Chapter 5 Jax
JAX
Idid not sleep. Could not sleep. Not with Sloane Winters on the other side of a flimsy pillow wall, so close I could hear every breath she took.
Not with the memory of her lips on mine still burning through my system.
Not with her vanilla scent wrapping around me like a fog I could not escape.
Not with my dick reminding me exactly what it wanted and exactly why that was the worst possible idea.
I stare at the ceiling in the dark, listening to her soft breathing even out as she falls asleep.
She’s passed out almost immediately, the wine finally catching up to her.
At least one of us is getting rest. The pillow wall is a joke.
A pathetic attempt at maintaining boundaries that had already been crossed the moment she kissed me. And the moment I kissed her back.
Fuck.
What was I thinking? She was drunk. Vulnerable.
Running from a cheating ex and drowning her sorrows in wine.
She was not thinking clearly. Was not making rational decisions.
And I kissed her anyway. I know, like a fucking creep.
I did the right thing by stopping it before it went too far.
But you still kissed her. I let myself be selfish and taste her for those few seconds before my brain overrode my body.
Professional, Reid. Real professional. I could lose my job over this.
Get reprimanded at a minimum. This was exactly the kind of situation they warned us about in training.
Do not get involved with people you are helping.
Do not cross those lines. Maintain boundaries.
Except Sloane made me want to cross every line.
Made me forget every rule I had set for myself.
I shift carefully, trying not to disturb her, and glance over the pillow wall.
She’s curled on her side facing me, one hand tucked under her cheek, her dark hair spilled across the pillow.
She looks peaceful. Young. Beautiful. Trouble.
She looks like trouble. The kind of trouble I want to dive into headfirst despite knowing better.
I force myself to look away and check my phone.
Three A.M. The storm is still raging outside, snow piling up against the windows.
We are not going anywhere tomorrow. Probably not the day after either.
More time stuck in this fucking small cabin with her.
More time fighting this attraction. More time pretending I don’t want her. Great. Just great.
I must doze off at some point because I wake to a gray morning light filtering through the windows and the distinct feeling of being watched. I open my eyes to find Sloane awake, propped up on one elbow, staring at me over the pillow wall with wide eyes.
“Morning,” I say, my voice rough with sleep.
She immediately looks away, her cheeks flushing pink. “Morning.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask. Translation, do you remember what happened last night?
She winces. “Like I was hit by a truck.” She presses a hand to her forehead. “Made entirely of wine bottles. Why did I drink so much?”
“You were processing some things,” I say lightly.
“Did I ...” She pauses, clearly trying to piece together her memories. “Did I say anything embarrassing?”
Here was my out. I could lie. Could tell her she just went to sleep and nothing happened. Could pretend the kiss never occurred and save us both the awkwardness, but I don’t want to lie to her because it seems like her ex did all the time.
“You told me about your ex, Chett,” I answer her.
“Oh God.” Her face burns even more red. “I am so sorry. You did not sign up to be my therapist.”
“I didn’t mind. Sometimes it helps to talk,” I reassure her.
She nods, still not quite meeting my eyes. “Anything else?”
Just tell her, it’s the right thing to do, and let the cards fall where they may. “You kissed me.” Technically, she tried to kiss me and missed, and then I kissed her. The words hang in the air between us.
Her eyes widen, her mouth falls open. “I what?”
She doesn’t remember. Shit. “You were drunk. I stopped it. Nothing happened.” I keep my voice neutral. Professional. Like it was no big deal. Like my heart isn’t pounding just from remembering it.
“Oh my god.” She covers her face with her hands. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. That is so inappropriate. You were just being nice, and I ... I am such an idiot.” Seeing her beat herself up over it kills me.
“I may have kissed you back.”
She stares at me, and I stare back. “Not willingly.”
I wince. “It was definitely willingly. And I’m so sorry. This is so against my job. I don’t normally kiss people I save. You were drunk and upset and …”
“You could get in trouble. This is your job and I ...” She looks genuinely distressed. “I’m so sorry, Jax. Really. It will not happen again. I will stay on my side of the cabin, and we can just pretend ...”
No. I don’t want her to retreat. I should want what she is telling me, that it won’t happen again, but …
“Sloane …” I sit up, facing her over the pillow wall.
