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Chapter 16
Jax and Tommy wrapped things up around six. Jax looked dog-tired when he was packing up his truck to go home, but when I walked to the driveway to ask if he was sure about tonight, he pointed at me before I could open my mouth.
“Eight o’clock,” he said.
I nodded my agreement and went inside, watching out the window as he drove down the street.
Now, like a panicky hostess, I jerk open the fridge in search of snacks. Thankfully my last delivered grocery order was packed with hummus, salsa, cheese dip, chips, and vegetables presliced for dipping. I spend time arranging dips in bowls and cubing cheese and plating before covering the dishes and bowls with plastic wrap and storing them in the fridge.
I change from the shorts and T-shirt into a summery short-sleeved dress. Then I decide that dress is too dowdy and change from that into another dress—this one strapless and with pockets. It’s perfect. Sexy but casual, and neutral black with a pretty lace detail on the hemline. I ditch the bra and change from my panties into a black lace thong. Black strappy high heels complete the look. I pat myself on the back for shaving everything this morning, and then arrange my hair in a clip before pulling it down and fluffing it over my shoulders.
“You’re fine,” I remind my reflection, then grab the mascara from the vanity drawer and touch up my top lashes. “He liked you earlier without any of this.”
Back to the closet, I hesitate. The shoes are over-the-top sexy, and I’m not sure that’s the kind of note I want to strike. Before I can swap them for sandals I hear a knock at the door.
Eight o’clock already?
I take the stairs carefully, given my too-sexy shoes, and arrive at the door with butterflies the size of the Mothman in my stomach.
Jax looks good in jeans and sneakers, his T-shirt a shade of blue that makes his eye color electric. His keys are in his hand, his hair is damp, beard neatly trimmed.
I step back and invite him in. He steps past me, the scent of citrus mixed with leather tickling my nose.
“You smell much better than okay,” I tease as I shut the door.
His grin is infectious as he tucks his key chain into his front pocket. Now I’m starting to get nervous. Earlier, we weren’t prepared. We do much better making out when the moment overtakes us.
“Do you…I have food.” Great. Now I’m nervous and it’s showing.
I’m no longer a virgin. I was once. And the guy standing in front of me, looking at me like I’m a delectable dessert, is the one I gifted my V-card to. Maybe that’s why I’m nervous.
“And I have drinks. If you want. Beer?” He takes my hand while I babble. “Wine? I could use some wine.”
“Let’s have some wine.” His grin is still there and I wonder if he’s placating me and couldn’t care less if he has a drop of alcohol. In the kitchen, he leads me to the barstool. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.” I sit and smooth my hands over my skirt as he opens the fridge. “I was worried I overshot it. By the time I tried on the black dress, the heels matched and…” I trail off when I notice he has both doors of the fridge open and is peering at the spread of cheese and vegetable platters within.
Over his shoulder, he asks, “Are we expecting more people?”
“I didn’t want you to go hungry.”
“I’m not going hungry tonight.” His smile is sideways as he retrieves an open bottle of white wine from the door.
He points at a cabinet.
“One over.”
He pulls out a wineglass—just one—and splashes a few inches into it. Then he returns to the fridge, nestles the wine bottle in the door and pulls out a can of beer for himself. No glass for him, he cracks it open and takes a long slug. I watch his throat move, my eyes feasting on the thick column of his neck and then down to his chest. By the time my gaze hits his belt buckle, I take a guzzle of my own drink.
Jax sits on the barstool next to mine and his hands stroke my bare knee before tugging the lace hem of my skirt lower and balling his hand into a fist.
“That is a dress,” he comments, his voice husky.
“I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t trying.”
“I don’t need trying, sweetheart. I need willing.”
I pat his leg but he catches my hand before I can pull away. I like this. Holding his hand. Drinking our drinks. The buildup is unnecessary. The conclusion inevitable. Yet here we sit.
