4. Jax
4
JAX
I smiled inanely at the top of Waverly’s mousy brown head and plotted her downfall.
Hers, then mine. Because the itching powder that coated the inside of my jacket was motherfucking torture. Even the neck to fingertip long sleeved fitted Henley I borrowed from Crush didn’t keep the grains out. I’d be cleaning the jacket–my favorite article of clothing–for weeks afterward, I knew, but tonight would be worth it.
After the way she looked at me in the library, I had to shut her down.
Shut down whatever the fuck this mess was building between us.
I spent too many nights fucking my fist to a ruined orgasm because of her. Hell, I even tried out the itching powder for shits and giggles.
That’s how I knew how much of an ordeal tonight would be for both of us.
But mostly for her.
The humiliation, the rejection…it’d break the sweet little thing who was so out of her depth perched on a bar stool beside Crush, surrounded by the Allstars without the help of any wingwoman because, bless his Allstar frat boy socks, he did what I asked and brought her drinking with us.
Alone.
“Such a good boy,” I mocked him under my breath as I passed him a fresh, cold beer. My rounds. That was the deal. Not that money meant anything to any of us. Except to her, because she didn’t have any.
But that wasn’t the point. A deal was a deal, and we made one over her.
From the creases around Crush’s tanned face and usually clear eyes, he was having serious second thoughts on that front.
“I’m sure Jax will look after you,” the ice hockey captain said stiffly.
He ducked out from beneath the arm I slung around him, no doubt to avoid the powder that trickled out the end of my sleeve. His baby brother, Nash, whose eyes were never as clear as his big brother’s and held a slightly crueler edge, watched me with a lilted smile.
Waverly waited on her barstool, looking sideways up at me. “Hi, Jax,” she whispered, all breathy and pretty as fuck.
I’d have to be goddamn blind to ignore the tempting morsel she presented. I mean, she still layered up beneath way too many clothes for my taste, all laced shoes and tights and skirt and turtleneck and vest and jacket…hell, was any of the powder going to make it to skin level? The girl looked like perfect fodder for an ad for Michelin, or maybe a human level Egyptian mummy.
I leaned beyond her space, caging her in with my arms braced on the table around her. Soft, pink lips with the faint aroma of hops on her breath never tasted so good–and I was a damn good inch from licking her mouth first hand. Christ, what a fuck up. I was doing this as much to purge her essence from my own soul as to teach her a lesson about playing with the big boys.
Some part of that, of what my father put me through that I brought back into the cycle sat shittily in my empty gut, but I was a sucker for suffering, itchy as fuck all over and by God would I suffer for this girl.
She could tear me to shreds, and I’d come back and beg her for more.
That was why she had to go.
Now.
Behind me, Crush gave up all pretense and departed his seat with disgust written across his usually perfect face.
There’s a lot of that going around, sunshine.
But Waverly–I laid the charm on heavy enough she let herself be blinded by what she thought she wanted.
What I'd give her a taster of before I stripped it all away and put her right back where she belonged.
Fucking far away from me.
“Hi, Wavey,” I murmured, dropping my chin to the top of her head so I didn’t kiss her by mistake. The unintentional nickname was the other part of the mistake.
Yeah, it’s a thing for stalkers like me. Shut the fuck up.
“Sit down?” Her big brown eyes managed to find mine as she dislodged my worst intentions and tipped her head upside down to look at me better.
And then I found myself staring at that goddamn sumptuous mouth again. “Maybe later,” I managed, coasting a hand along her spine for good measure and because after this she’d never let me touch her again. “I got this for you.” I passed her the other beer I hadn't touched.
Not that I’d roofie her, just get her drunk enough not to watch my attempt at misdirection.
“Thank you,” she murmured, casting her eyes down as the table fell quiet.
She took a sip,and I knew it wasn’t her first, or even her second. What I didn’t realize was that this girl could drink. I didn’t know if she had a hollow leg or five marine level brothers in the wings to protect her, but four more beers in and a diatribe about her bees later, smirks formed on the remaining Allstars’ faces in my direction.
