by Olivia Chase
Okay, more than just a little. Somehow, after just a few times being around him, he’s managed to work his way into my brain and take up residence there. I’m the worst kind of idiot, because I know what he is, how he is. Yet I’m sitting here thinking about him anyway. Wishing he was here, touching me with his big, capable hands, murmuring soft words in my ear.
I don’t want to think about Jax.
I sit up and grab my textbook and stare blindly at the chapter we just went over for a good fifteen minutes. Telling myself I’m not going to think about Jax at all.
Not one second. Not one little bit.
I tell myself that and know it’s a damn lie.
Jax
I fucked up. Big time.
I sit at my beat-up kitchen table and sip on coffee. It’s just after three p.m., and I only managed to rouse myself out of bed a half hour ago. My head pounds, a testament to all the shots I consumed last night. Way more than I usually do.
Why did I drink so much?
I groan and rub the aches across my skull. It’ll take a little longer for the ibuprofen to kick in. My own stupid fucking fault—I deserve to have my head feel like it’s ripping in two for how I acted in front of Brooklyn.
Some dumb-ass impulse on my part made me act that way, showing off to the crowd, riling them up. Proving to her and to me that I’m a hopeless cause. I sabotaged it, and she doesn’t want to see me again now. Probably for the best, right? We’re wrong for each other, and God knows I’d end up just fucking it up in the future.
That’s what I do, after all.
I stare down at my coffee. My stomach is a knot of tension. When I realized Brooklyn was gone, I sent her several texts asking why she left. Drunk Jax was initially pissed at her just going without saying a word and sent a curt message or two about it. Then Drunk Jax became moony and a little desperate from her silence and asked her to at least let him know she got home okay.
None of the messages received a reply.
I reread them when I got up, shame making my skin hot at all the drunk, fumbling typos, the emotional flip-flopping.
Shit, no wonder she doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m a fucking mess. I ignored her, and she left. Even though she came there to see me—no matter what she says, I know that’s what happened. Brooklyn did something outside of her comfort zone and paid me a visit, and I was a dick, and she saw through my bullshit and decided I wasn’t good enough for her.
I know I’m not, but having her realize it…it makes some stubborn part of me want to prove her and everyone else wrong.
I finish the last swig of coffee and hop in the shower. Showering doesn’t wash away my sullenness. I give a heavy sigh and towel off. Slip into clean clothes. I need to find her and apologize. Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot, but she didn’t deserve for me to treat her like that. At least I can tell her that it was my bad, and if she never wants to see me again, well, it’s what I get.
I exit my house and hop in my car. Stop by a flower store and pick up a small bundle—can’t hurt, right? Ignoring the way part of my brain is taunting me for how I’m trying to woo her, I drive to her campus.
It’s hard to swallow past the tightness in my throat as I make my way up to her dorm room. Will she even be here? I have no idea. I rap on the door and wait.
A moment later, it swings open, and her roommate is staring at me, her face a smooth, expressionless mask. I think her name is…Gail? “Jax. Quelle surprise. What are you doing here?”
I hold up the flowers and give her my most charming smile. “I’ve come to see Brooklyn. Is she in there?” I try to peer over her shoulder.
“And why should I tell you?” Ah, there it is…the frozen judgment in her voice. Clearly, Brooklyn has talked to her.
Do I keep trying to layer on the charm? I’m not sure how well it would work with Gail. She seems like a ball buster. Like she can see right through my usual bullshit. I sigh and drop the flowers to my side. “I fucked up. I want a chance to talk to her.”
She studies me for a long time, so long that I start to lose my cool and struggle against the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. One perfect eyebrow is arched as she coolly says, “You hurt her feelings, you know.”
My stomach sinks. Fuck. “I can make it up to Brooklyn.”
“That’s not really an apology.”
This time it’s my turn to arch my eyebrows. “Well, you’re not the person I need to talk to about it, are you.”
