Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jaxi
Don’t do it.
Boone’s smile licks at my defenses.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was intentional.
Don’t do it. Don’t crack.
I smile back because I’m human, and it’s the polite thing to do. I also dip my chin just a touch because a little flirting—enjoying an utterly divine man’s attention—has never hurt anyone. Too much.
“I’m what?” I prod, wondering where he’s going with this.
The options are endless. He could say that I’m just as stubborn as he is. Maybe he’ll go with the fact that I’m a pseudo-felon at the moment or that I’m funny. I do have a decent sense of humor. But the way my stomach twists makes it clear that I subconsciously want him to say I’m pretty.
I fight hard not to roll my eyes at myself.
Why do I care if this guy thinks I’m pretty?
Because you’re a woman, fool.
Boone begins to answer me twice. Each time, his mouth opens and then closes. With each near-answer, my stomach does a little flip-flop that frustrates the logical part of my brain.
Finally, he seems satisfied with whatever he’s about to say. I hold my breath and hope that I’m just as satisfied … even though I’m not certain what answer that would be.
“You’re a pistol, I think,” he says, that glorious Southern drawl melting over me.
I sigh—mostly in relief.
At least that keeps things clean and balanced.
This response allows me to retreat into Libby’s house and not think that he’s attracted to me.
Not that it matters if he were—my life is going in a different direction right now, but it could complicate things.
God knows I don’t need to complicate my life just when it’s starting to fall in line.
“That’s been said before,” I say.
He licks his lips. I try not to stare.
Not staring is hard because running into men who are this attractive isn’t a daily occurrence. Not for me, anyway.
He’s tall with wide, thick shoulders. I’d bet that he has enough muscles to pick me up with ease, but he’s not strong enough to lift a refrigerator. It’s a nice balance that’s underappreciated.
His thighs fill out the denim that, upon quick glance, makes him seem like an average Joe. A heather-gray thermal shirt adds to the vibe. But it’s the details—the quality stitching on the jeans, the heavy watch, the clean lines of his haircut—that level him up.
And he’s charming.
It’s an enticing package.
For people who want to be enticed.
“Coy is sending a guy over here to get you inside,” Boone says as if he owes me an explanation. “It shouldn’t take too long since he was already at Coy’s.”
“Do all of your brothers live that close?”
“None of them live too far away.” He slips his phone into his pocket. “They’re having a family dinner at Coy’s now. He and his new wife just moved to a new place, and it’s a housewarming thing or whatever you call it.”
My stomach sinks. “And you’re here. Because of me.”
“It’s fine. They get on my nerves anyway.”
He smiles at me as if to say, See? You’re doing me a favor. But I don’t buy it. There was too much easygoingness from him on the phone, and it rang too many times without any grumbling for him to be annoyed.
“So, did you fly in?” He looks up and down the street. “Did you drive?”
“I got an Uber from the airport. Didn’t figure I’d be going many places this week, so I didn’t get a rental car. If I have to go somewhere, I can borrow Libby’s car.”
He furrows his brow. “Where did you say you were going?”
“Hawaii.”
The word comes out cheerily—as it should.
It’s freaking Hawaii. I have dreams of pristine beaches and fresh pineapples and early morning hikes on the weekends.
Time spent with a journal or a good book.
There’s nothing not cheery about any of that.
But there are less-than-joyful reasons as to why I’m going across the world, and I can see in Boone’s eyes that’s what he was really asking.
And I’m really not answering that.
“I need to grab my bag,” I tell him, stepping onto the manicured lawn that I mentally gave Ted props for maintaining when I got here.
“Where is it?”
“Over here.”
I pass a short, thick palm of some sort and green bushes cut to the exact same size. At the far corner, behind a plant with large, waxy leaves sits my backpack.
“You hid your backpack in my landscaping?” he asks from the steps.
I sling it on. “Yup. What else was I supposed to do with it?”
“Good question, I guess.” He watches me approach. “That’s all you have?”
I stop in front of him and try to ignore the way he smells like fresh laundry mixed with faint notes of cinnamon. “This is it.”
