"Yes, ma'am. Seinfeld, it is," I concede with a grin. I grab another beer for myself—purposely not offering the already-drunk girl another one—before dropping onto the couch next to her. I turn the TV on, glaring at her when she takes the beer from my hand but staying silent. She rolls her eyes as she takes a big swig before giving it back when I press play.
We stay like that through a couple of episodes, laughing at the show but otherwise not talking to each other. I can tell when the booze starts really hitting Hailey because her laugh gets progressively louder. And then I can tell when her drunk energy starts to fizzle because she quiets down again and drops her head onto my shoulder.
I somehow manage to grab the blanket from the back of the couch without jostling her and gently wrap it around her shoulders. I enjoy the closeness for a few minutes, relishing the fact that she seems happy and not dwelling on everything that's happened tonight. I always knew she'd see Steve for what he really is one day—that she would realize her self-worth and leave the bastard in the dirt. A weight has lifted off my chest that I didn't even realize was there.
When Hailey's breathing steadies, and she stops laughing, I notice she's fallen asleep. I nudge her softly in an attempt to wake her up.
"Hailey," I say quietly. "Let's get you to bed. You're falling asleep."
She mumbles something and nuzzles into my neck. I sigh, realizing I'm probably going to have to carry her again.
I turn to try to slide my arms under her, but she straightens as soon as her head drops off my shoulder. She looks at me with bloodshot eyes, sleep-drunk and confused.
"Let's get you to bed. Can you walk?"
She rubs her eye with a closed fist, and I can't help but grin at the adorable gesture. But then she nods and stands up, making her way toward the steps.
I follow her upstairs and head into my room, pulling the comforter back on my bed and fluffing the pillows while I wait for Hailey to finish using the bathroom next door. But when I turn around to grab her some clothes to change into, I damn near choke on my breath.
Hailey has stumbled into my room with half-lidded eyes and a big yawn, the alcohol clearly catching up to her. But what makes my eyes widen and my jaw drop is the fact that she's unzipped her dress and peeled off the straps, so the material is pooled at her waist.
"Hailes, maybe you should—" I start, but it doesn't seem like she can even hear me. She pushes the dress down over her hips, and I almost lose another lung when she steps out of it completely and walks past me toward the bed.
She's practically naked, wearing only a matching white lace bra and panty set, neither of which covers much. And I'm the idiot that can't do anything other than stare at her in open fascination.
I've always known that Hailey is drop dead gorgeous. Even when she was little, she was the most photogenic kid in both our families, which was further proven when she never went through an awkward puberty phase. She was just always known as the pretty one. Between her big blue eyes, silky blonde hair, and angelic smile, she's been turning heads since she was a teenager. Couple that with the perfect model-thin body that she grew into, and it's really fucking hard to find something unappealing about her physical appearance.
But she's never flaunted it, and I've never really thought about it past the general knowledge that she's obviously attractive—and when making the occasional threat to the guys at the gym to stop ogling her. She's also never been one to wear anything super revealing, so she doesn't exactly exude sexuality. She's simply… beautiful.
But right now, I feel like I'm receiving a crash course on just how sexy she is. Her tits are perfect orbs in her lacy bra, small because Hailey is small but still entirely too enticing. Her stomach is flat and her trim waist widens into womanly hips and a very grabbable, round ass. Everything about her is petite, yet still perfectly shaped and proportioned to the rest of her body. She is mouth-wateringly sexy.
I can't stop staring at her. I'm probably gaping like a fish, trying to pick my jaw up off the floor. It isn't until she reaches for the clasp on the back of her bra that I'm shaken out of my reverie and hurriedly look away. I turn my back as I try to mumble through a coherent response.
"I—uh, I'll grab you some, uh—some clothes to wear," I stutter. Then I rip my closet door open and grab the first T-shirt I can find, trying really hard not to look behind me as I practically launch it at where Hailey is sitting on the bed.
I keep my back turned as I give her time to put the shirt on. But I'm not a strong enough man to resist glancing over to see if she's dressed. I turn slightly, and I'm not sure if I really don't want to see anything or if I really do, but either way, I find Hailey sitting on my bed with her back to me, bare of a bra and fumbling to orient the shirt the right way.
At the sight of her bare back and smooth, ivory skin, I whip my head back toward my closet again with a silent curse. I close my eyes and begin begging for whatever patience and strength any gods can offer me. My brain is spinning, bouncing between shock at Hailey's beautiful, womanly body, to male arousal that it feels like I have no control over right now, to disgust—and more shock—at myself for having these kinds of thoughts about my best friend's little sister. Who I've also known since she was ten.
I mumble a few more choice words under my breath. I've just made my decision to face the closet for the rest of the night instead of chancing another glance back when I hear Hailey's tiny voice.
"Jax?" she whispers. I look to the heavens and mumble another prayer for strength before hesitantly turning around.
Thankfully, Hailey's got the shirt on and is already under the covers. She has the comforter pulled up to her chin and she's snuggled so deep into the pillows that I can see more of her hair fanned around her than her actual head. I slowly walk over to the bed and, after a second's hesitation, reach down to tuck the comforter around her body. She smiles sleepily at the feeling, and a bolt of joy rushes through me at the sight of her like this.
"Night, Hailes," I say quietly.
Her eyes are already closed by the time I straighten to walk quietly out of the room. But I'm stopped by the feeling of Hailey's slim fingers wrapping around my wrist just as I start to turn.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For… everything. For being someone I can count on." Her hand drops from mine as her eyes close again, and I can tell she's already asleep.
I look down at her and smile, and the thought pops into my brain that I can't fathom how anyone could possibly think she's anything less than perfect. I reach down to brush her hair away from her face, momentarily caught up in the sight, the scent, the essence of Hailey. Instinctually, I lean down and place a gentle kiss on her forehead.
8
HAILEY
I wake up to the familiar sound of Jax yelling about something, though it takes me a second to remember that he hasn't bulldozed his way into my apartment building to kill Steve the way I secretly suspected he might one day. I realize I'm in Jax's bedroom, and suddenly all the events of last night come rushing back: the breakup, drinking myself into a stupor, waking up to Jax, him putting me to sleep.