I didn’t stop to think, wonder why I was telling her things I never talked about with anybody. Barely anyone in my life other than the guys who’d been in the accident with me even knew it had happened. But I told Sky everything.
“Liam tied himself to a life raft and dove down after Chase got knocked off. He saved Chase’s life, like a hero. And Chase? You’ve probably heard of him.
He went on to swim in the Olympics. Chase Carter?”
“Yeah, Chase Carter was on the boat with you?”
I nodded. “Random, I know, but back then he was just a gawky kid I hung out with.” By now I was used to that kind of surprised and impressed reaction about my knowing Chase. To me, he was still the intense, introverted kid I’d met back in the day, prone to double-strapping his backpack and pulling his athletic socks all the way up to his knees. But he’d channeled all of his focused drive into an incredible swimming career, actually taking home a bundle of Olympic medals.
As for me? That night when the boat had split in two, all I’d done was try to hang on and not drown.
“After Chase and Liam went over, it was just me and Ian on the boat. A mast fell on him. I tried to make it over, but I couldn’t get there. The flames were...” I motioned with my hands, remembering what it had been like, the fire engulfing, swallowing. I still woke up sometimes with my heart pounding, sweaty, remembering all the blackness and choking smoke, how even over the howl of the wind and the crash of the waves I could hear Ian’s screams.
“I still have nightmares about it. I should have done more.” I looked down, suddenly wondering what the fuck I was doing telling Sky this story.
“Jax, you were 14, in the middle of a storm on a burning, sinking boat.” She stepped closer, bringing her soft, warm hand to my forearm. “It sounds like it’s a miracle you survived at all.”
“I don’t know why I just told you all that.” I ran my hand over the top of my head, partially to stop myself from reaching out to touch her. “I don’t know what got into me. I never talk about it. I’m sorry.” She stood so close I could smell her musky rose scent.
“No, I’m glad you did.” She swept her fingers across my shoulder, giving me a light caress. I was sure she meant it to be soothing, but it had the opposite effect.
“It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could do. You’re a good man, Jax. I know you are. I see you with Ace. Don’t beat yourself up over something that happened so long ago.”
Standing there with her, the understanding in her eyes, the comfort in her touch, I felt better about it all than I had in a long time. “Thanks, Sky.”
“Thank you for talking to me.”
The fact that I didn’t lean down and kiss her, take her juicy lips and capture them with mine? That was some superhuman resistance right there. I stood, so close to leaning down, reaching out, pressing her against me, burying myself in her. But somehow I held back.
“Oh, I have to show you!” she exclaimed suddenly, dipping down to grab her phone out of her bag. “I got the greatest picture of Ace the other day.” She scrolled through her photos. I wanted to see them all, have her tell me about them. Maybe they’d be of Griller and that would cure me of this growing obsession once and for all. If I stood next to her and heard her gush over her husband, maybe I’d get it through my thick skull that I couldn’t touch her.
But maybe they wouldn’t be of Griller. Maybe they’d be of things she liked and people she knew and I’d learn more about her, discover more about what made her smile, what she enjoyed, what made her tick. I wanted to know everything.
“Look, isn’t that so Ace?” She turned to me, showing me a perfect photo of him smiling with a couple of his lady friends. At 80, the man had a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step. He knew he was all that.
“You really captured him,” I agreed. “Can you send that to me?”
“Sure, I just need your number.”
“Here.” I took her phone from her and created a new contact, adding my address in as well. I enjoyed the fact that she’d be able to get in touch with me, and me with her, way too much.
No sheets were left to fold. I had no reason to be there, other than that I liked being close to her. I guessed I had to say good-bye.
As she reached to put the phone back in her bag, her sleeve pulled up a bit, revealing her wrist. She had two angry, dark bruises, one on each side. I knew what made those kinds of bruises: a mean clamp around the wrist from someone bigger and stronger.
Every muscle in my body tensed, my hands balling into fists. Who had done that to her? Was it her husband? Was that rat bastard laying a hand on her? I could feel a cold sweat of rage forming on my brow and I must have been scowling with fury because she looked up at me and asked, “Are you all right?”
“Who did that to your wrist?” I didn’t mean to be so blunt, to show all my emotion in my voice, but I was nearly shaking with anger at the thought that someone had hurt her.
“What? No, no one.” Self-consciously, she pulled her sleeve down, covering the bruises. “I bumped myself.”
