Chapter 1 #2
In a series of moves that probably shouldn’t be as sexy as they seem, Jaxon turns to face me, crosses one foot over the other, and rests his elbow on the bar. “You need higher standards, Callie baby. That’s the bare minimum. When you’re with me, you’ll never so much as touch a door handle.”
My stomach plummets. “Guess my bar has been set in hell.”
When the bartender returns with our drinks, I knock mine back greedily. The burn of the vodka is dulled by the salty tang of the pickle juice, and a subtle warmth spreads from my chest and down to my fingertips.
If I had to guess what Jaxon’s ‘usual’ order is, it would be exactly what was placed in front of him: two fingers of amber liquid that I’d bet my last dollar is bourbon.
That’s saying a lot since a dollar is about all I have to my name if you don’t account for my meager savings.
I’m still waiting for an insurance payout from the fire that claimed my home and all of its contents, but I’m not holding my breath.
Not usually one for small talk, I let the silence linger.
Jaxon has no such compunction. “So, what’s your favorite book?”
My brows shoot up. “Just one?”
“If you had to choose.”
I bring my drink to my lips and empty the glass. “Impossible. I’ve read thousands of books.”
“Oh, come on. You must have a favorite.”
“Nope.”
“Top five.”
I tilt my head from side to side, considering. “Can I get back to you on that? I need time to think about it.”
“Alright, let’s try something else then.” He downs the rest of his drink and holds out his hand, giving me a devastating smile that’s almost impossible to resist. “Dance with me.”
When I don’t respond, he continues. “I’m an excellent dancer. I’ll even let you stand on my toes.”
My first instinct is to turn him down, but as my gaze flicks to his hand and back to his hopeful expression, I can’t bring myself to do it. I reluctantly slide my palm against his.
An electric current races up my arm.
Jaxon pulls me along with him. He stops in the middle of the dance floor, pressing my palm against his hard chest and settling one hand on my lower back. It’s dangerously close to the angry crisscross scars hidden beneath my shirt. I pinch my eyes shut to quell the phantom pain.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the neon lights casting some kind of spell, but I find myself relaxing into him. The man feels like he was carved out of stone, all hard edges and deep ridges. He’s at least a head taller than me, maybe more—I can’t tell from this angle.
Jaxon rests his chin against the side of my head, his soft breath ruffling my hair. Everything around us dissolves until my senses narrow in on the man holding me in his strong arms with an altogether unexpected gentleness.
I inhale deeply as his warm scent envelopes me. It’s familiar, like old leather-bound books with a hint of rich amber. Comfort is the word that comes to mind, something my life has been sorely lacking for longer than I care to admit.
He chuckles, the rich sound reverberating through his chest. “Did you just sniff me?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Why would I do something like that?”
“Because you like the way I smell. It’s ok. You can admit it.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
He brings his mouth to the shell of my ear. “You could be full of me, too, Callie baby. Just say the word.”
My stomach swoops, but I keep my expression neutral. “Wow. That’s quite possibly the worst line I’ve ever heard.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Shameless flirt,” I mutter under my breath.
In a surprising move, he dips me back. I waver, gripping his shirt. But Jaxon is confident and sure, and he holds me steady in his capable hands.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I ask as I regain my composure.
His tone turns serious for a moment as his emerald eyes meet mine. “I would never hurt you. Trust me, Callie.”
Trust. What a novel concept. I swallow the lump in my throat, ignoring the strong impulse to flee. Jaxon doesn’t say anything else, and I’m spared the effort of explaining my reticence.
The song ends, and we make our way back to the bar.
A tall, broad-chested man with long hair pulled back in a ponytail smiles as we approach. “Jaxy, who’s your date?”
“Shouldn’t you be tending to the horses?”
“Nah. Took the night off. Wilder’s got it covered.” He turns to me and grins, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s handsome in a gruff, bearded giant kind of way. “I’m Griffin. The older, more handsome brother.”
He extends his hand, but Jax slaps it away. “Get your own date.”
My heart races at the dark, possessive tone in his voice. Ignoring the sensation, I shove myself between them and offer him my hand. “I’m Callie.”
Griffin’s palm engulfs mine, and I don’t feel the same spark of electricity I get when Jaxon touches me. “Nice to meet you, Callie. What are you drinking?”
“Dill pickle martini.”
“That shit’ll put you out for three to five business days if you're not careful,” Griffin says.
I sigh wistfully. “A girl can dream.”
He barks out a laugh and flags down the bartender. “Dill pickle martini for the lovely lady, whiskey neat for me, and whatever my brother is drinking.”
Griffin slaps down some cash and assumes a casual stance against the bar. “So, how did you two meet?”
Mo slides into the spot beside me. “Dipshit threw himself at her in the middle of the library. It was pathetic. Total simp behavior.”
The bartender slides me my drink, and I reach for it, needing something to distract me from the subtle smirk from my so-called best friend.
Jaxon pushes his glasses up with his middle finger with an insincere smile.
I splutter into my drink, causing the alcohol to splash against my face.
“You’ve got a little something…” Jax swipes his thumb along my bottom lip and chin. “That’s better. Try getting it in your mouth next time.”
My heart pounds incessantly against my ribcage. I’m not used to being touched. It’s been years since I’ve even been kissed. I sacrificed romantic relationships for peace of mind, and now I’m a twenty-six-year-old virgin with a clitoral stimulator and a lapsed subscription to Pleasure Peak.
