Only Rivals, page 25
That shuts my ass up real quick.
I reverse out of the parking lot, both of our breathing ragged, and drive to her townhome.
Amelia stays in the living room, working on her computer, and keeps her distance from me the rest of the day. The only time she reluctantly talks to me is when I have my buddy, who owns a security company, come to the house and install the best alarm system on the market.
It’s late, and we just finished our How to Work Your New Alarm 101 when there’s a knock on the door.
Amelia turns away from me and rushes to the door, her bare feet pitter-pattering along the tiles.
“Whoa,” I say, stopping her before she gets there, as if Mick is on the other side with a chain saw. “I’ll get it.”
Ignoring me, she swings the door open. The same teenage boy who saw me being an asshole to Amelia at the diner is holding up a takeout bag with Shirley’s logo on it.
His eyes bulge as his gaze pings back and forth between Amelia and me.
Oh, he definitely recognizes us.
“Uh …” he mutters, holding up the bag. “Shirley’s delivery.”
Amelia opens her purse that’s hanging from the hook across from the door, dragging out her wallet, but I quickly snag a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and exchange the food for the cash.
“Really?” I ask when she tells the teenager bye and shuts the door.
“What?” She shrugs. “I’ve been craving Shirley’s since we left.”
“We could’ve easily gone in.”
“Jax, there’s nothing easy between us right now.”
That’s the understatement of the goddamn year.
Amelia strolls into the living room, flashes of her bare back showing under her crop top doing crazy things to me, and plops down on the living room floor. I have some faith that she doesn’t want to castrate me in my sleep when she holds up a sandwich.
“Burger. Pepper jack cheese. No pickle.”
“Thanks.”
Like most of the day, we eat in silence. The Animal Planet channel is playing on the TV, but I don’t watch it.
“You still do that?”
Amelia cocks her head, a ketchup packet in her hand. “Do what?”
I chuckle. “Take the onion out of the onion ring?”
“Sure do.” She picks one up. “You know I hate onions.”
“Yes, but you love onion rings.”
“I love the onion ring batter,” she corrects, and her shoulders straighten, as if something dawned on her. “I should invent an onion ring batter chip … or cookie. Yeah, most definitely a cookie.” She slides a long onion from a ring and settles it onto a napkin, as if it were the nastiest thing in the world.
I shake my head. “I think you should stick with the brewery, baby.”
She levels her eyes on me. “The brewery won’t be mine for long.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I point a French fry at her. “You thought I was a dick, trying to run you off. Just wait until you even attempt to bring someone else around.”
“Why are you making this difficult?”
“Why are you making this difficult?”
“My forgiveness no longer comes easy, Jax.”
When the clock strikes midnight, as if it were her bedtime, Amelia stands from the couch. We’ve spent the past few hours watching an old-school vet save lives. At first, I was bored as fuck, but then I saw how content it made Amelia and got into it. It’s actually not bad.
“You sure you don’t want to change your mind and stay at my place?” I ask Amelia, standing and stretching my arms. “I hate that laundry room floor.”
She releases her hair from its ponytail, and it drapes over her shoulders as it falls.
I hate how just that simple movement from her causes my dick to stir. I shift from one foot to the other, telling my cock to calm down.
“You can take the guest room,” she says, jerking her head in that direction. “If someone tries to hurt me, I’ll scream.”
I can’t stop myself from saying, “I remember when I used to make you scream.”
She moves toward me, swinging her hips with every step, and stands on her tiptoes. My cock twitches in excitement. Her lips linger in front of mine, and I open my mouth, thanking the good Lord above for whatever just came over Amelia.
She does a double slap along my cheek, drops back onto her heels, and laughs. “Memories are all you’ll have.”
I swallow, rerunning what she just did in my head. I watch her stroll past the laundry room, and then she enters her bedroom, as if it’s nothing.
Uh, what?
I follow and am immediately hit with the smell of her—a combination of citrus and apple blossoms.
My bedroom smelled like this each time she came over.
And then each time she left.
But that scent is gone now, and damn, do I miss it.
“Whoa,” I say, standing in the doorway, watching her unclasp a necklace and set it on a nightstand. “You’re sleeping in here now?”
Her cheeks flush as she nods.
I lean against the door. “Since when?”
“I started on the bedroom floor first a few weeks ago. One night, it got so uncomfortable, so my on-half-a-melatonin brain moved me right on up to the bed. It was like the shove I needed.” She motions toward the hallway. “The guest room, laundry room, porch, or wherever is all yours.”
I don’t back out of the room. Instead, I inch farther into it, keeping an eye out for any flying objects headed in my direction.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“You said wherever is all mine.” I peer down at the carpet. “And, floor, I choose you.”
She shrugs, tugging her tee off, so she’s only wearing a thin sports bra, her nipples peeking through. “Fine.”
She removes her ninety thousand pillows, and I grunt when one gets thrown at my head. Catching it, I smirk.
“Thanks, babe. I needed this.” I whistle. “Now, how about a blanket?”