That makes her give me a toothy, primal grin. She leans against the door. “No, but I am the person who knows where she is. I know her way better than you do. And if you’re sincere about wanting to have another chance with her, I’m your best bet. But you’ll have to prove yourself to me first.” She eyes me up and down. “I’m not letting some player wiggle his way back into her life who doesn’t deserve to be there.”
Wow, this girl is hardcore. I have to admit, I’m impressed. She’s got a backbone of steel. I’m not getting by her—at least, not today. “Fair enough. Will you give her these for me and tell her I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to her?”
She takes the flowers. Gives a curt nod. “If you come back tomorrow, I might be persuaded to open the door for you.” A challenge. I can do that.
I give her my biggest charming grin. “Hon, It’s a date. I’ll see you then.”
Late Saturday morning, my arms are full as I walk up the dorm room stairs and head to Brooklyn’s room. I kick the bottom of the door, and when Gail opens it, she eyes me in surprise and gives a huge belly laugh.
“Okay, Jax,” she says, looking at the massive flower bundles in my arms. “You might be laying it on a bit thick for Brooklyn.”
I peer over the top of the flowers. “Oh, these aren’t for her.” I thrust the mass into her arms. “I wanted to make a good impression for our second door-date.”
Gail just shakes her head, chuckling for several moments. “You do have a way about you. I can see why she’s drawn to you, Jax. You’re trouble, that’s for sure.” She disappears for a moment, then comes back, her arms empty. “Brooklyn isn’t here.”
“I kinda figured, since I haven’t heard any other sounds in the room behind you.” I was hoping she might be, but of course it isn’t going to be that easy. No doubt Gail told her I was going to come around today and she vanished early.
I can’t blame her for avoiding me, but fuck if I don’t want a chance to see her anyway. I slept for shit last night, thinking about how I could have played things differently on Thursday night.
Gail leans toward me. “Sorry, bud. I promised her I wouldn’t let you know where she is.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” I say. “I’ll just go to every building on campus and ask around until someone tells me.”
“You’d do that, just to talk to her?” Something flickers in her eyes.
“I need to,” I say baldly. Truth is, I miss her. I grew used to our silly chatter in text. I want to smell her skin again, taste that beautiful mouth. I want to hear her give me shit for being vain.
She sighs. “Fuck. This is going to get me in trouble, so you’d better not fuck it up. She’s in the library. Probably at her usual spot—third floor, in the back stacks at a small group of tables. It’s quiet there.” Gail’s jaw hardens. “Don’t make me regret telling you, Jax. I’m not kidding. I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt, and you don’t want a pissed-off lesbian on your ass.”
I can’t help it; I blurt out, “I dunno, that sounds kind of sexy.”
Gail’s laugh is genuine, and the tension on her face eases. “You’re fucking nuts. Go. Get out of here, asshole. And I don’t want to see you here again if you don’t make it up to her.” She spins me around and shoves at my back.
I walk with purpose back to my car, grab the other massive bundle of flowers I stuck in my backseat, and walk to the library. Try not to feel like my next move is one of the most important I’ve undertaken in a long time. When’s the last time I cared this much about fixing a mistake?
/> This isn’t like me. But Brooklyn isn’t just some girl.
I walk through the library’s massive double doors and get quite a few interesting looks. I saunter up to one of the girls standing near the entrance and say, “Where’s the elevator?”
She points to the back corner. “Over there.” A pause. “Those look like apology flowers.”
“Here’s hoping they work,” I admit.
That makes her laugh. “Good luck,” she calls to my back.
When the elevator reaches the third floor, my heart gives a small lurch and I step out. Move toward the area Gail pointed me in, and there she is, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, upper body hunched as she writes furiously in a notebook. Even seeing her in profile steals my breath. She’s so fucking gorgeous it makes my chest ache.
Get your shit together, I warm myself. This isn’t the time to dissolve into some sappy, spineless fuck. I walk toward Brooklyn, putting the flowers up high enough that I can barely see over the tops, and then clear my throat.