The fleeting thought conjures images of a masked cowboy with tattoos and a way with words, staring at a blank screen of text as I ask him to talk me through my orgasm.
My face flames at the indecent memory. It’s been months since I logged in and let myself get lost in him, but it’s probably for the best. I have to focus on putting out my dumpster fire of a life.
"Earth to Callie," Mo singsongs.
I take a sip of my drink as everything swims back into focus. “I’m sorry. What?”
Mo plucks the glass from my hand and places it on the bar. “Watch our drinks, would you fellas?”
“Wait—”
Without preamble, they tug me onto the dance floor against my will and force me to join a line dance with several drunk cowboys and a bunch of women vying for their attention. When we make a full turn, I catch a glimpse of Jaxon standing with his back against the bar, looking on in amusement.
I mouth the words “help me,” but he just smirks.
“You should go home with him,” Mo shouts over the pounding of the speakers.
My eyes widen as I struggle to keep up with the steps. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on. Any woman in this bar would kill to be you right now. Some of the men, too.”
I scoff and shake my head.
“You don't believe me? Look around. They're all looking at Jaxon like they want to eat him alive.”
I scan the room, and my mood instantly sours. But when I look at Jaxon, his piercing gaze is fixed on me. If he’s noticed their attention, he hasn’t bothered to return it.
As the song shifts to a ballad, everybody pairs off. I search for an escape as the crowd closes in around me. I manage to squeeze through the haphazard pairings and make my way back to the bar, no worse for the wear, but I lose Mo somewhere in the fray.
“Thanks for nothing,” I mutter as I take my drink from Jaxon’s hand.
“What can I say? I was enjoying the view.”
I glance up at the clock on the wall and squint to bring the blurry numbers into focus.
I must be drunker than I realized. It makes sense—I haven’t eaten much more than a stale granola bar and a handful of grapes leftover from yesterday’s lunch, so there’s nothing in my stomach to absorb the alcohol.
Jaxon places his now-empty glass on the bar and holds out his hand. “Ready to go?”
I nod and reluctantly slip my hand in his, ignoring the way my stomach does that annoying flutter again. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being touched so casually.
“Come on. We’ll share an Uber so I can make sure you get home ok.” He leads me out the front door, stopping just shy of the parking lot.
I can almost feel the color draining from my face as realization dawns. “No. It’s ok. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“What kind of gentleman would let a woman go home alone in the middle of the night? I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself—unless you say otherwise.”
“I can take care of myself.” I pull out my phone and order a ride back to Willow Valley, specifically requesting a female driver, then I hold it out to show him the tracker.
He releases a ragged sigh. “Fine. Let me see your phone for a minute.”
I press it protectively against my chest.
“I’m just giving you my number.”
“Oh.” I warily place the device in the palm of his hand.
He adds his contact and hands it back to me. The name at the top of the screen reads ‘Prince Charming.’
The gall of this man. I stare at him in bewilderment. “Seriously?"
He shrugs. “Text me when you get home safe.”
Home. I wish.
Nowhere has truly felt like home—not the ramshackle apartment I ran away from, not the homeless shelters or highway underpasses, not the roadside motels, or even the apartment in Oak Ridge that went up in flames months ago.
There’s never been a place for me in this world, nowhere except my library and the books I escape into every chance I get.
Not a minute too soon, my driver pulls up in a black sedan. She rolls down the passenger window. “Callie?”
Jaxon leans in and hands her a wad of cash. “Get her home safe.”
She responds with a succinct nod.
He holds open the back door for me, and I slide inside. Maybe I'm imagining it, but I swear something tender crosses his features. “Goodnight, Callie.”
“‘Night, Jax.”
“Are you sure this is the right place?” the driver asks as she pulls up outside the Willow Valley Public Library.
Alone again. Isn’t that just the story of my life?
“Yeah. I’ll walk from here. Thanks.” I head out into the night, keeping a tight grip on the mini taser attached to my keychain. It’s only a block away, but you can never be too careful.
After making sure nothing seems suspicious, I slide into the back seat of my outdated hatchback on top of the semi-deflated air mattress with the sleeping bag and a single, lumpy pillow. “Home sweet home.”
My life went up in smoke when a gas leak caused an explosion at my apartment complex in Oak Ridge. I escaped with my life, but I lost so much in the aftermath.
The slumlord who owned the building is refusing to pay out any claims and cover the cost of displacement housing.
I didn’t even get my rental deposit back, and I’m barely making ends meet as it is, so I’ve been living in my car until I can save up for a new place.
Apartments aren’t exactly cheap these days, and finding one that allows pets is damn near impossible.
Mo’s been looking after Atticus for me; he’s my grey tabby Maine coon and the love of my life.
We got out quickly, and I watched from across the street as my apartment turned to ash.
They don’t know I’m sleeping in my car, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Their apartment is barely habitable for one person, let alone two, and asking for help isn’t in my wheelhouse.
With any luck, I’ll be out of here in a month or two. I’d rather not spend my nights slow-roasting in the summer heat—not that the winter has been any better.
I slide on a second pair of socks over my fleece-lined tights and wrap myself in an extra blanket for warmth. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. Before I settle in for the night, I pull out my phone and send off a text to Jaxon.
Callie: Made it.
It’s technically not a lie. I may not have a home, but I did make it to my destination.
Prince Charming: Sleep tight.
Callie: You, too.