Page 24 of Hot Girls Read Book Club

“I wasn’t trying to protect you,” he says immediately.

A moment of heavy silence hangs between us.

“I was trying to protect me.”

His eyes shutter on the admission, and I swallow hard as he lays bare his deepest fear—that I would hold the power to destroy the life he’s pieced back together for himself. My chest clenches a little tighter at that, the rest of my anger slipping away to something more gentle.

“I get it, really I do. Like I said, I know what it looks like when someone is trying to outrun themselves.”

His jaw tightens at my observation, like he doesn’t know what to do with that either. For a second, I almost laugh, because of course I end up standing in a garage in the rain listening to a man confess to the worst version of himself, like it’s something that should scare me off.

When in reality, I’ve spent most of my adult life learning what it feels like to rebuild yourself from scratch out of the wreckage of someone else’s choices.

He looks at me like he’s afraid to assume anything, so I continue on and give him more of my truth.

“I didn’t just flee from a failed relationship. I left everything behind. My apartment. My routine. My entire life. I moved here because I couldn’t breathe there anymore.” A small, wry smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it. “So no, Jax. You don’t get a monopoly on messy exits. I’ve been trying to outrun myself, too.”

Disbelief flickers across his face.

“You’re not…” he starts, then stops himself.

“Not what?” I prompt gently.

He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “Not what I expected. At all.”

I almost smile at that.

The rain outside gets louder for a second, tapping against the garage door in a steady rhythm. Jax drags a hand down his face, then looks at me again.

“Are you here because you feel sorry for me?”

The vulnerable edge lingers in his tone, but he tries to keep the question easy, not giving it too much weight in case the answer breaks him.

My response is immediate.

“No.”

I say it so fast that it has his head snapping back in surprise. A breathless laugh slips out of me.

“God, no.”

I cling tighter to his hands, closing the last of the space between us. My body brushes against his, finally close enough that I have to tilt my head all the way back to meet his eyes.

“There isn’t a damn thing to feel sorry for you about.”

A small breath leaves him, almost like a laugh that doesn’t quite make it out. His shoulders loosen as he moves his hands from mine to the small of my back.

“Then why are you here?” he whispers, dipping his head a little closer to mine. I inhale deeply—fresh laundry, black coffee, and that familiar smokiness that I dream about fills me.

My heart pounds in an erratic rhythm, my chest rises and falls. My wet jacket presses against his dry coveralls. The heat from his hands is a balm to my damp, chilled skin through my dripping clothes.

“You know why I’m here.”

I bite my lip, staring up at him.

“Then don’t let me stop you,” he says, voice teasing but full of want. He’s waiting for me to make the choice—always the gentleman.

And so I do.