Page 81 of True Abandon

He laughs. “I get that. I was on a Colbie Calle kick for a while. What? Don’t look at me like that. Her music is soulful.”

“I’m sure the fact she’s a smoking hot blonde has nothing to do with it.”

He grins. “What can I say. I like blondes.”

I bite my lip. I would know. I used to be one.

“You have plenty of blondes to pick from on that phone of yours. I’m sure one search of your email account will find you someone local.”

“I knew it!” He hits the dashboard and laughs. It’s a real laugh—the kind that builds from your belly and unleashes in a boisterous shout. “You went through my phone in the hospital.”

I hit myself in the forehead—denying it no longer an option. “I didn’t trust you. I had to make sure I knew what I was dealing with.”

“You little snoop. See anything good?”

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. “You take a lot of selfies. You have a really big ego.”

He laughs again. I turn to face him for just a second, but it’s long enough to see his dimples are out. Yes, Jax has dimples and goddammit they’re freaking adorable.

“What else?”

I let out an audible breath and find myself smiling. “Your niece is really freaking cute.”

“She is,” he sighs. “I can’t wait till you meet her. I know I told you what a little spitfire she is, but you really can’t get the essence of cuteness until you hang with her. She calls me every day, which has been a bitch since I’ve been here. It’s hard to explain to a four-year-old you’re six hours behind.”

His arm goes behind my headrest as he leans in closer. I focus on the dark road ahead, but his masculine scent invades the small space.

“I listened to your music. It was really good.”

“That was ‘Die A Happy Man.’ The lyrics came after.”

I clear my throat and switch lanes for no apparent reason. “You have a lot of unread fan mail. You should read them.”

“No,” he states sternly. “That’s Pandora’s box. Have you seen what’s in there?”

“Yes. People who have been inspired by you and others you’ve helped in some way. They deserve to hear from you.”

“There’s a lot of underage girls in there, too. Last time I opened one, it was some fifteen-year-old girl who gave me her address and the passcode to her security system.” He leans back into his seat and runs his hands along his thighs. “I don’t want to bring up the past, but don’t think I haven’t learned from it.”

I smash my lips together and nod. “What were you like? You know, the last few years. You’ve said you’ve done some messed up things.” I blow out a loud breath and ask, “What’d you mean?”

“Drugs,” he answers. “Drinking. Sleeping with women and not calling them again. Pulling dangerous or life-threatening stunts because I just didn’t care.”

He had told me he’d done terrible things in the past. Still, it’s difficult to hear him say it out loud. “What kind of drugs?”

“Pills, mostly.”

“You didn’t do them the night of your accident,” I say, and he looks at me curiously. “It wasn’t in your toxicology report.”

For some reason that lightens his mood. “You really are a little investigator. I don’t know if I should be impressed or frightened?”

“Frightened,” I say with a nervous laugh.

He shakes his head and pats his legs. His thighs are spread wide. Well, as wide as they can in the confines of my passenger seat. “I stopped a few years ago. I mostly drink now. It wasn’t out of dependency—just being miserable. The truth is, I’m glad I got shit-faced that night. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and you wouldn’t have been by my side. And I wouldn’t be here sitting by yours.”

I try not to show how that little tidbit of information affects me.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “My new password is 0417.”