She flips the light off.
I undress to only my boxer briefs and apologize to my body for making it sleep on a floor. I dramatically fluff the pillow a few times, lie down on the floor, move, and fluff the pillow again. I am as loud as possible in an effort to get comfortable.
“Oh my God,” she groans, flinging a blanket at me, and like the pillow, it also whacks me in the head.
I’m cold, half-asleep, and so uncomfortable when I hear Amelia gasp in her sleep. At first, I think she’s dreaming—hopefully about me—but then she whimpers before crying out loud.
Something isn’t right.
I throw the blanket off and practically dive into her bed. Sliding underneath the blankets, I find her tucked into the fetal position, sucking in deep breaths.
“I got you, baby,” I say as she stretches out and allows me to pull her into my arms. “I got you.”
Falling on my back, I take her with me, and without delay, she snuggles into my side, resting her cheek and hand to my chest.
“My therapist says it’s normal,” she says, soft-spoken, into the darkness. “She said it helps that I stay in here and don’t run out of the room.”
I run a hand down her bare arm, and she shivers. “Does it work?”
“It does.”
“I’m proud of you. This is big, Amelia.”
She scoots in closer to me, a light whimper leaving her.
My hand slips up her shoulder and into her hair, massaging her scalp. “When was the first time you slept in here?”
“The night after you broke up with me.”
My hand in her hair freezes. “And the bed?”
“The day you took me home from Essie’s and I said I’d sell you the brewery. It’s like with each shove, you pushed me back in here, I guess.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating every reminder of all the times I’ve hurt her. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
And just like in the motel room, when it wasn’t supposed to happen, we kiss.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Amelia
This is not a chapter in my let’s see if Jax is being genuine and make him grovel book.
In my book, there’s no kissing.
No Jax’s tongue darting into my mouth, dancing with mine.
No Jax shifting me onto my side, hiking my leg up around his waist, and slipping his hand beneath my sleep shorts.
No Jax pushing me onto my back, pulling down my bra, and sucking on my nipple.
No Jax gently playing with my clit, as if it’s his favorite toy he must be careful with.
No Jax shoving not one, not two, but three skilled fingers inside me, groaning in my mouth about how much he loves how my pussy takes his fingers and dick.
No moans—ninety-five percent of them mine—radiating through the room.
No me begging him for more and him scooting down my body.
No him praising my pussy until I’m crying out his name to the ceiling.
None of that was in my plan, but sometimes, Jax Bridges starts kissing you, and all your plans get shot to hell.
My legs are shaking, and I open my eyes to find Jax on his knees between them, staring down at me, his boxer briefs down his thighs.
Did I pull those down? I honestly don’t recall.
No. It was him. Because I demanded it.
The moonlight peeks through the blinds, giving me a tiny glimpse of him stroking himself while telling me how much he’s missed being inside me, breaking down the details of how he’ll fuck me nice and slow.
And just as he starts guiding himself into my entrance, I clamp my legs tight around him and say, “Wait.”
He freezes, waiting for me to elaborate on my outburst.
My vagina is telling me I’m a stupid, stupid girl because it’d love nothing more than Jax’s cock, but I have to stand my ground.
Well, half-stand my ground because his mouth was just between my legs.
“I changed my mind,” I say with a shaky breath. “You can leave now.”
A dose of his own medicine.
His hand drops from his cock, but it’s so hard that it doesn’t move. “What?”
“Get back on the floor and stroke your cock, Bridges.”
He shakes his head, as if he didn’t hear me correctly.
“I’m not having you screw me and then say, Oh, good-bye. Heck, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you told me to leave my own home.”
“Bullshit, Amelia. You know that wouldn’t happen.”
“Hmm …”
He moves from between my legs, crawls up the bed, kisses my shoulder, and collapses onto his back next to me. “Is this my punishment? Like you actually want to torture, torture me?”
“I’m just suddenly so tired.” I fake a loud yawn. “And so is my vagina. She has a curfew.”
“Can I at least stay in the bed?” I can’t tell if he’s whining or forcing back a laugh. “I’m not saying you have to get me off. My dick will sadly stay to himself. But can’t a guy get a mattress for consoling you and then eating you until you fell apart underneath him? Not to say that I didn’t enjoy either one of those things because I most certainly did.”
“Fine, you can sleep in the bed.” I fake annoyance.
He turns on his belly, lifting himself up on one elbow, and stares down at me. “And we can still spoon, right?”
I groan, swatting him away when he licks my cheek. “Ugh, fine, but you’re pushing your luck.”
He kisses my nose and pulls back to look at me. I can’t see him that well, but it’s as if I can feel his eyes searching mine, tender yet hesitant.
Then, he shifts to his side and whispers, “Turn and face me, Amelia.”
I do as he asked.
He reaches out and runs his hand through my hair. Tears well in my eyes at his gentleness, at how he’s touching me as if I’m the most important person in his life.
“And I can call you mine again, right?” he softly asks, brushing his hand over my cheek. His voice is thick with emotion.
