Chapter 17 #2
“Is that . . .” Mark finally says, the words trailing off. We don’t talk about Jackson, ever. More than just Bro Code, it was part of our agreement when they all started working with me years ago.
I nod, then look over my shoulder, my eyes tracking Jackson as she walks across the bar toward the bathroom.
That sexy sweater clings to her breasts and skims her hips, and her black leggings cover the only part of her thighs visible between the sweater and those same fuck-me boots she had on in the elevator the night I ran into her before her girls’ night out.
In the solitude of my room many nights since, I’ve pictured her in those boots and nothing else.
The blood rushes to my dick so fast I’m almost light-headed.
“Like four different guys just watched her walk across the bar,” Luke says.
I swallow down the growl that rises up in my chest. “Good luck to them,” I scoff.
Dan looks around, then shrugs. “I don’t see her boyfriend here.”
The mention of Marco is like a cold splash of water to my face. I adjust myself and then stand, hoping the fact that there’s essentially a steel pipe behind my zipper isn’t obvious.
“Where’re you going?” Mark asks as their eyes all shift to look up at me.
“I suddenly have to take a piss.” I turn and stalk away from them, walking along the perimeter of the bar to avoid notice. Sierra’s like a fucking guard dog and if she sees me she’ll be on me in seconds, trying to keep me away from Jackson.
I wait for Jax near the bathroom door, with my shoulder leaning up against the wall and my back to her table of friends. The minute she opens the door I push off the wall and step in front of her.
She inhales sharply and looks at the ceiling before turning her eyes back to my face. “This is starting to feel a lot like stalking.”
“This time it’s purely coincidence. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“What are you doing here?” she says.
“I live here.” I take a step closer to her and she wobbles a tad as she steps back toward the wall.
“I thought you lived in Park City.” She sounds uncertain, like maybe she imagined me being her neighbor, and I have to wonder how many drinks she’s already had.
“Right now I do, but this is where I’ve lived for the past few years.”
“Ah”—her head bobs like she understands something that has previously alluded her—“your secret hideaway.”
“It was not a secret that I lived here. Anyone who was actually looking for me could have easily found me.”
“I guess no one was looking then.” She crosses her arms over her chest. It pulls at the top of her sweater, revealing her cleavage.
I can’t help but notice her nipples are hard, and it’s not the least bit cold in here so I have to wonder if my proximity still does that to her.
I feel like a teenager in how I can’t tear my eyes away.
“Up here, Davenport,” she says as she raises a hand to point at her face.
I take my time sliding my eyes up to her face, just to piss her off.
When our eyes meet, I’m surprised to see a look I know well—hugely dilated pupils and naked lust. She’s never been good at hiding her attraction to me and she can’t hide shit when she’s drunk.
“You didn’t answer my question about why you’re here. ”
“Girls’ weekend,” she says. “Since it’s the last weekend I’m home for a while, my friends wanted to do something special. Did you know I was going to be here?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking, would I?”
She rolls her eyes in response.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I assure her. “I came up this weekend to pack some personal items. I’m going to rent my place out this winter.”
She just nods, then starts to walk past me, but I put my arm out against the wall to block her and I lean in. “You sure you’re not stalking me?” I tease.
The fire in her is palpable—it’s equal parts anger and attraction, and the heat radiates off her cheeks until I feel singed.
“I’ve never been further from stalking you in my entire life.
Even when you walked away from our relationship five years ago and didn’t look back . . . I hated you less than I do now.”
“Whoa,” I lean away a little so I can get a better focus on her.
She might be madder than I’ve ever seen her, which is saying something.
I wish an angry Jackson wasn’t such a turn-on, because I know I need to defuse this situation, but all I really want to do is push her up against this wall and kiss the shit out of the lips that just spoke a truth I don’t understand.
“What is this about? Is this all because I can’t tell you why I was at Blackstone a few weeks ago? ”
Her eyes get glassy. “Nate, you deserted me when I needed you most. You came back when I needed you to stay gone. The photos of us before your second race in Levi ruined things you can’t even understand.
And now you’ve got your fingers all over some aspect of Blackstone .
. . the one place you know I love more than anywhere else.