“Did you say you sold everything you own?” He bites the inside of his cheek. “Because you’re moving to Hawaii, right?”
“That’s what I said.”
Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “You’re not going to talk about that, are you?”
I press my lips together in displeasure.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk about my woes to him specifically.
I don’t want to talk about them at all. The more time I devote to time in the past, the less time I can spend in the right here and now.
And, considering the right here and now includes a guy with cheekbones to fit a model, I’m good without spilling my dirty laundry in the front yard.
“Do you really want to stand here and listen to me tell you all about my problems and failures in life?” I ask.
The mischief spreads to his lips, quirking them up in the corners.
“I didn’t think so,” I say, gripping the backpack straps at my shoulders.
“I didn’t say no.”
“You didn’t say yes, either. When people are sure of something, they just say yes.”
His brows pull together. “I have to disagree.”
“Good for you.”
I start across the lawn toward Libby’s. I don’t look to see if he’s following me. It’s not necessary. His energy bounces off me from behind.
“Saying yes to things too quickly is a bad idea,” he says in a rush from what can’t be more than two steps away. “You should listen to a question before you answer. Trust me. If not, you get roped into things like dates and events and favors. And work.”
I chuckle. “Work?”
We stop on the sidewalk leading to Libby’s door. He shoves his hands in his pockets and wears a sheepish grin.
“I didn’t mean work, work,” he says. “That made me sound super lazy, didn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. It did.”
“Great,” he says with a groan.
My cheeks ache from smiling. “Who am I to judge you? You want to be lazy? Fine. What’s it to me?”
“Exactly. You can’t break into my house and then start throwing around judgment. What kind of person would that make you?” He narrows his eyes. “It would make you a criminal judging me for not being passionate about spreadsheets.”
I gasp, making him laugh.
He leans against a pillar on Libby’s porch, one long leg crossed in front of the other. He chuckles to himself while his fingers fly over his phone screen. A shit-eating grin spreads across his cheeks.
As soon as his eyes lift to mine, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from Libby.
Libby: YOU brOKE INTO BOONE MASON’S HOUSE? OMG JAXI.
My gaze snaps up to Boone’s.
“You told Libby?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He smiles. “I wanted to make sure she knew you made it.”
I roll my eyes. “I think you were trying to embarrass me.”
“I just told her the truth.”
“Which was …?”
“That we met.”
“I bet.”
A truck pulls up to the curb and honks twice. A big, burly man hops out of the truck. He makes his way to us.
“Heya, Boone,” he says in a thick accent I can’t quite place. “Heard ya need some help.”
“Thanks for coming, Leo,” Boone says. “I need a door opened. Can you help?”
Leo’s laughter is more cackle than anything. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Boone tries not to laugh as he looks at me. “I guess it does.”
“You’re damn right it does.” Leo takes a set of long, thin metal pieces with curved ends out of his pocket. “This is all on the up-and-up, right?”
“That’s what she tells me,” Boone teases, elbowing me in the side.
“Of course,” I say, firing Boone a warning glare that just entertains him more. “This is my cousin’s house. She forgot to give me the keys.”
Leo slurps what I think is tobacco spit out of the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
I’m not sure who they are, nor am I sure how Boone knows Leo. It doesn’t seem like a peas-and-carrots sort of situation. But after the day I’ve had, I’m too tired to really think it through.
A pop ricochets through the air and, with a twist of the knob, the door springs free. Scents of apples and cinnamon waft through the air.
“There ya go,” Leo booms. “Piece of cake.”
“Thank you,” I say, slightly befuddled about how quickly he was able to unlock the door. “That’s, uh, a handy little trick you have there.”
He slips one thumb through a strap on his bib overalls. “I could teach ya someday, if ya want.”
Boone laughs. “You better get back to Coy’s, or you’ll have lots of time on your hands quick.”
Leo laughs right along with him. “I ain’t scared of him. Besides, we’re done for the night. Only have another day or two out there, and the recording studio will be done.”
Recording studio? I look at Boone curiously, but he ignores me.