If that didn’t mean she had the upper hand, I had no idea how to judge the situation. My girl was definitely buzzed–pun–and animated as fuck. Hell, she even skipped a word here or there. But she certainly was not about to keel over on me in tipsy fashion or puke into the nearby shrubbery.
Hey, a guy could dream.
Certainly that would take my mind off that curvy behind that had occupied my mind–and my charcoals–back in my attic room for the last few nights.
She shivered–fucking finally–as some of the buzz died and I took the opportunity I’d been waiting for while not peeling my skin off with my own fingernails beneath Crush’s shirt with the need to scratch and scream every few seconds. Not that he’d be wanting the contaminated item back any time soon.
“Come here.” I shrugged out of my jacket, ignoring the tiny grains scattering the floor she didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, and held it out.
Waverly didn’t take more than half a second to nod, and we were on.
I looped the jacket around her shoulders, making certain to stuff her arms into the holes that dangled over her like a too-big parent’s overcoat. More than one laugh went up, but she didn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to extricate herself from the mess I pinned her into, doing up every metal snap on the front to secure her into my trap.
And to top the whole production off, I kissed her temple, ala Judas style, and threw Nash a wink, because his big bro–my wingman–had disappeared for the night.
The little fuck leaned one elbow back on the table behind him and palmed his bulge through his jeans with the other, ignoring the ruckus at his back. His eyes are for Waverly only, and for a moment I wondered that I hadn’t made the worst mistake of my life torturing such a tempting, sweet little piece before others rather than keep her to myself.
But the job was done, and I couldn’t undo it.
Nor, it seemed, could she.
Waverly wriggled oh so prettily for me, her face reddening. “It’s too hot, Jax,’ she whispered, struggling to get out of my jacket, but the too-long sleeves prevented her from using her hands for pretty much anything. Her brow furrowed as she flapped ineffectively at the catches. “Can you undo this, please,” she asked politely, the slightest hint of panic edging into her voice.
I downed the rest of her beer and slammed the glass to the table, making the announcement formal as every head in the vicinity turned in her direction.
“Nope,” I said plainly, backing off and left her alone in a circle of my housemate’s friends.
A circle of people I hated, just like her.
Then, it dawned on her what I’d done. I saw it in her face the moment the first grains of the fine powder made it beneath all those layers. They might act as protection, that clothing, barriers from the outside world, but they also trap inside what I’ve locked in with her.
And now, she can’t get out.
“Jax,” she whined so goddam prettily, twisting and turning as the snickers started.
The loose sleeves of my jacket flapped at the catches but she couldn’t undo the snaps. She couldn’t get purchase on anything. Right now, that leaves her in a hell of my making.
Nash sauntered past and handed me a fresh, cold beer. I made sure she witnessed the icy condensation gliding down the tall glass as I put it to my lips and finished it in one, never taking my eyes off her as I swallowed the refreshing beverage whilst she suffered.
For me.
It should be beautiful.
Fuck, she was beautiful.
But she wasn’t.
Because of all those eyes watching her, leering at her.
Her pain should be mine, and mine alone.
I’d made a raw, basic error in sharing her pain with everyone else. I should have kept her my secret, to myself, something only I coveted. And now I couldn’t free her, take her away without breaking the scene I created.
And so, instead of the mess I made for her, the rejection and the tears I expected, she glared at me as she fought to free herself while they laughed and I looked on.
Except I didn’t laugh, and I wished I’d kept her to myself.
When Crush burst between Nash and I, shouldering us out of the way with all his Allstar captain’s strength hard enough to bruise and swearing to boot, I let him unsnap her from the coat and fling it in my direction, showering me and everyone in the vicinity–the entire team, himself and his baby brother–with itching powder.
And when they began to swear and scratch and fidget, while I watched Waverly sob into his arms, peeking out at me with no small dose of confusion, only then did I begin to laugh.
Slinging my jacket over my shoulder I sauntered away, ready to peel my own flesh from my bones, though no one else would know that.
Except me and her.
And that was enough.