Why can’t you just stay out of my life?”
I lean in again, so close my lips practically brush her ear. “If you really want me out of your life for good, Jax, you’re going to have to stop looking at me like you want to fuck me.”
She sucks in a surprised gasp and her hands are on my chest pushing me away. “Get the hell away from me,” she spits out, but her eyes haven’t lost that look. Her mouth is saying one thing, but her body is saying another.
On my other side, I hear a voice I was hoping not to hear this weekend. “This asshole bothering you, miss?” My eyes swing over to Johnny Todd—womanizer, ski pro, and all around asshole. One of the things I’ve missed least about Big Sky is running into him.
“So much,” Jackson says, her voice breathy. She’s looking at him like he just found her lost puppy. “Would you mind walking me back to my friends?”
“You don’t want to do this,” I tell Jackson.
“I’m so glad you’re always around to tell me what I want,” she says, her voice full of searing sarcasm.
She has no idea what she’s starting here.
If there’s anything I know about Johnny, it’s that women aren’t safe in his presence.
There have been a lot of accusations over the years, but none that have turned into charges.
With one more shove, she pushes me away and I watch as Johnny walks her back to her table.
Once there, he plops himself in the open seat next to her.
Well, shit.
“Unbelievable,” Dan laughs when I get back to our table and take a seat that allows me full view of Jackson’s table. “You found the one girl who is immune to your charms.”
“Not immune,” I clarify, “just resistant.”
The guys all laugh like I’d intended, but the churning in my gut is there anyway.
Every time Jackson and I take a step forward, we follow it up with two steps back.
Our relationship is heading in the wrong direction and I’m starting to question if it’s just my stubbornness that’s refusing to let go of something that’s already dead.
But then images of the party in Finland and Jackson leading me to her hotel room flash through my mind, followed closely by memories of our flight from Paris when it seemed like we’d really made headway in overcoming our past. This isn’t dead yet, I assure myself.
I’d worried a little bit when I first got to Park City that maybe I was in love with some previous version of Jackson, and that she wouldn’t be the same person now.
But this version of her—stronger, more self-assured, more independent—is as much of a turn-on as ever.
Which is why it’s hard to watch her sitting there next to another man.
I shoot the shit with the guys for a while longer, my concern growing as I watch Jackson down two more drinks.
She doesn’t seem particularly into Johnny—she’s not overly focused on him, hasn’t put her hand on him or leaned into him—but he’s still at their table and he seems particularly into her.
I wonder if she’s told him she has a boyfriend?
Not that I think it’d make any difference to him.
When he stands and reaches out for her hand, then leads her to the dance floor, I know trouble is brewing. The problem with Johnny is that he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer—in any aspect of his life, but especially with women. It’s put us at odds before.
“Introduce me to the goddess,” Luke says to me, nodding toward Petra.
“An introduction from me is not going to hold much weight,” I tell him. “She’s one of Jackson’s best friends, so she probably hates my guts.”
I glance beyond where Sierra and Petra are sitting, heads close in conversation, and make sure I can still see Jackson.
She’s swaying on the dance floor, not in time with the music.
Johnny’s got his hands on her, one on her hip and one wrapped around her shoulder.
I’m not sure if he’s holding her up or dancing with her, but all the alarm bells are going off in my head.
I stand, but Luke takes it to mean I’m going to introduce him to Petra and he trails behind me. I glance over my shoulder to find Dan and Mark right behind him. Shit.
I veer off course to deposit my friends at Sierra and Petra’s table.
“Ladies,” I say, giving them my most charming smile. The one that women generally find impossible to resist. Sierra’s face hardens like stone, but Petra’s is more friendly. She stands and gives me a kiss on each cheek.
“Who do we have here?” She nods toward my friends, her husky voice is the purr of a lioness toying with her next meal.
I introduce my friends and as they start chatting with Sierra and Petra, I glance up to check on Jackson. But she’s not on the dance floor. I scan the crowd, checking the bar area and the other tables. She’s not there either.
“Fuck,” I growl as I start to move toward the front of the bar. I hear my friends asking what’s wrong behind me, but I don’t turn back to answer. There isn’t time. I need to find Jackson, I need to make sure she’s okay.