Chapter 9 Jaxon
Life is a funny thing, isn’t it?
Naomi. Why is fate so goddamn cruel? Years of watching her from afar, following tidbits of her life through a screen, didn’t mean I wanted to be tangled up in her again.
But here I am, sitting in the coffee shop she frequents, watching her and her friend while scanning the cameras we installed again.
Kaios was able to make the repairs, however disgruntled he was when he got back home. So all that’s left is the meeting tonight. But I need to know if she remembers me, remembers what we used to be.
I sip my Americano and keep my eyes on her from a distance, at a table in the main area, while she and Aisha Mortez climb the stairs to the loft. In the weeks I’ve watched her, every day from a different place, nothing has ever set off any bells, nothing has come across as out of the ordinary.
She has a well-curated schedule that never seems to go off the rails. She might hang out with a friend or two, but nothing excessive.
I adjust my laptop, trying to blend in to look like just another schmuck that’s meeting a deadline. But my attention is on her. It’s always on her.
She’s been here at least twenty times in the last few weeks, either working alone or laughing with friends.
But Max was right—something’s gone from her. That fire she used to have… it’s barely a flicker now. She’s good at pretending, but when I look at her, it’s clear as day just under the surface.
She’s lost. A ghost of who she used to be.
Every time I look at her, I wonder what the hell I can do to bring her back to life. It pains me to see her this way.
A southern twang pulls me out of my thoughts. “Hi, I’m Kelly.” I drag my eyes from my screen to meet a baby blue gaze.
Snapping my laptop shut, I lean back, sizing her up.
Black activewear stretches tight over her hips.
She shuffles from one foot to the other, waiting for me to say something.
I might as well entertain her—it beats sitting here in silence, letting thoughts of Naomi eat me alive. She’s the perfect cover.
“Hi, Kelly,” I hum, lips curling into a smirk.
“I’ve seen you around a-and,” she stutters, her voice trailing off as my gaze roams down her body, lingering on her curves, “my friend finally convinced me to come over and say hi.”
I catch a glimpse of a brunette lurking in the background, her interest masked by the pretense of sipping a drink, whipped cream dribbling over the rim.
I chuckle, my voice oozing amusement that I forcefully inject into my tone. “Is that so? Well, it would be rude of me not to offer you a seat, wouldn’t it, Kelly?” Standing, I pull out the chair across from me, watching her sort out her thoughts before she finally slips into it.
“I think you can call off your bodyguard now. Yeah?” I murmur, I let my voice drop an octave for only her to hear, my lips a breath away from her ear. I can’t help but smile at the way she shivers in response.
Her eyes dart to mine, searching, then flick back to her friend, subtly trying to signal that everything is just fine. When I hear the bell above the coffee shop door chime, I know that it’s the brunette taking her leave.
I slip back into my seat, folding my hands over my laptop and leaning in closer to her. “So, tell me about yourself,” I say, feigning interest. “I can’t help but notice your adorable accent. Where are you from?”
She giggles, a soft blush creeping across her cheeks, and she tucks a loose section of bleached blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m from Georgia, originally, but I’ve been in California for about a year now.”
Kelly becomes my perfect distraction, and boy, does she like to talk. She is one of those people whose nervousness makes them spill their guts. Which is perfect, because I don’t have to say much.
We exchange light, meaningless banter, the kind that is all filler and no connection, until I sense the moment Naomi is preparing to leave.
“I’m actually really glad I took my friend’s advice. You seem like a nice guy,” Kelly says, and I can feel the gravity of her words. It starts to make me feel a little bad for her. Dating can be hard, and she seems sweet, if a little overzealous.
I hope she finds her dream guy; it’s not me, though.
I let my fake smile widen. “I’m glad you came over, too. You were a welcome distraction; I work far too much,” I admit, and it’s the truth—I’ve forgotten how to enjoy anything other than the constant grind. “Would you like me to walk you to your car?”