She looks up, blinks in surprise, clearly taken aback. When I drop the flowers down and reveal my whole face, the surprise fades to a multitude of emotions—none of them good. Brooklyn turns back to her material and sighs as she closes the book and notebook. “Gail caved, I see.”
“She ran me through the wringer, to be fair,” I murmur.
“I don’t want to do this,” she says, pushing her belongings into her backpack. She stands and starts walking away from me.
Fuck. “Wait. I need help,” I tell her.
That stops her in her tracks. She spins on her heels, brows quirked. “The great Jax, admitting he needs something? Someone write down the date.”
“These flowers are getting heavy,” I tell her with a wide grin. If she’s talking to me, busting my balls, I still have a chance. I just have to keep her talking.
“Guess you should have thought of that before.” She slings the backpack over her shoulder but doesn’t move. We stare at each other for a moment, and I drink her in, those wide eyes, her curvy lips, the V of her throat. She purses her lips. “Okay, so what do you need help with?”
“I need to find a book.”
That knocks her off her guard. She looks taken aback. “What?”
I step closer and drop the flowers to my side, clenching the massive bouquet in my fist. When I’m just a few inches away, I can smell the warmth of her skin, her lotion, that familiar flowery scent that makes me hungry for her all over again. “Will you help me?”
“What kind of book?” Her voice is low. She’s still staring at me.
“I want to borrow a book on how to make up for being a huge ass. Think they carry something like that here?”
She’s fighting a laugh, I can tell—she struggles to keep her lips thin and pressed together, her face even. “I think you need more than one book on that subject. You’ve had years of practice being an ass, I’m sure.”
“It’s true. It’s a fatal flaw.” I put the flowers on a nearby table then dare to reach over and cup her upper arms. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away. “Brooklyn,” I say quietly. Lift one hand to stroke her chin, her jaw, her delicate throat. “Let me make it up to you.”
Her eyes get a tinge of uncertainty in them, and that flash of raw emotion threatens to undo me. I did this to her, made her scared of being with me, made her vulnerable. I really am a dick. This is what I do, how I manage to fuck things up. How I sabotage my own life.
“Nothing crazy,” I promise her. “Just food.” I want more, my body aching for her just by being in her presence, but I’m not going to think about that right now.
“Just food?”
The tension in my chest eases. Thank fuck. I raise my brows. “Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we? You can rip off my clothes later.”
She shakes her head and gives a genuine laugh. “I must be insane. Fine. Let’s go have some food.” Her gaze glides over to the flowers, and she picks up the bundle and smells them. Her face softens. “Wildflowers. These are really pretty.”
“Seemed appropriate,” I admit with a sheepish shrug.
We exit through the elevator and I follow Brooklyn out the door.
The sunshine has warmed the air up more so there’s barely a hint of chill in the air. The fates are smiling on me.
“So where are we going?” Brooklyn turns her beautiful face up toward me.
I can’t help it. I grab her elbow, stop her in her tracks, and press a kiss to her mouth. There was no way I was going to make it another minute without tasting her. When she sighs and parts her lips for me, I cup her cheeks and deepen the kiss. Take her mouth. All the cells in my body surge to life, and for the first time since Brooklyn left the bar, I feel good. Whole.
This is right.
I pull away, leaving her breathless. Her mouth is swollen from my kisses and her eyes are slightly glazed and she’s pliant in my arms. I want to stroke her pussy through her jeans right here, and it’s hard to keep my hands on her face instead of roaming her body. I ask her, “How do you feel about a picnic?”
Rock Bridge isn’t just the name of the town—it’s also the landmark for which the town was named. It’s an arc of rock carved out by the passage of water that forms a bridge over a river. Dad used to take us fishing here when we were young. It’s a scenic place to visit.
And better yet, it’s usually pretty deserted. At least where we’re going, a small clearing in the woods near the bridge with a fantastic view and soft grass, perfect for a blanket picnic. Yeah, okay, I admit—this wasn’t my idea. I talked to Aubrey last night about how to fix this fuck-up, and she suggested I do some sort of romantic gesture involving the outdoors, told me that Brooklyn loves being outside.
