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With such a grim reality, Jax became my escape, even more than before. Our texting stayed firmly in the friend zone, checking in on each other’s days, sending snapshots of a pretty sunset (me) or a ridiculous bumper sticker (Jax), but the connection started meaning more and more to me with every passing day.
One night, I felt a mild tremor. Growing up in California, I’d experienced a bunch of earthquakes. But did anyone ever really get used to the feeling of the earth moving? It didn’t cause me to panic, but, still, it felt good to get a text asking how I was doing. Not from my husband, of course.
Jax: You OK? Did you feel the quake?
Sky: Yeah, I’m OK. You?
Jax. Good. Where are you, your apartment?
Sky: Yes. All tucked into bed.
Jax: In your jammies?
Sky: If you call an old T-shirt jammies.
I looked down at myself and giggled. I definitely was not dressed like any man’s fantasy. The shirt had to be at least six years old. I’d been given it as a freebie from a place where I used to work. It had a hole in the armpit and a stain on the back.
Jax: I bet you look cute.
I burst out laughing.
Sky: Shows what you know. I definitely do not.
Jax: Text me a photo and I’ll be the judge.
My heart beat rapidly in my chest. These were definitely the most flirtatious texts we’d exchanged, drawing closer than ever to crossing a line. I bit my lip, trying to figure out what to do.
He wanted a photo? Part of me wanted to change into a sexy little camisole, do my hair and makeup and strike an alluring pose. But then he could tell I was trying. And I shouldn’t be trying. I didn’t feel married to Mike anymore. We’d barely exchanged two words in the past week. But the fact remained that I was still married to him. I could excuse all of Jax and my texting when it stayed between friends. But once we got into sending each other sexy photos? That was different.
And maybe it would be better if I sent him a selfie of the real me, my freshly-washed face all blotchy and shiny, my hair in a messy tumble as I wore a legitimately ugly, old T-shirt. Maybe that would scare him off. As much as I hated the thought, I knew it would make things simpler.
I clicked, forced myself not to stress over how I looked in the photo, and sent it. Soon after, my phone lit up.
Jax: You’re so beautiful, Sky.
Tears filled my eyes, my hand up to my mouth. What was this man doing to me? All he saw me in were scrubs, and now I sent him a photo of me in my most dis-assembled, unvarnished state and he thought I was beautiful? It almost felt like too much.
Sky: Goodnight
I had to end it. I felt too raw, too vulnerable. He couldn’t have any idea how much his brief messages affected me. But inside, I felt like something was changing. As if nothing would ever be the same again.
§
A week later, I was waiting for the bus to head home. I’d gotten there late, or it had left early. Either way, I had a good half hour on my hands. It was already dark. I’d filled in for another aide, letting her go home early while I stayed until nine.
Jax sent me a text and I let him know what I was up to, so exciting, ha ha. I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised when he pulled up in his truck. But I felt shocked.
“Let me give you a ride home.” He got out and walked around to open the passenger side door for me. Holy hell.
I thanked him. We didn’t say much as we drove through the city streets. I gave him directions and he followed them as we sat so close in the darkness of the cab. I felt too hyper-aware of him to talk, all my fantasies blending with reality. I could feel the heat radiating from his massive body and I breathed him in, like leather and mint and something uniquely male. Being that close to him made me feel drunk.
I’d changed into a skirt after work, nothing too short but it rode up on my legs as I sat. I knew I should pull it down. But I left it there, the hem hitting me high up on my thighs. His eyes darted over to my legs, noticing, his gaze roving over my skin. I crossed my legs, shifting in my seat. He watched me move.
As we pulled onto my street, he asked, “Which one’s yours?” His voice had a low, gravelly pitch that made my stomach flip.
“The gray one.” I pointed to it. “There on the second floor, that’s my bedroom.” I didn’t say our bedroom, as in me and Mike’s. It was my bedroom, where I slept alone and longed for him.
He parked and turned toward me, stretching a powerful arm along the back of my seat. “All right, then.” He looked into my eyes. I did not want to get out of that truck. I wanted to reach my hand to his strong jaw, lean up, press my lips to his and find out how he tasted. I wanted him to start driving and not stop until we were far, far away and we’d never look back.
But that was the sort of thing that happened in movies, not real life. And even in movies, that kind of dramatic escape didn’t usually work out too well. The lovers always ended up in a car wreck or a shootout. So I gave him a quick “thanks” and scooted away, flashing a brief wave and a smile as I unlocked the door and hurried inside.
Up in my bedroom, though, I wasn’t such a good girl. Mike was out again, as usual. I was alone, the bed all to myself.
I stripped down, a fever running through my body. I needed some sweet relief to the tension I felt building, more and more each day. Sheets pulled aside, I lay down, sliding my fingers along my bare skin. Jax made me so aware of my body, like I was charged through with an electric pulse. My head turned to the side, I closed my eyes so I could see him.
I pictured his masculine profile as he drove me home, his bicep flexing as he palmed the wheel. Dipping my fingers down where I ached, I stroked my pussy, already so slick with arousal. The way he’d watched my thighs, his gaze returning over and over to my skin. What if he’d dropped his hand, slowly grazed it up my legs, brought it right where I had my fingers now?
I’d love crying out his name, letting him know how wet he made me, how crazy I felt around him. I wanted him to pull over in his truck, somewhere dark and private so I could straddle him. He’d fill me so deep, thrusting up strong and rough, making me scream and sweat and beg for more. The thought of him cumming inside me, hot and hard and full, sent me over the edge. I convulsed, grabbing a fistful of sheets, crying out into my pillows as I came on my fingers. I could almost hear his voice, him calling out as he came inside me, my name on his breath just like his was on mine.
6
Jax
Griller gave me a nod as I walked past him at my bar. He knew I was the owner, nothing more, nothing less. I forced myself to keep a neutral face and return the nod. But I wanted to bash him in the head.
The man was sitting there with a skank on his lap, his hand up her skirt as she laughed and pushed her tits into his chest. I’d seen him a couple of times at my bar over the last few weeks with the same girl. It was all I could do to steer clear of them. They weren’t causing a scene, leaving their bill unpaid, or anything else I could legitimately frame as a problem. They weren’t doing anything that was any of my business.
But it drove me crazy. He had to be a madman to be out cheating on Sky. With a woman like her as his wife, what the hell was he doing out with anyone else, let alone a woman who couldn’t hold a candle to Sky? Her lipstick was too bright. She was trying too hard. She had none of Sky’s easy grace and charm, none of her feminine softness.
Did Sky have any idea Griller was cheating on her? I knew it wasn’t exactly unheard of. The brothers in motorcycle clubs tended to party hard, but they also seemed to follow an unspoken code. They might go in for a wild night or two, have some fun on the side, but if they were married they didn’t bring a full-on girlfriend around where their old lady might find out. Some of those wives were as tough as their husbands. Even I wouldn’t want to get on their bad side. They seemed to look the other way for the occasional stripper, but when it came to a woman really stepping into their territory and taking on the role of girlfriend? They weren’t having it.
&
nbsp; But Sky didn’t seem the type to get into a pissing match. The more I got to know her, the more I felt certain she wasn’t cut out for a life with Griller. He was a one-dimensional brute. If he was that comfortable being unfaithful to her when she was a 24-year-old scrumptious young thing without any kids, what would the rest of their marriage look like? How would he stand by her side when things got rough, as they inevitably did for patches over a lifetime? I already knew the answer: he wouldn’t.