I swallowed, trying to tamp down the rage. No one bumped themselves like that, in perfectly matching circles on either side of their wrist bone. No, that happened when someone grabbed you with too much force. I’d had those marks on me from my dad when I was a kid, and I’d seen them on my mom, too, before she left him. It brought out all kinds of repressed, vengeful fury I wanted to rain down on her oppressor.
“So, thanks for helping me. It was nice talking to you.” Now she wasn’t meeting my eyes. “I’ve got to get back to my rounds.” She brushed by me to scoot out the door, and I almost caught her before she left. But there was a chance I’d have too much emotion in it, might grab her too hard. And it wasn’t my place to feel that protective of her, to want to keep her safe and see that nothing bad ever happened to her again. So I watched her leave, walking down the hall without me, wondering how the hell I was going to get her off my mind now.
The answer was, I couldn’t. I lasted two days. Then, that night, standing in the middle of my crowded bar with all sorts of problems that should have been enough to distract me, I gave in. I sent her a text. It wasn’t too late, only around nine o’clock. I hoped what I wrote was innocent enough.
Jax: Did you bake anything tonight?
A minute later, I got back a photo of a pie. It looked incredible, golden and succulent. I could imagine Sky baking, dusted head to toe with flour, smiling as she worked. She’d look so freaking sweet. Any man would be so lucky to come home to her. But I bet her husband was out and he wasn’t alone.
Jax: Are you baking right now?
I got back another photo, this one taken from an angle to show an apron, what looked like flour-dusted sweatpants and then her bare feet. Her toenails were hot pink. I’d had a lot of women send me sexy photos of themselves. Over the years, my phone had lit up with everything from women in hot dresses or lingerie right on up to buck naked and touching themselves. But none of those photos had turned me on half as much as that photo of Sky in sweatpants and an apron. I could picture coming home to her, how sweet she’d taste, some sugar mixed in with the kiss.
All sorts of replies ran through my mind, and not a single one of them could I send. I couldn’t tell her that I bet she’d taste even better than that pie. I couldn’t tell her I’d be over later to help her wash off all that flour in a long bath. So, all I said was:
Jax: Looks like I’m stopping by Romi’s tomorrow.
She sent back a smiley face emoji.
That night, when I got home I took a shower. I remembered how she’d smelled when we’d folded sheets, her supple curves hinted at in her scrubs. Her round, perfect ass when she’d bent down to get her phone.
I’d wanted to lock that supply room door. I could have pressed her against the wall and made her gasp, devouring her with my kisses. I could have kissed her breathless, stripped off that top and licked and sucked on those gorgeous breasts until she panted, fingers clawing at my shoulders, arms, chest. I wanted to hear her moan, wanted to see those lips part in pleasure. I needed to see her look up at me drugged with desire, wanting everything I had to give to her.
Stroking my cock, I closed my eyes and imagined if I’d slipped my fingers under her waistband and slid down her panties. In real life, she’d surely tell me to stop, remind me that she wasn’t mine, maybe smack me across the face for goo
d measure. But this wasn’t real life, this was my fantasy surrounded by the hot steam of the shower, in the privacy of my home.
In my fantasy, she was wet for me, so wet as I stroked her slick pussy. Her moans grew more fevered, more needy as I worked her, just like I worked myself, faster, more demanding, hurtling toward the climax we both craved. I could almost hear her cry out my name as she came on my fingers, shaking and calling out for me. Just like I came with her name on my lips, shooting out my cum, eyes closed, lost to the fantasy that I knew could never happen in real life.
5
Sky
During the month of June, the sun shone bright like it always did in L.A. Only this month it seemed even brighter. The flowers bloomed with more color than ever. The birds chirped just for me, twittering away like I was Snow White and we spoke each other’s happy woodland language.
I knew what was going on, but I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want it to be so, but that didn’t change the fact that the joy welling up and threatening to burst out through my chest had everything to do with a certain man I still only saw a few times a month. But Jax and I were starting to talk much more frequently than that. The text messages between us started off slow, but the pace picked up, more and more to say to each other with each passing week.
The charge I got when my phone sounded from a new text was like taking a hit of crack. Not that I’d ever taken crack. But it was definitely an adrenaline rush, a high that made me guilty and excited and thrilled, soaring up to the clouds to know he was thinking about me and checking in, sharing something from his day and asking about mine.
We never crossed any lines. He never asked me what kind of underwear I had on. I never told him I dreamed about him at night. But we also never talked about Mike, or any women in his life.