Chapter 10 #3
“There are plenty of things I can do that will keep him whole and breathing,” I ground my molars, although for once, my threat was empty.
As pissed as I was with Kip, my taste for ruining and punishing men had changed.
Needlessly doing it to good and decent—and yes, fucking interfering ones—made my usually iron heart twist just a bit.
“You’re allowed, you know?”
I looked at my mother whose face was turned down, sad, gripping her sensible purse tightly.
“To be happy,” she continued. “To have a normal relationship. Even though you pride yourself on eschewing everything that’s traditional in this world, don’t deny yourself something as simple as happiness. Maybe even love.”
She blew me a kiss then was out the door.
As if happiness or love were simple.
As if I deserved either of those things.
Was capable of them.
I didn’t know why I turned up at Shaw Shack on Friday night.
I should’ve had better things to do, a more pressing social calendar.
If I was in New York, I would have. Gallery openings, dinner meetings, dates, late night workout classes.
There was never a moment when I was idle, never had I sat on the $6,000 sofa in my apartment and watched TV, read a book, ate cookie dough…
Whatever it was people did when they relaxed.
The problem was that in Jupiter, I had none of those things to keep me busy, to keep me away from being alone with my thoughts.
Here, both my gym and Pilates studio closed at 8:00, the bars were only used as a last resort, and I didn’t have my conventional job anymore, therefore, no meetings.
I’d been glued to my laptop since 6:00 in the morning, working, intent on quieting my mind, but there eventually came the moment when even I had to call it quits.
I didn’t date. My social calendar relied solely on my brother, my sister-in-law, their family, Fiona, Avery or any one of the other Jupiter Tides crew who had accepted me into their fold even though I wasn’t anything like them.
There were plenty of dinner parties, babysitting duties, girls’ nights that I could attend.
But there were also plenty of nights when I sat alone in my brother’s old house, wearing ratty sweats, staring at my computer, trying to find my way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into while dreading the eventual disaster that would erupt when my failures caught up to me.
I also binge-watched the show Supernatural for a nice change of pace. If only my demons could be banished with some salt, words in Latin or silver bullets.
Then came the night Elliot knocked at my door, and my world transformed in a way I hadn’t been expecting.
I’d tried to shove that night away into one of the many mental drawers I kept firmly closed in my mind, full of traumas and regrets and bad decisions.
Sometimes they rattled, especially the one I’d shoved the event into, but my memories with Elliot wouldn’t settle.
They kept flying through my mind, untamed.
Maybe because it wasn’t a trauma nor a regret nor a bad decision. Maybe because Elliot felt like the first good thing I had that was mine that wasn’t related to my family.
The problem was, I wasn’t good for him.
His deceased former sister-in-law proved that.
My night with Jasper proved that. Rubbing shoulders with environmental terrorists, billionaires, all sorts of bad people I’d rubbed shoulders with regularly in my previous life without batting an eyelash.
Not that that life was in the past in any way. I was just hiding from it.
I was still that person. Always would be.
The clock was ticking down on how long the veneer of who I was pretending to be while in Jupiter lasted.
That’s why I had to leave Rowan’s house—because I swore I could hear the fucker ticking, taunting me with how little time I had left to hide.
Again, though the small-town life afforded little to do in the evenings, any one of my friends or family would’ve welcomed me without question if I showed up on their doorstep.
But that would be intruding on family time, showing weakness.
Instead, I went to Shaw Shack, as if that wasn’t showing incredible weakness and lack of self-restraint.
Yet I couldn’t stop myself. Even with the shadow of Jasper’s potentially violent interference hanging over me.
At any moment, I could’ve done the right thing, reversed my car from the spot I’d found right out front.
Turned around as I strutted down the path to the door or grasped the anchor on the handle.
Yet I didn’t. Do the right thing. Because I wasn’t wired that way. Because I was selfish and greedy and desperate for someone who made me feel safe.
The restaurant was busy, with almost every table filled up, music playing softly. Somehow, the large room wasn’t an echo chamber with all of the patrons in it.
A few heads turned in my direction as I passed, as was the norm in small-town establishments.
Plus, I wasn’t dressed for a casual beach bar.
