Just An Xcuse (The Rebel Chasers MC)

Chapter 1

I flung my arms up like I was trying to high-five the ceiling, savoring that delicious stretch as sunlight snuck through my curtains, painting my little apartment in a warm, golden hue. The sun, that persistent bastard, was doing its damnedest to wake me up. I rolled out of bed with all the grace of a drunk elephant, my feet hitting the cold floor with a thud. "Jesus H. Christ," I muttered, "I need some fucking slippers." My toes curled up faster than my love life, protesting the icy wood beneath them.

Living above the bookstore had become my happy place over the last few months. It wasn't just a crash pad; it was like looking into my soul, if my soul was a hot mess of mismatched furniture and way too many books. I'd cobbled together an eclectic mix of comfort and nostalgia from flea markets and family hand-me-downs. The bookshelves lining the walls were groaning louder than me after Taco Tuesday, buckling under my ever-growing collection. It was a book lover's wet dream, minus any semblance of organization. Novels were stacked everywhere like a literature-themed game of Jenga, creating a maze that I navigated daily with the skill of a drunk toddler.

My love for books was as undeniable as my inability to pass up a good sale. If there was a bargain, especially on a classic, I was there faster than you could say "impulse buy," my cart overflowing with titles I'd probably never read. But hey, just knowing they were there, waiting for me, was like a warm hug for my soul. Or maybe that was just the wine talking.

After a shower that was more invigorating than my last three dates combined, I wrapped myself in a robe fluffier than a cloud and shuffled to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee hit me like a much-needed slap in the face, promising warmth and a will to live. I poured a cup and made my way to the window, peering out at the sleepy town below. The streets were quieter than my sex life, bathed in soft morning light. I took a sip, savoring the way it warmed me from the inside out, like a cozy hug in a mug. Or, you know, what I imagine a hug feels like. It's been a while.

Moving to this town had been a big fucking deal, one that had me overthinking for months before I finally grew a pair and did it. Leaving the city, with all its noise and chaos, for small-town life felt both thrilling and terrifying. But I hadn't regretted it for a single moment, not even when I realized the closest Starbucks was an hour away. Being closer to Bri was the kick in the ass I needed, but the chance to run my own bookstore? That was the cherry on top of this life-changing sundae.

A year ago, my life was as different as sober me and three-glasses-of-wine me. I was stuck in a soul-sucking corporate job in the city, where long hours and meaningless tasks left me feeling more drained than my phone battery at the end of the day. Each day blended into the next like a really shitty watercolor painting, leaving me feeling more zombie than human. I spent my days staring at screens, my nights lying awake, wondering if this was all life had to offer. My only bright spot was Bri's visits, where we'd spend hours talking shit about everything under the sun. On one particularly rough night, I'd poured out my frustrations over a bottle of wine. Or two. Maybe three. Look, I'm not here to judge, okay?

Bri, always the voice of reason and somehow still coherent after all that wine (the bitch), had suggested a change that would flip my life upside down faster than Will Smith at the Oscars.

"Why don't you move closer to me?" she'd slurred, her eyes sparkling with the idea. Or maybe that was just the wine. Hard to tell at that point. "There's this cute little bookstore for sale in town. You've always loved books more than people."

I'd laughed it off at first, dismissing it as the kind of fantasy that only seems plausible after too much wine and not enough common sense. But the idea had taken root in my brain like a particularly stubborn weed, growing until it was all I could think about. The bookstore became my beacon of hope, my way out of the life that was slowly killing me one PowerPoint presentation at a time.

One weekend, I visited Bri and checked out the bookstore. It was love at first sight, like when you see a pizza after a night of heavy drinking. The quaint shop had character, potential, and most importantly, it was a place where I could see myself being happy. And surrounded by books. Did I mention I fucking love books?

I remembered that visit like it was yesterday, probably because it was the last time I felt truly excited about something that wasn't food-related. The storefront was charming in a "needs a little TLC" kind of way. The peeling paint and creaky door added to its charm, though they hinted at the work ahead. It was like adopting a rescue dog – sure, it needed some love, but the potential for greatness was there.

The interior, though? Holy shit. It was a bibliophile's wet dream – wooden shelves filled with books of all genres, cozy reading nooks that practically screamed "curl up with a good story and ignore your responsibilities," and the smell of aged paper mingling with fresh coffee from the small café area. I felt an immediate connection, a sense of belonging I hadn't experienced since finding my favorite pair of sweatpants. It was like stumbling into my own personal Narnia, minus the talking animals and eternal winter. Although, given the state of my love life, eternal winter seemed pretty accurate.

As I stood there, coffee in hand, gazing out at my little kingdom of books, I couldn't help but snort at the absurdity of it all. I'd traded in my soul-crushing corporate gig for a life surrounded by paperbacks and the occasional overly enthusiastic book club member. Talk about a plot twist.

