Chapter 25

MELODY

I plopmy rear into a seat at the far end of the bar, away from the live band, close to the window and the entrance.

The first thing I order is a tall burger with double cheese and a side of greasy fries.

The bartender, a petite woman with pink bangs and a bedazzled choker, slides a glass of wine in front of me.

"Keeping it classy," I murmur to myself before taking a sip.

The alcohol wrecks my chemistry and, more importantly, fucks with my patience. I'm hungry. I hadn'thad anything to eatthe entire day except for breakfast and a pile of lettuce with vinaigrette that had maybe fifty calories for lunch.

My food arrives, and I can't wait to dive in.

For ten long minutes, I eat uninterrupted, licking my fingers and drinking wine only to take a break from eating.

Next I order an ice cream cookie sandwich and indulge until the very end.

Hunger quenched, I crave a cigarette. I look around, hoping to spot a smoker. No one smokes inside–it's against the law––and I don't want to ask one of the men glancing at me.

I try my luck with the bartender.

She's nice to ask one of her colleagues and returns a moment later with a palmed cigarette.

"There's a door to the side alley in the back," she says.

I thank her, slide some cash over the counter before reassuring her I'd be back, and walk away, my purse dangling from my arm, my trench on, and a cigarette between my fingers.

A howling sound trails me outside asI tap my heels against the concrete slabs. Aman smokes at the other end of the alley, talking on the phone with his back turned to me.

I need a light, but I don't feel like talking to him, and then I remember Jax's lighter.

I still carry it in mypursefor no good reason.

Although I may have hoped to meet him tonight, talk to him, and return it.

He didn't even ask me about it.

I reach inside my bag.

"Excuse me," a woman says, trying to sneak past me.

I make room for her, and she strolls to the back, where she joins that man. He ends the call and starts flirting with her.

Apparently, they know each other.

Shit. I can't find Jax's lighter. Where did I put it? I rifle through the contents of my bag with no luck.

I lost it or forgot it at home.

My brain can't come up with an answer when footsteps move around thecorner,and a man blocks the light, heading my way.

I'll ask him for a light.

He swaggers toward me, and the closer he gets, the warmer I get, a flicker of recognition sweeping through me.

My cigarette shakes between my fingers when he stops in front of me, hisgreen eyes two powerful orbs in the fabric of the night.

"Need alight?"Jax rasps, but my vocal cords refuse to move and give him an answer.

With merely a couple of inches between us, he removes the cigarette from my hand, slides it between his lips, clicks his new lighter open, and runs the flame across the tip.

The orange dot glows with life, and his eyes never leave my face, yet his lips refuse to move into a smile.

He takes a drag, blows the smoke up, and brings his hand to my mouth.

His fingers gently press against my lips while he slides the cigarette between them.

His skin smells like smoke, aftershave, and him,and it"senough to make me lose my breath.

MELODY

We study each other,guarded.

My gaze is curious.

His eyes are unreadable.

"How did you know I was here?" I ask.

"I asked inside."

"How did you know I was at the club?"

"I followed you."

"You followed me?"

"Yes."

"Where were you?"

"Outside. In the car."

"I didn't see your car."

His lips tilt into a smile.

Busted.

"I wasn't looking," I say.

He glances away, his lips curled into a knowing smile.

"Sure."

This type of insolence fits him well.

"What happened to your therapy session?" I ask.

"I cut it short."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I needed to attend a social function."

"And she believed you?"

He takes the cigarette from my hand, puts it between his lips, gives me a reason to watch and lust after his mouth, and inhales before letting it out in a soft stream of smoke.

"Yes, she did," he says softly.

"You have her wrapped around your finger."

He nods, a smile around his cigarette.

"You said you were a man of your word. You lied to metoo."

He vaguely shakes his head.

"I never lied to you."

Yet here we are.

Despite everything that went on, we're nothing more than two strangers.

And then Aretha comes to mind—all the effort she had put into making herself presentable for him.

How can she lose her head over him?

How can I?

Furious with myself, I drop and crush the cigarette with the tip of my shoe.

"I need to go home," I say curtly, and pivot to move away when he blocks my exit with his arm.

I find myself with my back against the wall and his frame hovering over me, practically hiding me from other people.

He flexes an arm against the wall above my head, his free hand sliding to my chin.

He tips my face up, forcing me to look at him.

His eyes glint like the northern lights, a smile woven in his gaze.

"How was your week, baby?"

Slowly, he drags his eyes down and moves his thumb over my lips.

There's no lipstick left.It's all gone from wolfing down that juicy hamburger.

"Hmm?" he murmurs.

"Why are you asking?"

"I don't know… Making conversation?"hetosses at me with slight humor.

I grip his wrist but can't remove his hand from my face.

"My week was fine. How about yours?"

"It was all right," he drawls, evading my eyes. "Why are you mad?" he asks, pushing his eyes to my shoes.

"I'm not mad," I snap.

He laughs.

"I can't believe you," I say, dawning on me he had set me up.

I push his chest hard, not moving him an inch, my reaction amusing him even more. The more I try to say or do something, the more trapped I am.

"I'm not mad, dammit," I bark, hitting his chest again, my effort fruitless, his quiet laughter hovering over me.

"Okay. All right," I say.

I suck in a breath and try again.

"I am not mad at you. In fact, I have not even thought about you," I say evenly this time.

"Mm-hmm."

I swat his chest again.

"Don't do that. Please," I say.

"You stop doing that. It gets my dick hard," he says, looking down at my body with a lip rolled under his teeth.

"I don't like it when you're messing with me."

"There's nomessing with you, babe," he says, lifting his gleaming gazeand making me melt.