But I can’t give him that yet.
I can’t be his again because the next time I allow someone to call me his, I have to be certain he’ll stay.
My heart wrenches in my chest, and my throat burns with the need to tell him yes, but I can’t.
“Go to sleep, Jaxson.”
In a faint whisper, he says, “I love you.”
I lie there, and it hits me.
He calmed me down during my panic attack in the bedroom.
And then we almost had sex in this bed, in the one I’d shared with Christopher, and I’m not freaking out.
My hurt is my storm.
And Jax seems to be my shelter.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Jax
Standing in the doorway, I admire Amelia—her sexy bedhead hair, plump lips, nipples showing through her thin sports bra … and I slightly drool.
That’s my girl.
Well, who I want to be my girl, but she’s not making it easy on me.
I place my hand on the nightstand and slip back underneath the sheets with her. I’ve missed her body heat since I dragged my sleepy ass out of bed when my phone rang in my pants pocket. I snuck into the living room, not wanting to wake her up, and tuned in to the information Uncle Kyle recited.
My elbow digs into my pillow as I stare down at her, tip my head down, and gently brush my lips against hers. She stirs, one eye opening and then the other, and I hope she doesn’t kick me in the balls for waking her up like she’s damn Sleeping Beauty.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around last night. I can’t blame Amelia for her doubt toward me. My track record with her hasn’t been the best these past few weeks. If she wants me to prove I’m not a flight risk, then that’s what I’ll do.
“Morning,” I say in a hushed voice, drawing back.
“Morning,” she whispers.
“It seems we can blame Sandra and Mick for the vandalism and tire-slashing after all.” I love starting the day with pleasant news.
She groans. “Ugh, hearing those goblins’ names first thing in the morning is like a bad omen for the rest of the day.” She snatches one of her pillows and rests it over her face. “Wake me up tomorrow.”
I chuckle. “Sorry, Millie, baby, but we have to be brewery bound. Toby shot good ole Mick.”
“What?” she squeals, shoving the pillow off her face and swatting it away. “Is he dead?”
“Nah.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Toby took out one of his kneecaps. Mick will live. He’ll just wobble when he walks.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Her cheeks redden. “Why did they even go back? Didn’t they do enough damage?”
“Mick told the officers that he thought it was me in the office, not Toby.”
She sucks in a breath. “So that means he went there to hurt you … like kill you?”
“Sure does, sweetheart.” I’m particularly calm for a man who found out another guy had planned to shoot him last night. But it was Mick, and Mick is a fucking idiot. I’d welcome Mick to show up and try to kill me because I’d love to be the one to put him ten feet in the ground myself. I wouldn’t aim for the kneecaps.
“That might be a worse omen to start your day with,” I add.
“What happens now?”
“Mick and Sandra are in jail since she was the getaway driver. They found enough meth at their house to keep the town high enough for a month. My uncle said they’ll most likely be locked up for a while.”
Hours later, Amelia and I trudge into the townhome with heavy eyes and endless yawns.
She didn’t exactly invite me inside, but she didn’t stop me from stepping out of the car and following her either.
Even on the brink of exhaustion, I’ve held my tongue back all day.
We need to have the dreaded what are we talk.
The day has been long. We went to the brewery, had Amelia’s tires replaced, and then stopped for dinner at Shirley’s.
Yep, Amelia agreed.
It was her idea actually.
We walked in and got gawked at—unsurprisingly—but eventually, everyone’s attention went elsewhere. There were whispers, yes, but what’s a small town without low murmurs and heavy gossip?
I lean against the doorframe to Amelia’s room as she rummages through a drawer, and I cross my arms while observing our surroundings—something I didn’t do last night.
My breathing briefly stops at the realization that there’s no sign of Chris. The picture of them on the nightstand, his clothes draped over the white chair in the corner, and his exercise equipment—all gone.
“You moved his stuff out.” It’s more of a statement rather than a question.
She nods, sitting on the edge of the bed and kicking off her sandals. “The stuff I haven’t gone through yet is in the guest room.”
“Did you do it by yourself?”
“My parents helped.”
Look at my girl.
She’s stronger than me.
I draw in a shallow breath, and a weight settles in my chest at her progress—allowing her heart to heal, sleeping in her bed, and closing her chapter with Chris. Not forgetting him, but just moving on to a new page.
I tug at the collar of my shirt, as if someone cranked up the heat, and my voice is strangled when I say, “Chris’s death, it fucked me up.”
She stills, staring at me, speechless.
Which is okay.
I need to get this out.
I step farther into the room, each step feeling heavier in my sneakers. “But that letter?” A thickness forms in my throat. “It did a number on me.”
“Jax,” she whispers, touching her throat, as if she wants to say more, but the words aren’t coming.
Even though it’s a short distance, the walk to her seems like hours before I reach the bed. I fall on my knees in front of her, as if I’m a man ready to unveil his deepest confessions.
And maybe that’s what I’m doing.
I’m not a man who wears his heart on his sleeve.
