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7
Jax
Shit.
I stare at my phone screen, willing it to tell me something different. It won’t. It will continue to torture me with the two hundred dollars if I let it. I lock the screen on my low bank account balance and place the phone on my lap. Fuck my bank, with their continued reminders of how broke I am. Fuck the plumbing issues that ate my extra cash. Fuck the love at first sight for this house, as Saona calls it. What the hell was I thinking when I sank all my money into this old house?
I take a swig of my beer and look around my first floor, looking for signs of my big mistake and validation is everywhere. The windows will need to be replaced before next winter. The kitchen has to be gutted and I’m not even going to think of the upstairs or the basement. But just then, my eyes are drawn like a magnet to the Herringbone floor and ping pong to the powder room I just finished. They look so good, better and more valuable than new floors.
It’s a reminder of what this house can be. I’m restoring her glory without taking her charm.
I’ll have to wait ’til next Friday to buy materials for the kitchen. It sucks. I guess I’ll get started on gutting it until I can buy the materials.
I pick up the phone again. This time, to text the manager at the bar.Any open shifts?
His reply is so quick he had to have been desperate.Tony had to go out of town. Mon through Fri all yours if you want.
Heisdesperate. Unfortunately, so am I, and I can’t turn even a day down.I’ll take them all.
I put the phone on my lap and go back to my beer and the slow inspection of tonight’s work. I’m sitting outside the powder room door. Saona’s advice of the royal blue walls and grayish blue ceiling had paid off. It looks different, like something you’d see in a fancy hotel. She has amazing taste. I think of it every time I stare at the floors. I wanted a slick polish. She’d argued the smoke stain finish would make it look sophisticated.
I wanted to tell her that it’s my house and my choice but she ended the argument with one single sentence. “If you indulge me in the library, I’ll show you my boobs.”
I wanted to scoff and say that wouldn’t work but, inside every man, there’s still that twelve-year-old boy that would do anything for a boob shot. So, I agreed and hand-to-heart swore and she showed me halfway. On the day I finished, three things happened: I fell more in love with the house than ever, I got to witness the sexiest, slow breast striptease, and I beat off three times to the bra on photos that followed.
All fucking worthy. I’m semi-hard just remembering but mostly I’m excited and I need her to see the powder room. I want her to know I listened and even though the woman can be impossibly smug, I want to see her face when I show her.
I tell myself not to bother her. I can tell her tomorrow. I can even just send her photos, but that won’t do. I want to talk to her.
I call her on FaceTime and she answers on the second ring.
“Hey.” She sits up on the bed.
“Did I wake you?”
She shakes her head. “I was watching TV and trying to fall asleep. It’s not working.”
She’s whispering and turning away from the bed.
“I know it’s late but I want you to see—” A movement behind her cuts me off. There’s definitely the outline of a body next to her.
Cold flashes through my chest.There’s a man in her house, in her bed. Is she fucking someone else? She didn’t mention she’s been seeing anyone but why should she? We’re not anything—
“Are you fucking kidding me, Saona? Go talk in the living room.” The voice is female and definitely annoyed.
Relief courses through my chest and I’m almost embarrassed for myself. It’s not even the jumping to conclusions, but what if she was seeing someone else?What the fuck, Jax?
Saona rushes out of the room. The door clicks closed and there’s a black blur on my screen and a few seconds later, she’s on her couch with the light on. “Sierra is staying over. She’s been drinking a lot so she’s bound to be a pain until she sleeps it off.”
I feel fucking weird now. “Did you have a lot to drink?”
“Not as much as her.” She smiles but it’s not her usual smile. The birthmark barely stretches and her eyes don’t look as bright. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s tired or sad?
“Are you okay?”
She blinks for a second as if my question surprises her. The little laugh is forced. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”
But she just told me she can’t sleep. “Why weren’t you sleeping, then?”