“That would be lovely,” she replies, her smile timid yet inviting.
We gather our belongings, tossing our cups into the trash as I steal one last glance at Naomi. She packs up her things, her best friend swiping her iced coffee from the table between them.
Turning away, I hold the door open for Kelly. As she glides past me, her ass brushes against me, and I suppress a scowl.
Fucking predictable. But I let it slide; she’ll be irrelevant in a minute anyway.
We walk side by side, her ponytail swishing with every step, and when we reach her car, she leans back against the driver’s side door. Ahh, here it comes. The need for something more.
“I had so much fun talking to you,” she says, her voice dipping low, a hint of uncertainty lingering in her words. “Can I—” She nibbles her lip, hesitating.
“What?” I tease. I smile, something vicious, as I lean closer, my palms resting on the door behind her. As I subtly check the time, I catch the flicker of her pulse in her throat. “Did you want to see me again?” I ask, my gaze locking onto hers again with a heat that demands honesty.
“Maybe,” she draws out, her voice turning the single word into a seductive melody.
“Then maybe you will, sweet peach,” I say, my fingers deftly slipping the ponytail holder from her hair. I watch as her golden waves cascade around her shoulders. “Simply gorgeous,” I whisper, sweetening the deal with an awestruck gaze. "Get home safe, then text me.”
Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, and she nods. I move her aside to pop open her door, watching as she hops into the Jeep Wrangler, a newfound grin illuminating her face.
“Have a good afternoon,” I say, snapping the car door closed with a finality that echoes.
“You too,” she responds, her lashes fluttering bashfully as she pulls away, a wild spark igniting in her eyes that tells me she’s ready to spill every detail to that brunette. She’ll be halfway home before she realizes I never gave her my number.
I track the time more freely now, the anticipation of what comes next coursing through me, making me jittery as I find my way back toward the coffee shop. I probably shouldn’t have had three fucking cups of coffee; it makes the short walk damn near painstaking. I’m fucking twitchy as shit.
4… I toss the blond ponytail holder into the bushes out front.
3… Thank fuck I still remember how to flirt; it’s been far too long since I’ve had to.
2… I tug open the door to the shop.
1… Perfectly timed, I collide with Naomi, who stumbles right into my arms.
The energy between us crackles with the intensity of a lightning storm. Memories of our past together flood my mind and leave me with a bittersweet smile. Without hesitation, I catch her in my arms, steadying her with a quick hand. She’s still as clumsy as I remember.
“Whoa," I tease, my voice low and husky. “Careful there.”
“Oh my…” She gasps, regaining her balance, her wide eyes locking onto mine. “I’m so sorry!”
“No. Pardon me, miss.”
I should have waited until the meeting to reintroduce myself to her properly. But when I saw her again, I couldn’t resist the urge to hold her in my arms. To see if she remembered me.
Remembered us.
Normally, I am able to remain professional on the job and not get easily distracted. But with her, it’s different. She has always had a grip on my heart that I can’t shake off.
As she adjusts her laptop bag on her shoulder and runs a hand through her glossy curls, she looks almost supernatural.
Even in this moment, she remains breathtakingly beautiful.
And when she looks up at me with those full lips pressed together and clears her throat, there’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes before it disappears.
Her friend storms over, pissed, shouting something I don’t even bother listening to as she pokes my chest. But Naomi’s presence is so loud even in her stillness—it's all I can focus on.
“Aisha, stop,” she whispers, gently catching her friend’s arm.
Beneath the walls that she’s managed to build up, the ones she uses to protect herself from pain and trauma, she’s still there. My girl is still there, screaming for someone to see her for what she is.
And I’ll wait, because in her eyes, I see the depth of her pain and fear. But I also see hope and longing for someone to understand her. I’ll wait, because behind those eyes, there’s still the girl I was head over heels for years ago.
And as I stand here, looking down at her, I know one thing for sure: I’m screwed.