harshly. “If that’s your idea of the way normal human beings talk to each other, I can see why you live out here alone.” I’m watching him, and I can tell from the way he freezes that I hit a nerve. But then his head drops, his chin to his chest. I’m flooded with guilt almost instantly.
“Oh, hey. Hey, I’m sorry. That was a low blow.” I realize I don’t know the first thing about this person. I don’t know why he’s actually by himself. Maybe he has anxiety. Maybe he’s just a recluse. Maybe there’s some tragic backstory I’m unaware of. “Really. I mean it. That was a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”
“I deserve it for picking at you,” he says quietly before coming back to his chair by the fire and holding his hands out toward the flames. “By the way, the cookies are really good.”
I feel like something has broken now between us. How is that even possible, I ask myself, when there was really nothing between us in the first place? The light from the fire dances over his face, lighting his troubled eyes. What’s he thinking? What ugly memory did I just stir up? I don’t know this guy at all, and I have to keep that in mind. I need to tread more carefully.
“Thanks. I mean, thanks for saying the cookies are good,” I say, feeling lame but needing to repair whatever I just screwed up. Why do I care so much? He nods, staying quiet.
“Did you mean it?” I ask, trying to draw him out of his silence.
“Did I mean what?”
“That they’re good?”
This gets a smile from him, at least, and he turns his head toward me. “I would never lie about something as serious as cookies.” I can’t help noting to myself how handsome he is when he smiles.
Chapter 6
It’s getting late now, so dark outside that there’s no way to see whether the snow is still falling. But I’m sure it is. Because that’s just my luck. I try to stifle a yawn, unsuccessfully.
“You must be tired. I know I’m beat.” He stands, stretching again. Again, I can’t help admiring his body, the way his shirt rides up to reveal his torso. His jeans sit low on his hips, and the two diagonal lines leading to his groin are so clearly defined I have to stop myself from trying to lick them.
Wow. I must be exhausted. Either that or the cold and the whiskey got to me more than I thought. Why else would I be looking at him this way? A good night’s sleep would be the best thing for me. Alone. By myself. Would a cold shower be out of the question?
“It’s been a long day,” I agree, forcing all these flustering thoughts out of my brain. That line of thinking has only gotten me into trouble in the past.
“I’ll show you to your room,” he offers, and to my surprise he holds out a hand. A gentleman, even if he doesn’t always act like one. I stand close to him. He looks down at me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. Damn, damn, damn.
“It just occurred to me that you don’t have anything to sleep in.”
Oh? That just occurred to him? Why was he thinking about my clothes?
“Um, yeah. You’re right.” I decide not to ask, choosing to avoid another fight. It’s not worth it, and besides, he has a point. A sweater and jeans aren’t the most comfortable pajamas.
“I’m sure I have something that wouldn’t be too huge for you,” he says, finally moving away from me. I can breathe normally again. I can also stop tingling
in my nether regions. He puts out the fire, which gets me thinking about the way his nearness makes me feel warm. Jeez. I need to snap out of this, fast. Otherwise this could be a really uncomfortable night.
“You okay?” He looks up at me from where he’s bent over the hearth, and he looks amused. As though he can read my mind. I’m annoyed with him. He thinks I’m staring like I’m swooning over him. Asshole.
“I’m fine. Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Just thought you looked funny.” He turns back to the hearth, and I watch the way his muscles move underneath his shirt. He’s sure he has something that wouldn’t be too huge for me. Was that some sort of double entendre I missed? I blush, then feel angry with myself for blushing and with him for being so crude.
It would be different if he wasn’t so damn hot, but he is. I can’t deny it. I wish he wasn’t. I wish I could just ignore him, brush him off as being unimportant. But I can’t. He’s gorgeous and magnetic and I can’t stop thinking about what he would look like naked. A cold shower really is starting to sound like a good idea right now. Or a jump into a snow bank.
The fire’s out now, and the room is dark. I sense the tension between us. If there was a spark somewhere nearby, we might explode. The dog comes up and nudges my hand. I jump, then laugh softly, grateful for a change of subject.
“What’s his name?” I ask Jax, scratching the hound behind the ears.
“Blue. After a dog I had when I was a kid.”
Sweet. “A perfect name for a handsome boy. Yes, he is a handsome boy, yes he is.” I scratch harder. Blue obviously loves the attention, judging by the way he licks my hand.
“He doesn’t like baby talk,” Jax informs me sourly. Even in the darkness, I can imagine what his face looks like, and I want to punch it.
“Really? And he told you this? How articulate for a dog.”
I hear him snort softly. “Come on. I’ll find you something to wear.” In the dim light I can just make out the stairs leading to the second floor. There are two bedrooms, I see, separated by a bathroom. I can just make out an old-fashioned claw foot tub and wonder if it would be gauche to request a soak.
“You can, um, freshen up in there if you want,” Jax offers, flipping the light switch. “I’ll find you some clean pajamas.”
There are two types of people in the world, my father used to tell me. Those who go through the medicine cabinets at their friends’ houses and those who lie and say they don’t. I couldn’t resist the temptation to look around the bathroom, but there was nothing very interesting outside of a small hutch filled with porno magazines. Classy. Besides, don’t they have that stuff on the internet now?
I wash my face and rinse with mouthwash, hoping to at least be able to get my things out of the car in the morning if nothing else. I know the vehicle is buried by now, my toiletries and things locked up in the trunk.
When I emerge, I find Jax in the smaller of the two bedrooms, laying a tee and boxers on the bed along with a pair of thick knee socks. “This was the best I could do,” he says, shrugging. “They’re old, and smaller than the stuff I wear now.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine for bed.” I can’t help but feel touched by how hard he’s trying. He’s just awkward, unused to having people here with him. That has to be it. Otherwise he’s not such a bad guy.
