Chapter 17

MELODY

I spenda long time in the shower to clear my head.

No sound comes from the other room. Perhaps he picked up his jacket, cigarettes, and lighter and took off.

He didn't intend to stay anyway.

His car is not even in front of the inn, and he seems to have no problemwith that.

The water drips for a few seconds before I turn it off, grab a towel, and slowly start moving it across my skin.

Twenty-four years old? Why? I know men in their early twenties. Family members. None of them look like him. None of them talk like him. None of them approach women like him.

Their girlfriends are women who look like girls.

They hold hands,take walks, go to the mall, and like to party together. Even when they get jobs, pay bills, do chores, and live together, they still look like flower-power children.

Adults recognize their ability to navigate life, but they're all still very much kids. At least in my family, they are.

But Jax…

Ugh.

He fucks with me too much.

He brought me exactly where he wanted me to be, as if I was younger than him.

Sunk in thought, I slip my fluffy robe on and wrap it around me.

Why couldn't Thomas be more driven like Jax? And the men before him?

Why have those men always tossed a little something in my direction, confusing me more than anything else before pulling away?

I've noticed this type of behaviorover and over again, and Aretha, sweet Aretha, has always said that's how mature men play the field.

They fish in muddy waters, hiding behind their busy lives, always concealing some dirty secret.

Families, exes, or other girlfriends.

You never know with them, and we've both agreed on that, but focusing on people who are ten years younger has never been the topic of our conversations.

It made no sense.

I don't have much to talk about with these men, and most of them are not even wired to notice me.

Jax London must be an exception, which makes somethingalready complicatedeven more complicated.

Who knows why he is so fascinated with me? And why in the world have I agreed to continue to talk to him?

The place is so quiet that I'm convinced he's left.

Sucking in a long breath, I stroll to the bedroom.

The fire vigorously wraps around the logs as I enter the room. Only a few lit candles sit on the mantelpiece.

Next to the window, sprawled on the velvet sofa, his arm folded under his head, his eyes pinned on the wet view, and a lit cigarette dangling from his hand lies Jax London.

The cold air swishes through the open window, bringing in more smoke.

I take the cigarette crushed against the tray and toss it in the garbage.

I'll need to settle this with Olivia tomorrow morning and maybe pay an extra fee for deep cleaning.

We have both misbehaved when it came to smoking.

The difference was that I wasn't supposed to light or share one withhim.

The good he did to me.

Turningmyback to the window, I shed my robe, sigh quietly, and slide under the covers.

"Still mad with me?" he asks before putting his cigarette out.

"No… It's about the cigarettes."

"I'll talk to Olivia."

"It's not only that. I quit smoking months ago. I'm only carrying a pack with me to quench that thirst. You know the story," I add, irate.

He tilts his eyes to me.

"I'm not supposed to smoke," I say, pulling the covers up to my chin as if a blizzard swirls around the room.

"You're blaming it on me?"

"No. It's my fault. It has nothing to do with you."

"So you're still mad."

"I didn't say that."

"You don't need to."

A few moments pass.

"Why are you so hard on yourself?" he asks.

"Aren't you?"

"Um, no?"

"You ended up in jail because you couldn't talk your problem out with your father. Isn't that being hard on yourself? Putting you through all that crap to prove a point?"

A mask slides over his face, and he no longer talks.

I want to take my words back, but it's too late.

I don't know what the real story behind his incarceration is, and I have just blabbered for no reason, showing him how inconsiderate I can be.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say something hurtful."

His eyes seem to come to life again, and I notice a quiet appreciation for being an adult and admitting that I've made a mistake.

Maybe that's what he's looking for. A different kind of interaction with a woman. And all along, I thought he was attracted to me.

For a secondthere, I wished I couldgo backto my boring life, talk my therapist's ear off, and continue making lists and searching for my man.

The more I think about Jax, the more I realize how important it is to solve my problem and find that man.

I want my parents' life. I'm probably one of the few people I know who can say that, but I really do.

I want to decorate my house someplace outside Manhattan, throw parties for my family and friends, and bring kids into the world so they can grow up with my sister's kids.

That's the man I'm looking for, and being here with Jax doesn't get me closer to my goal.

Disheartened, I turn my back to him and stare at the wall.

Besides the log fire crackling, there is no sound in the room, as if we're notevenbreathing.

I tilt my head and pin a blank stare on the fire.

"Were you really attracted to me?" I ask, and his answer comes after a few seconds.

"Yes."

His solemn tone is hoarse.

"I am attracted to you," he says sincerely.

I ponder his answer.

"Were you always into older women?"

He thinks about it for a moment.

"I'm not attracted to people based on age or status. I'm not one of those dudes. And, no. I've never been with someone like you."

I listen without glancing at him.

"I'm aware ofthe differences between us," he says."It's just that I'm not turned off by them."

"You think I am?" I ask, moving my gaze to him.

"You're struggling a lot because you've planned your life and shit."

My head falls back into the pillow.

"You and I will never happen," I murmur. "And you know I like you."

A few more seconds pass.

"Do you realize we've known each other for like forty-eight hours?" I say.

The realization hits me hard.

Thursday night, I was unaware of the presence of this man outside my therapist's door, and then I ran into him, and he decided to blow up my life.

And he did.Successfully, I might add.

"You're the one obsessed with numbers and statistics. Notme," he says and he's right.

His life moves at a different pace, following different rules. He mostly doesn"t care about the rules while breaking other people's rules.

He just lives his life, ignoring how it looks from the outside. There's freedom in that.

Even without considering how little time we've spent together, it's hard not to notice how tumultuous these forty-eight hours have been.

