Chapter 66 #2
He lets go of me so fast I almost stumble again. I recover with as much dignity as someone half-drunk can manage. “Fine,” I say, stepping back. “Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“To dance.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh come on.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You did at The Formal, remember?”
I grab his wrist and pull him into the middle of the room, my grip firm enough that he has to follow. “Okay,” I say, standing tall, my arms raised in a defiant arc. “First position.”
He stares at me, his expression a mix of amusement and pure exhaustion.
“Rabbit.”
“Do it.”
He sighs like I’ve just asked him to climb a mountain without a rope, then awkwardly lifts his arms, his movements stiff and unfamiliar.
I burst out laughing.
He attempts a turn. Nearly trips over his own feet, stumbling forward with a grunt. “You’re a terrible teacher,” he huffs, straightening up.
I laugh harder, doubling over, clutching my stomach. “You’re a terrible dancer.”
“Oh yeah?” he grumbles, his voice laced with mock offense. “Show me something else, then. Something easy.”
“Easy?” I straighten up, wiping a tear from my eye. “Okay, bad boy. Lift your arms out to the side, like this.”
He does, his movements stiff and awkward.
“Good. Now, port de bras. Move your arms. Slowly. Like you’re… caressing the air.”
He tries. His arms move in jerky, uncoordinated circles. It’s the most ungraceful thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t help it. I dissolve into another fit of laughter, stumbling back against the bar. “Stop, stop, you’re going to pull something!”
“I’m not that bad,” he mutters, lowering his arms with a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. “It’s just… you’re so stiff. All that muscle and no grace. It’s a shame.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Grace isn’t what I’m good at, rabbit.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “No? What are you good at?”
He takes a step closer. “Breaking things.” His gaze flicks down to my mouth and back up. “And cleaning it up.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “So dark,” I tease, though my voice comes out breathy. “You make it sound like you hurt people.”
“Only when I lose control.”
The words hang in the air, a confession and a warning all at once. I watch him as he drifts back toward the bar, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and taps one loose. He lights it, the flame a small, defiant spark in the gloom. He holds the pack out to me.
I hesitate for about half a second before taking one.
“Tar City rules?” he asks, his voice low.
“Tar City rules.”
We smoke in silence for a moment, the music playing in the background.
I hop up onto the bar counter, legs swinging slightly, watching him.
Jax leans against the counter across from me, arms folded, studying me through the smoke.
For a little while, the years between us don’t feel like a chasm at all.
They almost feel like they never happened.
“Okay,” I say suddenly.
“What.”
“You tell me a secret, I tell you one.”
He squints at me, suspicious. “A secret?”
“That’s what friends do,” I say. “Right? We’re friends now.”
His mouth twitches. I point at him. “And don’t pretend you don’t remember. Like that time in the tunnel? Getting to know each other.”
“You’re reminiscing a lot tonight.”
“I do that when I drink, I think.” I shrug. “Lucas used to say that.”
Jax’s eyes flick up. “Lucas said what?”
“That every time I drink I start talking about my past like I miss it.”
He takes another drag from his cigarette. “How’s boring Lucas?”
“Haven’t seen him since he picked up his things,” I say. “Almost a year ago.”
I flick ash onto the cup next to me, the gesture careless. “Don’t distract me.” I point at him again. “The game.”
Jax sighs.
“Relax,” I say, grabbing the bottle again. “It’s simple.” I pour two more shots. “One secret each round,” I say, sliding one across the bar.
Jax studies me for a moment. “Fine.” We clink glasses. “To secrets.”
We drink.
I wipe my mouth. ”Okay,” I say. “I’ll go first.”
Jax leans back against the counter. “Let’s hear it.”
I pause dramatically. “I once wore the same lucky socks for an entire competition season until the dressing room threatened to burn them.”
Jax nods once. “Reasonable.”
I laugh. I point at him. “Your turn.”
He coughs before answering. “When I was a kid I used to fake being sick so my dad would stay home from the hospital.”
“Oh shit,” I say, my laughter dying in my throat. “You were supposed to keep it stupid this round.”
“My bad,” he says, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
And there they are, like they’ve been waiting for their moment all night. I stare.
Jax lowers the shirt slowly. “You good?”
“Yes,” I say immediately.
His mouth twitches. “You look like you’re having a moment.”
“I am not having a moment.”
“You were staring.”
“I was observing the new tattoos.”
Jax raises an eyebrow. “New secret?”
I squint suspiciously at his torso.
“Fine.”
His eyes narrow.
“Don’t lie, Rabbit.”
I take a deep breath, the alcohol making me brave. “I really, really, really want to lick your abs.”
Jax spits his drink across the bar.
I burst out laughing. “What?” I say. “I’m not actually going to do it.”
He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head.
I blink. Well, that escalated quickly.
He tosses the shirt onto the counter. “Happy?”
I lean forward, studying him with exaggerated seriousness.
Jax laughs under his breath and grabs the bottle again.
I move slightly on the bar, trying to get comfortable. “Your turn,” I say.
Jax doesn’t answer. Instead, he sets the bottle down slowly, then he walks toward me. Steady steps until he’s standing between my knees, his hands resting on the bar on either side of me.
The music keeps playing somewhere behind us, but it suddenly feels very far away. He leans in slightly and I think he’s about to whisper something intimate and dirty. Something drunk. Something we probably shouldn’t say out loud.
His mouth brushes near my ear. “You want to know my secret, rabbit?” His breath is hot against my neck.
I nod.
“I can do magic.”
I blink, then I smack his arm. “Shut up.”
He doesn’t laugh. I hit him again.
“That’s not even—”
His hand catches my wrist mid-swing. Before I can pull away, he drags my hand down and presses it flat against his stomach. Right over those stupid, unfair abs.
“You’re ridiculous,” I say, but my fingers betray me, sliding slightly as if testing whether they’re real.
Jax’s mouth curves. “Wanna play another game?”
I pull my hand back, refusing to give him the satisfaction. I tilt my head, studying him like I’ve just remembered something important.
“Well,” I say slowly, sliding off the counter.
His eyebrow lifts.
“You do owe me an orgasm,” I tell him.