Despite the bright summer evening, I was wearing black.
Black skirt, silk blouse and heels. My hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of my neck, diamonds in my ears and makeup slathered over my face, eyeliner sharpening my eyes.
I was clinging to my uniform, my armor, the last pieces I had from my New York identity— a powerful, take no shit woman.
I liked that the way I presented myself set me apart from everyone here.
It was a reminder that I didn’t belong. I needed reminding of that.
That my being here was temporary. My life in Jupiter and certainly my presence in Elliot Shaw’s life.
One more time. That’s what I promised myself. If only to confirm that it couldn’t have been as good as it was in my memory. One more time to hoard that feeling of safety.
Though he was busy, Elliot’s eyes found me before I even perched myself on the one remaining empty barstool.
They traced up and down my body with a hungry heat that almost made my step stutter and my core flutter with unadulterated need.
He grinned knowingly as I approached, and I hated that I wanted to smile back.
Smiling at men was against my moral code.
I got on the stool then waited for him to finish making the drink he was busy with.
His hands worked with purpose and ease, the muscles of his forearms moving fluidly.
He smiled at the person he delivered the drink to, then leaned over to the other bartender, murmuring something before he made his way over to me.
He was grinning from ear to ear. And again, that authentic, genuine smile had my heart doing somersaults.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” He rested his forearms on the bar, leaning close to me.
Despite all of the different scents around me, I was quickly assaulted by the smell I hadn’t let linger on my sheets regardless of how much I had wanted to. The ocean. Him.
“I was out of vodka and needed a martini.” I hiked up a shoulder, voice sharp. “I assume you know how to make one.”
His smile didn’t flicker at my tone nor the condescension. If anything, it widened. “I do.”
“Dirty,” I ordered, clinging to my icy facade.
His eyes darkened. “I know how to do it dirty too.”
His voice was low enough so only I heard him and the unmistakable meaning behind his words.
My thighs pressed together as I fought to keep my composure.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I traced a grain of wood in the bar top with my fingernail. “I’m not easily impressed.”
He nodded once, pewter eyes skirting down my chest to my exposed cleavage and slowly back up again.
“I know that too. But I do remember impressing you in the past, and I’m confident in my ability to do it again.
” His voice was a low drawl, confident, cocky even but almost lazy.
However you described it, the way he spoke sent chills racing over my skin.
My body’s response was intrinsic and almost violent. I didn’t know what I’d expected to come of that visit, but right then, I was certain I wasn’t going to be able to leave here without knowing he was going to fuck me again.
He was like a drug.
One more fix, I promised myself. Then I’d detox from him. I’d be forced to at some point anyway, when I left Jupiter behind.
And I was well aware that I could die when that happened. I figured I might as well get a little selfish pleasure in before I kicked the bucket. Forgetting that it was the selfish pursuit of pleasure that landed me in the current shitstorm in the first place.
I watched Elliot push off the bar and turn to make my drink. He was wearing a Shaw Shack tee, the logo on the back faded. His shoulders were broad, not as wide as his brother’s but powerful nonetheless. His curly hair was wild underneath the backward cap he wore with the same Shaw Shack logo.
Though I didn’t want to bring Jasper into my mind, into that space, anywhere near the proximity in my mind where Elliot was, I couldn’t help but think of comparisons.
I’d never seen Jasper in anything but a suit in his adult life …
if he wasn’t naked. Never in anything casual.
Relaxed. I’d found comfort in that because I have never been able to relax; he was someone who understood me. At least that’s what I’d told myself.
Except I had recently begun to understand that Jasper was a cage, an electrified one. If I relaxed even a little, let myself test the sides, I’d get a shock, pain. He needed me to stay cold, cruel, predictable. Controllable. That’s why he’d murdered Naomi. My proverbial electric shock.
I mused over all of this as Elliot made my drink and placed it in front of me.
I tore my gaze from him to the glass. Which wasn’t glass at all. “This is plastic.” I tapped the side of the faux martini glass with my nail, screwing up my nose.
“That it is.” Amusement burst from his tone.
I met his gunmetal eyes. “I do not drink out of plastic cups. I’m not a preschooler.”