I guess she must know her shit, because when Aubrey sees the clearing, she gives an excited gasp and claps her hands. “This is gorgeous!” Wildflowers are blooming all around the perimeter of our area. I hear the sounds of nature around us, and the sunlight pours through the big gap in trees to warm the clearing.
With a flourish, I spread out the blanket I had draped across my arm. “Your seat, madam,” I say in a snooty French accent. Then I open the backpack I filled with all our supplies. “And for madam, we have ze finest red wine we could steal from Outlaws.”
It’s pretty rare for us to serve wine there, but we keep it in stock now because Aubrey’s trying to help widen our customer base.
Since this was her idea, Outlaws can foot the bill for our drinks.
Brooklyn stands there and stares at me.
“Is…something wrong?” I ask, pausing in pulling out the wine opener. Maybe this is too over the top.
She draws in a breath. Presses her hands to her belly. “I’m just surprised. This is a lot of effort to go through for me. Why are you doing all of this?”
It’s a fair question. One I’ve been asking myself, too. I’ve never chased a woman before, never had to. I’ve not really had trouble hooking up in the past.
Brooklyn is more than a hookup though. She’s different. She keeps me on my toes, makes me have thoughts I’ve never had before.
I give a casual shrug. I’m not ready to admit some of the things I’m thinking. Not ready for that level of truth-telling. “I never half-ass anything. I whole ass it or don’t do it at all.”
She chuckles. “You’re right about the ass part.”
I go back into the bag and dig for the wine opener. Pop it open and pour into two small plastic cups. “I was afraid glasses might break in here,” I say.
“I like it—classy,” she chuckles.
“I guess I put the ‘ass’ in class, darling.”
Her smile is so wide it makes something in my heart chip away. “You’re always entertaining, I’ll give you that.”
She oohs and aahs over all the food I withdraw from the bag, showing them in a flourish. Aubrey suggested I get a bunch of snobby snack crap, like fancy cheese and crackers and shit. The chick at the grocery store counter helped me out.
“This looks so good.” She grabs a cracker and nibbles on it, then tilts her face to the sky and closes her eyes. “It’s gorgeous out here, isn’t it?”
Sitting in this spot with Brooklyn, watching how much pleasure she takes from simple gestures people do for her…she’s the one who makes this place gorgeous. My chest tightens. Fuck.
What am I doing? I’m developing real feelings for this woman. Strong feelings. Feelings I refuse to put a label on right now, because I’m so not ready for that kind of thing. And now shit is getting far too complicated, because as much as I told myself I brought her here to apologize, I realize I have to acknowledge it’s something more.
That I wanted to put that happy smile on her face. Wanted to surprise her and let her know she isn’t forgettable to me. Because I know that’s exactly what she was thinking when she left the bar—that I forgot about her.
As if I could. As if my entire body hasn’t been magnetized to her north. Everything in me points in her direction, beckons me to her.
I’m in over my fucking head with Brooklyn, and fuck if I know what to do. Because I can’t stop being who I am…and who I am will ultimately end up destroying us. I’ll ruin any chance I have with her long-term. The smart thing would be to have let her walk away. Let her think I’m just some drunk asshole not worth her time. But it would kill me to have her believe that of me.
Even if it is kinda true.
The problem is, I can’t not see her anymore. I can’t not be around her. Every time I’m with her, I want more. It’s not an option to just let her go, despite the spectacular mess that’s going to occur when we end. Because we will end.
I’m not ready to change who I am. Not yet. Though a small part in my heart is telling me I should just jump off the ledge. But what happens if I change everything about myself, let her in, and then she fucking dumps me anyway? Then I’ve lost the core of who I am, and I’m left with nothing.
I’m not going to be like my dad. A broken man who let his guard down and got hurt. I’ll just have to find a way to be with her and not completely forget what I’m about.
