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“I need to take a piss,” he says and walks off, not looking at me.
Whoa. He really doesn’t like the word no. I perch on the sofa and wait for him to return, lost in my confused thoughts. Ten minutes later and Jax hasn’t returned. Worried he may have passed out, I head towards the bedroom.
“Jax?”
The ensuite bathroom door is open, nothing’s on the floor apart from the shiny grey tiles, and he hasn’t decided to try the bath for size.
No, but he’s trying out my bed.
Jax lies on top of the bedding, fully clothed apart from his shoes which bizarrely he decided to take off. Snoring. Loudly.
“Jesus, Jax!” I shout but he doesn’t flinch.
Now what? Try to move him? An immediate image of Jax dragging me onto the bed and what could follow jumps into my head. I’m not worried he’ll force himself on me; I’m worried that a part of me would be happy for Jax to pin me to the bed. The stupid part that replays our encounter last week every night before I fall asleep.
I grab a pillow and pull the duvet out from under him. He mumbles and turns to the side. As I drag the duvet out of the bedroom for a night on the sofa, I look back and I can’t help giggling at the situation.
“I guess you managed to get into my bed, Jax Lewis.”
20
TEGAN
Nine a.m. An hour ago, I left the loudly snoring rock star resident in my bed and headed to the gym. Now, on the way back to my suite, I daydream about my plans for a Parisian day out. Without said rock star.
My exhaustion and the size of the sofa meant a half-decent sleep last night although, at three a.m., Jax was snoring at a volume to rival a freight train. I was on the verge of dragging him out of my bed and shoving him out the door, conscious or not. Deciding that’d take too much effort — and lead me to close physical contact and temptation — I pulled the blanket over my head and went back to sleep on the sofa.
Last night sharpened a few things into focus for me. When I played around with Jax, holding him at arm’s length, whilst I laughed at his obvious attraction to me, the situation was amusing. I’m used to dealing with guys who hit on me, and normally I’m immune to their attempts to undress me. Allowing him closer is a mistake.
Since I broke up with Scott late last year, I’ve been extra cautious. My heart wasn’t broken, but severely bruised, and the effect our break-up had was unpleasant. Sure, I dealt with the hurt but the betrayal pissed me off. I’m a straight-up person. Scott bullshitted me for months, insisted he wasn’t interested in Heather. He claims nothing happened between them until after our relationship finished, but I fail to believe that. Scott and Heather lived in the same Halls at uni for a whole semester. I was in Asia.
I’m not naïve; we were — are — too young for a relationship like that to survive. What pisses me off is, it was me who insisted long-distance wouldn’t work; but Scott was adamant that, after being together two years, we should try. The lies and betrayal hurt more; the lack of respect, the worst part of the whole situation.
Allowing myself closer to Jax dredges unpleasant reminders. Suspicion and jealousy are on a hair trigger for me after my experience with Scott, and my reaction to Jax not contacting me until late last night is a shock. I’m rawer than I thought, and the fact Jax triggered these emotions so readily when we barely know each other, flashes a huge warning light. I’m fooling myself that time with Jax on tour is fun; my heart already betrays me into caring more than I should.
By the end of my workout, the decision is made. Time to rewind.
Sliding the keycard into the door, I walk into the darkened suite and pause. The sound of the shower running reaches my ears. In my bedroom, the white duvet is scrunched into a heap and what looks suspiciously like Jax’s clothes from last night are dumped on the floor. I wrinkle my nose at the distinctive smell of stale alcohol and stare at the scene in disbelief.Seriously?
The ensuite door clicks open and Jax appears. Naked. Almost. A white hotel towel is slung and knotted low around his hips, barely reaching his knees, but aside from that… naked.
Naked. My breath disappears. The word won’t leave my head; and if I closed my eyes, I’m damn sure the image of his firm, muscular chest glistening with water wouldn’t leave either.
Relieved my mouth isn’t hanging open, I attempt to switch on the snarky Tegan who was about to give him a mouthful. Jax runs a hand through his damp hair and I’m distracted by the drops of water on his lips as they curve into a sheepish smile.
“Oh, hey, Tegan.”
Hey, Tegan?I clear my throat and tear my look from his mouth. “Why haven’t you left yet? You have a shower in your own room!”
Jax’s lips purse with confusion. “Uh. Waiting for you. I wanted to talk to you about last night. I woke up in your bed, but you weren’t there. I know I was drunk but…” He stares at my gym gear or more precisely how the purple gym vest and black pants hug my curves. “I’m damn sure I’d remember if I’d been naked with you.”
The darkened look in Jax’s eyes reflects exactly what’s happening in his imagination. I remain focused on his eyes. Do. Not. Look. At. His. Body.
My eyes drifts downwards and I fight against lingering on the solid abs and the light trail of hair disappearing into the knotted towel. Has he tattoos any lower than where the blue stars are inked on his skin at the edge of the towel?
I blink away the image. “Last night, you stood me up, then barged into my room in the early hours, whined for a bit before you passed out on my bed. Way to impress a girl.”
Jax tips his head towards the bed. “Could’ve been worse. Or better, depending on which way you want to look at the situation.”