"Well, fuck me sideways," I muttered, taking a sip of my liquid lifeline. "I actually did it."

The move had been about as graceful as a drunk giraffe on roller skates. I'd packed up my city life, said goodbye to my favorite take-out spots (RIP, 24-hour Chinese place), and hauled ass to this quaint little town. Every muscle in my body had screamed bloody murder, and there were moments when I questioned my sanity more than usual. But standing here now, I knew I'd made the right choice. My life was finally my own, even if that meant dealing with paper cuts on a daily basis.

I drained my coffee like it was the elixir of life and headed downstairs to open shop. The bell above the door jingled merrily, probably mocking my early-morning zombie state.

"Alright, you literary bastards," I said to the books as I flipped the sign to 'Open'. "Let's do this."

The familiar scent of old books and polished wood hit me like a comforting slap in the face. This was my happy place, my fortress of solitude where I could escape reality and dive into worlds where people had way more interesting problems than overdue electric bills.

As the morning sun climbed higher, customers started trickling in like caffeinated book-seeking missiles. I greeted each one with a smile that I hoped didn't scream 'I'm running on coffee and pure willpower'.

An elderly woman approached, looking lost. "Do you have any mystery novels, dear?"

"Absolutely," I replied, leading her to the right section. "Though I should warn you, 'Fifty Shades of Grey' is not a mystery novel. Unless you count 'how did this get published?' as a mystery."

She chuckled, patting my arm. "Oh, you're a hoot. I'll stick to Agatha Christie, thank you very much."

A young couple wandered in next, hand in hand and disgustingly in love. "We're looking for a good romance series," the guy said, his eyes never leaving his girlfriend's face.

I bit back a smirk. "Well, I've got just the thing. Fair warning though, you might want to keep a fire extinguisher handy. These books are known to spontaneously combust from all the steam."

They giggled, blushing furiously. Ah, young love. So nauseatingly cute.

As I chatted with a regular about our latest book club pick (spoiler alert: the butler didn't do it, but the pool boy might have), I felt a surge of satisfaction. Each interaction reminded me why I'd chosen this life. It was fulfilling in a way my old job never was, even if it didn't come with dental.

Mid-morning, my part-time employee, Lila, bounced in like a caffeinated puppy. How anyone could be that perky before noon was beyond me, but I had to admire her enthusiasm. Or resent it. The jury was still out.

"Morning, boss!" Lila chirped, her curly hair defying gravity. "Ready for another day of literary adventures?"

I grinned, despite myself. "You bet. And by adventures, I mean dealing with customers who think 'The Great Gatsby' is a self-help book."

Lila laughed, heading to the register. "Oh, I ordered that new graphic novel series you wanted. Should be here next week. It's the one about the superhero librarian, right? 'The Silence Enforcer' or something?"

I snorted, picturing a caped crusader armed with a date stamp. "That's the one. Can't wait to see how she defeats evil with an arsenal of overdue fines and well-organized bookshelves. I mean, who needs super strength when you have the Dewey Decimal System?"

"Honestly," Lila said, eyes sparkling, "that sounds like my kind of hero. She'd fit right in around here."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. We had a steady stream of customers, each bringing their own quirks and requests. I lost track of time, moving from one task to another like a book-obsessed pinball. By late afternoon, I was restocking shelves, humming off-key to the indie playlist Lila had put on.

The bell above the door jingled again. I turned, expecting another customer, but instead found myself face-to-face with Jax. The sight of him made my heart do a weird little flip that I promptly ignored. Attraction? Indigestion? Hard to tell, but I was definitely feeling something.

Jax was a regular in the sense that he often came into the bookstore, but not in the sense that he actually bought books. He was more of a browser, someone who enjoyed wandering the aisles, picking up books, flipping through them, but rarely committing to a purchase. He was known around town for his gruff exterior and sarcastic sense of humor. Bri had warned me about him before I moved, calling him a "handful." A very attractive handful, but a handful nonetheless.

"Well, well, well," I drawled, crossing my arms. "Look what the cat dragged in. Come to actually buy a book this time, or just to rearrange my carefully organized shelves?"

Jax smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Now, now. Is that any way to greet your favorite customer?"

I snorted. "Favorite? More like most frustrating. You know, most people come to bookstores to actually, you know, buy books."

"And miss out on our witty banter? Never," he replied, leaning against a shelf with an ease that should be illegal.

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened. "Your idea of witty banter is asking me if we have any books without words."

"Hey, picture books are valid literature," he shot back, grinning.

I couldn't help but laugh. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I prefer to think of myself as charmingly persistent," Jax said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that did funny things to my insides.

"Keep telling yourself that, buddy," I retorted, turning back to my shelving to hide the blush creeping up my neck.