We both go silent, and as much as I'd love to go to sleep and not talk to him, I can't stop thinking about this.

"Are you seeing someone?" I ask, void of emotion.

"Seeing? As in… dating? Fucking?"

I move my eyes to him, and he looks at me for a second, but it has nothing to do with my question.

He searches my eyes, trying to learn something about me.

"Any of the above?" I say.

"I'm not dating. I never have."

He tilts his eyes to the ceiling, his arm still folded under his head.

There's maybe a few feet between us, and I'm sure whoever decorated this place had never considered the two lovebirds would sleep separately.

He is fully clothed with his boots on.

Maybe he had considered leaving, yet something held him in place.

It wasn't my good nature, for sure, or that he'd thought I might have sex with him after taking a shower.

"You never had a girlfriend? Someone who was more than sex and meant something to you?"

"I don't remember."

"You're lying."

"You think?"

A smile lines his voice.

I try again.

"So, are you seeing someone right now?"

"You're interrogating me?"

He's entertained.

"I'm trying to learn more about you."

"Oh. I forgot,"hesays. "You're following a script."

"I'm technical, as you have said."

"That means you're thinking about me seriously?"

He looks at me again.

"Yes, you are," he says. "You were doing it when I held you in my arms two nights ago."

I roll my eyes.

"I know you rolled your eyes."

I laugh.

"No, you don't. You're just versed in reading people."

He chuckles.

"Maybe."

"And avoiding inconvenient questions."

"What questions?"

"See? That's a prime example. So, tell me. When was the last time you slept with someone?"

He refuses to answer.

"It doesn't matter either way. I'm just curious."

"You want us to be friends?" he asks.

"Yeah. Why not?"

He shoots me another look.

"You're setting me up," he says.

"No."

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll tell you if you tell me."

He dismisses me with a gesture before he speaks.

"I fucked someone when I got out of jail. Now stop the presses…"hesays.

"When was that?"

"A few weeks back."

"That's it?"

"I fucked her more than once."

A pang of jealousy zips through me.

"So you're seeing this woman."

"I'm not seeing her. She's married. She's also an old flame. Her husband and I can't see eye to eye."

"Oh… So you have a problem with a woman's other men?"

"No. I don't really care," he says.

"You have a problem with my ‘boyfriends'," I say.

"It's different."

"How?"

"I care about you."

"So you care about her too?"

The back-to-back questions and answers suddenly stop as he ponders his words.

"I don't want her to be with me. But I want you. It's that simple."

He peels his eyes away from me.

"Was that her on the phone?" I mutter.

"No. That was work."

I'm tempted to ask about his work, but it's better to stick to one topic at a time.

"You saw her recently?"

"I haven't seen her in two weeks."

"What about seeing her from now on?"

He tilts his head to me, flashing a smile.

"What about it?" he tosses at me, his smile broadening as he wags his finger at me. "You won't get this from me, baby. I know how to play this game."

"You said you were a man of your word."

"I am. ButI won'thandthis to you.You have to work for it a little."

"Your commitment to me?"

"Precisely."

"Hmm."

I'm suddenly jealous. Very jealous. Things were fun when there wasn't someonerealin the picture.

But there she is.

A real woman has had this beautiful man more than once. A married woman at that, and they have a history together.

Even if what he says istrue, and she hasn't been more than a friend with benefits and maybe a way of satisfying his thirst for revenge, she had him.

I only had him next to me. I kissed him, and he made me come, and I thought I was smart for not going all the way with him.

Now I wish I did.

"What about my boyfriends? Does your rule still stand?"

"Sure. This is simple. Once I touch you, no one else will."

"What about your woman––"

He gives me a warning look.

"Don't go there."

"It's not fair," I argue.

"Who said it was?"

"Okay. You know what?" I gesture. "I need to keep dating, and you very well know why," I say.

He doesn't flinch.

"Do it. See if it works,"heputs me on notice.

"You think it won't," I say.

He nods.

"You'll make sure of that," I murmur.

He says nothing.

"I'll have to think about it," I continue.

"Think about it as much as you want," he says before moving his focus back to the ceiling.

A few long moments slip away.

"It's been six months since I had sex," I say, my words whirling around the room like icy gusts of wind.

My unexpected confession makes him flick his head to me and read my eyes.

"Seriously?"

I tilt my chin down.

"And I've never been in love,' I continue.

I've never told this to anyone.

"How come?"

I fear that being truthful with him might make me vulnerable in his eyes, and he might exploit that weakness. On the other hand, if he's that kind of man, I'd rather know it quickly.

"It just didn't happen."

"You've never followed your heart," he muses, moving his gaze away from me.

"Maybe. But it's not as if I didn't want to."

"So, no relationships?"

He doesn't move his eyes to me, and something tells me he doesn't like our conversation as much as I didn't like the story about his old flame.

"There were a few relationships and a lot of dating. Some dates were worse than the others."

"You didn't get bored?"

I laugh.

"I had to do what I needed to do."

"You liked it?"

"No. But I thought it was necessary if I wanted to find someone."

"Now you know why I asked you to stop doing that."

I smile.

"You don't know me well enough to ask me to do anything."

"It doesn't matter. I don't need to spend years with you to know what's right. Or to know you."

"You know nothing about me, Jax."

He gives me a laugh.

"Try me."

"No, I won't."

"Why?"

He has his gaze on me again.

"You're afraid I may be right," he says.

I sigh.

"Okay. Let's do it."

I pull up a little and press my back into the pillow, my chest exposed, partly concealed by my hair.

"Tell me what you know," I say.

He lifts an eyebrow and drags his gaze down before shifting his eyes away.

"You've reached a dead end," he says.