“I’ll leave Blue with you if you want someone to help warm the bed for you. I can’t say I’m up for the challenge.” Oh, wait. Now I remember: he’s a total asshole.
“I don’t need you, or Blue, thank you very much. I’ll be just fine in here on my own. Good night.” I place my palms on his chest and firmly push him in the direction of the open doorway. Instead of moving him, however, I only manage to notice how firm his chest is. The boy is built, and utterly masculine. His strong, assertive energy fills the tiny bedroom.
“I’ll go. You don’t need to shove.” He grins, backing into the hall and closing the door behind him. I fight the urge to scream at the closed door, knowing it would only make him happy to know he’d unnerved me.
I sit on the bed with a heavy sigh. What the hell am I gonna do with this guy? One minute I want to punch him straight in the face, the next I want to tackle him to the ground and make out with him. If not more. I look down at my hands, which were just on his chest. Damn, he’s in fantastic shape. Like, supernaturally well-built.
I can’t afford to think about this stuff now. I have to try to get to sleep and forget my hormones for a little while. The shirt, a faded old thing that looks like it might once have advertised a band whose name I can’t make out, hangs halfway to my knees. The boxers are enormous, too. The socks pretty much go most of the way up my calves.
At least I’ll be comfortable.
I crawl into bed, marveling at how soft and comfortable it is. Much better than the idea of sleeping in my car and freezing to death.
No matter how much he pisses me off, I have to remind myself that he saved my life. I’d easily have died out there if he hadn’t come to drag me to this house, to sleep in this warm, comfy bed with its down comforter and feather pillows.
Now if I can just manage to get some sleep and stop wondering what Jax looks like naked, I’ll be all set.
Chapter 7
Jax
This is fucking ridiculous. Any other woman would be in my bed right now, either fucking me or recovering from being fucked.
So what’s stopping me from taking this one, just like I take any woman I want? It’s not like I’ll ever see her again. Sleeping with her wouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve done it before—many times, more than I can count. My only rule has always been “one time only.” No attachments. No commitments. The last thing I need is to catch feelings, or have a woman catch feelings for me.
I won’t go through that again. Not after Marissa.
So what is it about this girl that’s stopping me from picking her up and carrying her to my bed? I don’t know her, and once the storm’s over she’ll be gone forever. It’s the perfect setup.
Why am I alone in bed, then?
I turn to the side, punching my pillow, desperate to get comfortable and fall asleep. Once I’m asleep I won’t have to think about her anymore. Why am I thinking about her anyway?
Because she makes me think. The whole time I shoveled that snow, I thought about her. The entire reason I went outside in the first place was to get away from her for a minute and tire myself out. I thought that once I was physically tired out I wouldn’t be tempted by her anymore.
I was wrong. I got inside the house and made that crack about the cookies, she got pissed off. And I was more turned on than ever. Something about her reached something in me I’d thought was dead. All I’d felt for women in the years since Marissa was physical want. I’d meet a sexy woman and want to sleep with her. It was never really hard for me to get one into bed once I set my mind to it. But once I got off, that was it. I didn’t want anything to do with her anymore.
I’d probably feel that way about Christina, too. I’d fuck her and get tired of her as soon as I got off. The end.
Why aren’t I convinced? Maybe it is the way she is so quick to challenge me and call me a dick when I am being one. Maybe it has to do with the way she took the trouble to bake cookies while I was outside. Who does that? Who bakes cookies just because? So what did I do? Did I thank her? No, I made that stupid housewife joke. No wonder she was pissed.
What was I supposed to say? That something as simple as homemade cookies blew me away? That I felt something for the first time in forever? That I’ve never known a woman like her?
Maybe it’s because she’s a challenge. Women have never been a challenge before. Back in the day, it had a lot to do with the sort of life I lived. It was exciting; people wanted to be part of it, women included, or at least a certain type of woman. And that was fine with me as long as they were willing.
Now, even when things aren’t as exciting as they were back then, it’s still not hard to get a woman into bed. They s
ee my face, my body, my ink, and they’re sold. They sure as hell don’t tell me off, hands on hips, eyes blazing. And they don’t make cookies and put on the tea kettle.
What’s making this even harder is the way she was looking at me. I didn’t give her a hard time about it because I didn’t want to embarrass her, but I saw it. I’ve seen it before. Normally, I take advantage of it. It’s instinctive. What man wouldn’t? Knowing that she wants me—at least in weaker moments, maybe fueled by whiskey—means I have to go against every instinct and habit to avoid her.
Damn it. Why couldn’t I have found a little old lady in the snow, or a guy? No, it had to be her.
I turn over, punching my pillow again, wondering if I’ll ever be comfortable. I was sure that after all the exertion outside I’d be exhausted. Instead, I’m horny. Maybe I should take care of things myself. At least that would help me fall asleep.
I think about her now and wonder what she’s doing. Is she asleep? I imagine how beautiful she must look when she’s sleeping. For once, she’d be peaceful, I’m guessing, and not constantly on the defensive. I remember how insulted she got when I made that crack about blowjobs. What was that all about? Had she been hurt somehow? Maybe she was just a prude.
If she was a prude, that was a damn waste. She had a body made for sin. Big tits, tiny waist, firm ass. Her legs were long and slim and would fit perfectly around my waist while I fucked her. My dick is starting to get hard just thinking about it.
I can’t stop this train of thought…and I don’t want to. Now that I’m turned on, I wanna see it through. It’s been at least a week since I’ve had sex, I realize. I lean over to take the bottle of lotion out of the nightstand drawer, along with a handful of tissues. Then my lubed-up hand reaches under the blankets to find my hard dick and starts stroking.