As I arranged books, hyper-aware of Jax's presence behind me, I couldn't help but reflect on how different my life had become. A year ago, I was drowning in spreadsheets and corporate jargon. Now, I was surrounded by books, bantering with an infuriatingly attractive man, and actually enjoying my days.

Life had a funny way of working out sometimes. And as I turned to face Jax again, ready for another round of our verbal sparring, I realized I wouldn't have it any other way.

He sauntered in like he owned the place, his eyes doing a slow sweep until they locked onto me. I straightened up, bracing myself for the inevitable clash. Jax had this knack for crawling under my skin, pushing my buttons in just the right way to both annoy and intrigue me. There was something about him that made me want to crack his code, to peel back those layers and see what lurked beneath that tough guy act. But holy hell, did he drive me up the wall.

"Need a hand with anything?" I asked, my tone dripping with faux politeness. As in, I'm-being-nice-but-I'll-happily-kick-your-ass-out-if-needed kind of nice.

"Just looking," Jax replied, his deep voice rumbling through the shop. Fan-fucking-tastic , even his voice was sexy. This was so not fair. Why did he have to be so infuriatingly hot?

I tried to focus on work, but my mind kept wandering back to him. He had this way of commanding attention without even trying. The tension in the air was palpable, both thrilling and maddening. I could sense his presence, even when I wasn't looking. It was like he had his own gravitational pull, sucking me in whether I liked it or not.

"Well, if you need any book recs, I'm your gal," I said, aiming for casual. "We've got a killer selection of thrillers that'll keep you up all night. Or, you know, you could always grab a steamy romance and get your rocks off that way."

Jax cocked an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Think I'll pass on the smut for now. More of a mystery man myself."

"Ooh, Mr. Mysterious," I teased, leaning on the counter. "Just remember, not all whodunits are created equal. Some are just batshit crazy. Like this one book where the butler was the killer, but plot twist - he was trying to save the world from an evil cat. No joke."

Jax chuckled, and I felt a flutter in my stomach. "I'll keep that in mind. But we both know I'm not here for the books, don't we?"

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Then what brings you to my humble abode, Jax? Surely not just to bask in my sparkling wit."

He stepped closer, his gaze intense. "Came to see if you're as interesting as Bri says. And to see if you can handle a little friendly competition."

"Competition? In what? Who can chug more coffee?" I shot back, crossing my arms. "Because I'd wipe the floor with you, just saying."

"Not quite," he replied, eyes gleaming. "I was thinking more along the lines of a book recommendation challenge. You pick one for me, I pick one for you. Whoever enjoys their book more wins."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, you're on! But fair warning, I've got killer taste in books. You might be in over your head, pretty boy."

"Bring it, bookworm," he said, flashing a confident smile.

As we traded barbs, I felt the tension shift from irritation to something more playful. Maybe Jax wasn't such a pain in the ass after all. Maybe he was just a guy who needed a little nudge to lighten up. There was something about this silly challenge that piqued my interest, that made me want to engage with him on a deeper level. Maybe it was the thrill of competition, or maybe it was just the fact that he was willing to dive into something I was passionate about. Whatever it was, I was curious as hell to see where it would lead.

The rest of the day flew by in a whirlwind of laughter and unexpected moments. Jax hung around longer than usual, picking up books, flipping through them, and occasionally throwing me that infuriatingly charming smile. I found myself looking forward to our next encounter, wondering what our little book-off would bring. There was something about Jax that was both annoying and captivating, and I wasn't sure which side would win out in the end.

As the sun started to set, casting a warm glow over the shop, I realized my life had taken a turn I never saw coming. I was surrounded by books, laughter, and a hint of something that felt suspiciously like romance in the air. And for the first time in forever, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

With a grin plastered on my face, I locked up shop for the night, ready to embrace whatever crazy adventures tomorrow might bring. After all, life was a story waiting to be written, and I was determined to make mine a fucking bestseller.

As I headed home, my mind was buzzing with ideas for Jax's book recommendation. Should I go for something mind-bending that would keep him guessing? Or maybe a heartwarming tale that would crack that tough exterior? The possibilities were endless, and I found myself actually excited about the challenge.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, a former corporate drone turned bookshop owner, engaging in a book-off with the town's resident bad boy. If someone had told me a year ago that this would be my life, I would have laughed in their face and asked what they were smoking.

But as I walked home, the cool evening air nipping at my cheeks, I realized I wouldn't have it any other way. This new chapter of my life was unpredictable, sometimes frustrating, but always exciting. And Jax? Well, he was just another plot twist in my story, one that I was surprisingly eager to explore.

I unlocked my apartment door, kicking off my shoes and heading straight for my overflowing bookshelf. Time to find the perfect book to knock Jax's socks off. Game on, mystery man. Game on.