“Coy will be happy about that. He’s getting antsy to start on a new album,” Boone tells Leo. “And, to be honest, I’m tired of his agent up my ass all the time. I’ll be glad to get back to normal.”
Leo nods. “All right. If that’s all, I’m heading home to get some dinner. Wife made some pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and I’m a-starvin’.”
“Of course. Go home and eat. Thank you for coming by,” I say. “What do we owe you?”
Leo pats Boone on the shoulder. “Eh, I’ll add it on my invoice to Coy. He’ll never know the difference.”
“No. Wait. I—” I begin to protest, but Boone cuts me off.
“Charge him double. He can afford it,” Boone tells Leo, making him laugh. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, my man.”
“Later. And it was nice to meet ya, darlin’,” Leo says.
“You too,” I tell him, my voice drifting off in confusion.
I want to argue about the payment. I certainly don’t want to owe Boone’s brother—a man I don’t even know. I don’t want Libby feeling like I inconvenienced her neighbor either. But, by the time I get my bearings, Leo is climbing in his truck, and Boone is waving goodbye.
Shit.
Boone faces me. His smile begins to slip as he takes in my face.
“What?” he asks.
“I’m not going to let your brother pay for this,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“Sure I can’t.”
His smile falters. “Jaxi, honestly, it’s no big deal. Leo had to go right by here on his way home. Besides, he had fun picking that lock. It probably reminds him of stories we don’t want to know.”
My eyes go wide. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” he deadpans. “Do you feel a kindred criminal spirit with him?”
I smack him on the arm. He grabs it and pretends to be in pain. I, on the other hand, pretend not to notice how solid his biceps are.
“Are you sure?” I ask, gripping my backpack strap again in hopes that my brain will focus on that sensation and not the contact it just made with Boone’s arm. “I don’t want to—”
“I’m sure. Conversation is over.”
The air from Libby’s house filters around us, encouraging us to come inside with its sweet scents. The longer Boone and I face each other, the thicker the silence gets between us.
I want to invite him in. It’s been a very long time since I could talk so easily with someone. While it’s probably just because he and I don’t know each other so nothing that we say matters, it’s still refreshing not to have to choose my words carefully or avoid topics altogether.
Besides, he’s interesting. His brother apparently has a recording studio and he knows a guy like Leo. People usually know one kind of person or the other.
Boone waits patiently for me to say something, and I wonder if he’s waiting on me to invite him inside. Would he come inside if I asked? What would he expect? Anything?
Suddenly, a weight filled with reality seems to drop out of the sky and land on my shoulders.
I blow out a tired, uneven breath. “I would like to pay you for Leo’s time.”
“No. Besides, he wouldn’t take money from you if you begged him.”
My stomach twists.
“Consider it a gift,” he says, trying to convince me to accept the gesture. When I don’t bend, he shifts his weight and tries again. “Consider it a gift to Libby so you don’t tear up her windowsill.”
A grin flickers on my lips. My heart skips a beat at his kindness and his insight. I loathe feeling vulnerable.
“Thank you,” I say, still not sure, but realizing I’m not going to get anywhere with him right now.
“You’re very welcome.”
My heartbeat quickens, and I try not to blush. I step through the threshold before turning around again. Boone is watching me closely as he backs down the steps.
“If you need anything, just come over,” he says. “Crawl through a window if I don’t answer …”
“Asshole.”
He laughs. “I mean it, though.”
I grip the side of the door. “I know you do. Thanks.”
He pauses for a long moment as if he anticipates me saying something else. I should, probably. It feels like I should. But I don’t.
Finally, just as the wind picks up and ruffles his perfectly coiffed hair, he grins. His hand comes up in a semi-wave before he jogs off across the lawn.
I watch him until he’s nearly at his front porch before I come to my senses and shut the door as quickly as I can.
Then I lock it too.
Maybe it’s to be safe.
Maybe it’s to keep people out.
Or maybe it’s to keep me in so I don’t go jogging after Boone Mason.
That man has probably had his fill of Jaxi Thorpe and the chaos that surrounds me for one night.