"You said things to me," I finger his chest, my gesture making him cross his arms over his pecs and widen his stance.

A couple of men stride past us while the people in the back return to the bar.

"Go on."

"You gave me mixed messages," I say, pressing my finger against his chest again.

He keeps his composure for about two seconds before a grin spreads across his lips.

"What did you expect me to do?" he asks.

I look at him wordless.

"Join your loser boyfriends" cartel?" he adds.

"Oh, Mr. Touchy. Was that what it was?"

"No," he says, pricking my inflated ego. "I had work to do. I was out of town and came back last night."

That has the zing of truth.

"You could've said something."

"Really? Am I accountable to you now? Last time I checked, you and I weren't a good fit."

He got me again. The more time we spend together, the more I fumble.

"We aren't a good fit," I say, frustration beaming in my voice.

"I beg to differ," he says, erasing the space between us, propping his hand against the wall, and pushing his touch down. "This," he says, cupping my breast and brushing his thumb over my beaded nipple, "is at odds with what you just said."

Are we doing this in public now?

No way.

I push his hand away.

"I'm not looking for sex."

His other hand goes up the wall, caging me in.

"Right. Because you have sex so often?"

I press my hands against his chest.

"It doesn't matter how often I have sex. I'm not looking for sex. And youyourselfsaid it wasn't about sex."

Although I don"t see his face because he tips it down and moves his lips down my neck, I still think he's smiling.

"You know I want more than sex," he murmurs against my skin before leaving a kiss on my neck that sends a tornado of pleasure between my legs. "But we can't be more. You said that repeatedly. So, at this point, we can be all about sex. What's left there for us anyway?"

"You make no sense."

He gives me a quiet laugh.

"You, babe, make no sense. For someone so analytical, you surely can't keep things straight. You need sex. Everybody needs sex. Fix that problem first, and then look for your perfect man."

"So you're giving up?"

He flashes a grin.

"I never give up. You'll be mine, one way or another. I gave you my best offer, but you said no to it. So we'll let things play out and see where they take us."

"They won't take us anywhere. I can't do this now, Jax," I say seriously, believing it.

He brings his eyes to mine and studies me for a few moments.

"Say it…" he lets out quietly."Say it to my face… thatyou don't need me."

A soft gasp rolls off my lips as I open my mouth to speak.

I can't say that. It would be a lie. And it"s not my first lie, but needinghimand havinghimmess with my life are not mutually exclusive.

"This isn't about needing you."

"You believed everything I said to you," he shoots back, holding me accountable.

My eyes dive into his, and he welcomes me into his soul.Not that heshows memuch.

"You liked what I said to you. Despite everything you said, you were angry that I left."

"You didn't say a word," I point out.

"I had to leave."

"You could've woken me up."

"And say what? ‘Hey, babe. I'll see you next week. Good luck with your fuckers. Maybe you'll find a husband by the time I get back.'"

I don't know what to say.

"You crumpled up that blanket and tossed it on a chair."

His hands slide down as he slowly straightens.

"You noticed that?"

"Of course I noticed that."

"And you didn't like it."

"No, I didn't like it," I huff. "I thought you were mad because I put a blanket over you."

He brings his hand to the root of my neck and rubs the skin beneath his thumb.

"See… We are made for each other. You already care for me."

"I'm serious, Jax."

"I'm serious, too."

"No, you're not."

I yank his hand away.

"You're just tormenting me."

I suck in a long breath and look down, frustrated,

"Listen. I'll tell you the truth," I say, staring down. "I'm sick of dating," I murmur.

"Then stop."

I push my eyes up.

"My life is simple and complicated at the same time. I was serious when I said I wasn't looking for sex. It's not that I don't like sex. It's just that I don't like the morning after. The guessing game. The ghosting.Thestarting it all over. The sex wasn't even that good. It can't be good because I never trust these guys, and other than their dicks, they don't offer much."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Because I wanted to give this thing a try and maybe find someone interested in more than sex."

"You're doing it all wrong, baby."

"And you know that how?'

"Look at the outcome. The man offering you more is not your target. While the ones who are could not care less."

My lips press into a tight line, quivering with anger.

"That's not entirely true."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes… You don't know thattheydon't care.And just because you said you'd give me more, itdoesn't mean things would work for us."

"Let's give it a try."

His eyes glint as if he'd planned to bring me to this point, and now he's waiting for me to bite.

"You can't be serious."

"I am dead serious."

I try to imagine going out with Jax London, attending social functions, and taking him home to see my parents, not because I plan to marry him but to give him a taste of what his life would be like with me.

He would be bored out of his mind.

I'm usually bored out of my mind when I do this alone, except maybe when I'm seeing my parents.

But they're my parents, and I love them.

I always thought I'd find a man who'd fit perfectly into that lifestyle.

"It's impossible. You know that. No. Absolutely no. Why are we even having this conversation? I think we should end this now. I'll stop seeing Aretha and look for a different therapist. I don't want to run into you again or obsess over you."

There, I said it. And just by confessing that,hemust know I'm serious.

His expression shifts, and I notice anger and frustration in his gaze.

"Talking about mixed messages," he mutters. "You, darling, are the queen of them."

His hand slides off my neck, and I feel like my heart is falling with them.

But it's the right thing to do.I can't have sex with him and then go on like nothing happened.

He's addictive, reads me well, and already lives in my head.Having sex with him would be like having his presence imprinted on me forever. It would ruin me for other men.

So, no.

Relapses aside, I quit smoking, so I can surely quit him.

Imanage toextract myself from between him and the wall and stride away, never feeling more empowered and proud of myself.

And also torn.

"You will regret this, baby," he tosses behind me.

"I don't think so," I say, without turning for fear or showing him my worried face.