“It’s fine. You did not do anything wrong.
I did. I was the sober one. You trusted me to look after you in your time of need, and I … I took advantage of that.”
“Jax. Don’t beat yourself up over something so insignificant,” she tries to reassure me.
Insignificant. She thinks that kiss meant nothing. It has to mean nothing because you cannot do anything with this girl.
“As long as you do the same,” I tell her.
“Pinky promise,” she says, placing her hand over the pillow wall. I stare at it for a moment before taking it. There’s that stupid zap of electricity again as we touch. I ignore it as I pinky promise not to touch this woman again.
“Now, how about some coffee? I think we both need it,” I ask, changing the subject.
“Coffee sounds amazing. I might pop into the shower first, help me wake up.”
I nod as I climb out of bed, trying to hide my morning wood, and head to the kitchenette, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between us.
I can feel her watching me as I leave, awkwardness thick in the air.
We can move past this, we will move past this, and I’ll maintain a semblance of professional distance for the rest of the storm.
Sloane groans, walking out of the bathroom, steam swirling around her.
She’s dressed in leggings that mold to her legs and a tee that shows off her impressive curves.
She’s thrown her hair up into a messy bun.
She looks beautiful. “Thought a shower would help this hangover. I was wrong.” She looks adorable and miserable, and I want to pull her into my arms and tell her everything will be okay. But I don’t.
“Here,” I say, handing her a mug of coffee. “Drink this. It will help.”
“Thank you,” she says, wrapping her hands around the mug like it’s a lifeline. “I’m never drinking again.” Then she moans as she takes the first sip of coffee, and the sound has a direct line to my dick.
“How about I cook up some bacon and eggs, that should ease the pain you’re in.”
“You cook too?” she asks, looking up from the couch where she is slumped.
“One of my many talents.” I smirk as I start moving around the kitchen.
“It looks like a complete whiteout, out there,” she muses, sipping her coffee.
“The storm seems to be much worse than they predicted. I’m going to go outside later and check on things.”
“Can I help?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. You stay inside. Watch your movies. I’ve got this,” I tell her.
I checked my phone earlier, and the roads are completely impassable.
We are completely snowed in. I continue to busy myself with cooking while she sips her coffee, looking progressively more human with each sip.
The awkwardness starts to fade as we fall into conversation about neutral topics.
The storm. Christmas movies. My brothers.
“My best friend may have looked up your brothers on social media.”
“She did?” I’m surprised by her comment.
“Riley is … well, she’s a lot and I love her, but she’s a busybody,” Sloane explains.
“Or she was just checking to see I wasn’t an axe murder …” I joke.
“That too.” She smiles over the lip of her coffee mug.
“And what did she find out about my brothers?” I ask.
“That they are hot.”
I still. She’d better not think any of my brothers are hot, otherwise I’ll have to kill them. “They don’t have problems with the ladies,” I answer.
“I can see that.” She giggles. I flip the bacon in the pan aggressively. “Are any of them single?” I drop the spatula, the metal clanging against the frypan.
“Yes, they all are.” I pick it back up with a death grip.
“She’ll be happy to know that.” She smiles. “Any reason they are still single?”
“Yeah, they’re a bunch of assholes,” I grumble, which makes her laugh.
“Typical brother response,” she teases.
“You could do better than any of those idiots,” I tell her.
“Wasn’t looking for me, but that’s good to know.” She grins.
I look up at her, and she gives me a quizzical look. “You’re not interested in them?”
“Should I be?” she bites back.
“Hope not,” I answer softly, before busying myself with breakfast.
“Are you jealous that I think your brothers are hot?” she asks.
“No.” I pout.
“You are,” she says, laughing at me. I roll my eyes at her and flip the eggs. “I was asking for Riley, not myself.” I shrug, pretending I’m not affected by the conversation. “My sister is single, too, she might be interested.”
“I’ll let them know,” I tell her.
“You do that.” An awkward silence falls between us till Sloane pipes up again. “I think you’re the cutest of all your brothers.” She smirks over the rim of her mug, those cheeks pink with her confession. I hate how her compliment makes me want to preen like a peacock, but it does.
“That’s because you have taste,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
I plate up the breakfast and bring it over to her on the couch.
“This looks delicious. Thanks so much.” She moans over every single bite.