Ch. 31 – Jax
S o. This was all manner of embarrassing. Jax clutched Rico’s shoulder as she slowly hopped across the parking lot toward her apartment building.
He sighed. “Just let me carry you.”
“I’m fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth, even as hot coals of pain lapped over her ankle with the rhythm of a heartbeat.
The night had not gone well. Her first reporterly stakeout had been an abject failure. She’d required rescue. And the gallant knight who had plucked her from oncoming harm? None other than Rico Torres, the man who tangled her emotions into a million knots and—by the by—probably thought she was missing a few bats in her bell tower.
They made it to the outdoor stairs, and Jax wobbled to a stop. “Okay, just give me a second,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
“This is stupid.” He plucked her up and into his arms.
God, it felt so good. Jax was furious.
“I could have made it,” she squawked in protest as Rico easily climbed the stairs.
“I know. You’re strong. Empowered. Blah, blah, blah,” he answered. “But this was easier. ”
She could feel the hard ridges of his biceps under her thighs and smell the tantalizing scent of woodsy cologne on his neck. Humiliatingly, Rico didn’t let her down when they reached the landing of her apartment. Instead, he held her steady as she dug out her keys and awkwardly unlocked the door. His breath tickled her neck.
He fiddled with the knob under her leg and pushed open the door. “Lights?” he asked.
“Got ’em.” She laid back in his arms, reached, and flicked the switch next to the door. Swinging around the coffee table, he set her down gently on the worn blue sofa in the living room.
“That was completely unnecessary,” she huffed.
“You’re welcome.” He smirked, obviously proud of himself.
Styles crept out of Jax’s bedroom and paused, his eyes alighting on Rico.
“Ah, the temporary cat. We meet again,” he said.
“His name is Styles,” Jax grumbled.
“Styles.” Rico nodded at the kitten. After a moment, Styles jumped on the couch and headbutted Jax.
“That reminds me, I’ll be right back.” Rico spun around and left the apartment, pulling the door closed behind him.
When he was gone, Jax looked at Styles. Styles looked at Jax. Exhaustion crashed over her, like a flood breaking through a dam. It was all catching up to her—the previous weeks of furious studying, last night’s off-the-books CCLC meeting, today’s full workday followed by the stakeout, and the utter depletion of her adrenaline stores. Her eyelids began to flutter closed as she sunk into the soft couch.
“Shit!” Her eyes shot open. Rico Torres was returning. Here. To her apartment. Her messy, tiny, shabby apartment.
Jax went from zero to sixty faster than an F1 race car. She levered herself up and onto her good foot and hopped furiously around the apartment. She stacked her school books and notes into neat piles on the coffee table, heaved plates and glasses into the sink, and scrubbed furiously at that weird, brownish stain that’d been on the counter all month.
In a minute, when the front door swung open, Jax practically threw herself back onto the couch, stifling a groan as her ankle landed on the armrest.
Her pain was quickly forgotten, however, when she got a load of what Rico was bringing into her apartment. In one hand, he held her black boot. In the other, he gripped the handle of a small plastic container. Two black, beady eyes stared at her from within the container.
“Ah, the temporary rat. We meet again,” she noted wryly. “Hi, Sancho.”
The large rodent stood on his hind legs and pressed his paws against the wall of his enclosure. His whiskers trembled as he sniffed.
She quirked an eyebrow at Rico. “And why exactly are you driving around with a rat in tow?”
“He gets separation anxiety,” he answered as if that explained everything.
Styles hopped onto the coffee table, sat back on his haunches, and stared at the rat.
“Your glass slipper, milady.” Rico set Jax’s boot next to the couch. He looked around the small apartment, taking in Haley’s completely rando décor choices, including the pink-and-white polka-dot rug, the dented street signs on the wall, and the large Marilyn Monroe screen print over the kitchen table. He glanced up and smirked at the glow-in-the-dark stars sticking to the ceiling. They were definitely going to lose their security deposit over those stars.
“My roommate decorated,” Jax said, self-consciously .
“I can tell. Not nearly as much black as I’d expect from you.” Rico gave her another trademark smirk before kneeling next to the couch and gently pushing up her pant leg. His fingers were featherlight and warm on her skin. His breath hit her leg, and goose bumps shivered across Jax’s skin. Something deep and hot in the core of her belly awoke in an instant, pushing away her exhaustion.
“It’s pretty swollen,” he said, a frown puckering his handsome face. “Do you have any compression bandages?”
“Under the bathroom sink.” She pointed at the door. Tape had practically been a requirement in her tennis days, and she’d never bothered to throw the remaining rolls away after she’d dropped the sport.
Rico ducked into her bathroom, and Jax cringed, knowing he’d see the smudges on the mirror, the hairs tangled in the drain, and the basket sitting on the back of the toilet cluttered with Haley’s crusty makeup bottles.
He was back in a moment, his strong hands on her ankle again.
“This is probably going to hurt,” he said before pulling a long strand of tape free from the roll. He began wrapping her ankle.
It did hurt. A lot. But Jax was surprised by his gentleness as pulled the tape taut around the top of her foot and then wound it up her ankle. Rico’s technique wasn’t nearly as smooth as the physical trainers who’d treated her in high school and at the university, but he got the job done. After a few minutes of gritting, she looked down to see her ankle and foot covered in white tape.
Rico paused over her foot and gazed at her. In the soft overhead light, his eyes were almost black, like a night sky she could get lost in. She loved the swoop of his blunt eyebrows, the strong line of his stubbled jaw. And those lips. She remembered what those lips could do .
He looked away first, stood, and walked to her kitchen.
Style batted at the plastic cage on the coffee table, and the rat scurried to the other corner.
“Styles!” Jax called to him, and he hopped over to her on the couch. Jax could see that even though the rat’s enclosure was obviously meant for traveling, it still contained a soft wood-chip floor, a plush rat bed, a few platforms, an affixed salt wheel, and some wooden blocks to gnaw on. All-in-all, Sancho had a pretty nice vacation home.
“You making yourself a snack?” she asked, twisting around on the couch to look into the kitchen. The freezer was open, and Rico peered inside, frowning.
“Don’t you dare take my ice cream,” she chided. She hadn’t forgotten the stolen trail mix incident. “That double fudge mint is all mine.”
He ignored her. “Where’s your ice?”
“Don’t have any.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “You don’t have ice? What are you, a cave person?”
She shrugged. “Don’t need it.”
“Bag of frozen peas?” he asked.
She scrunched her nose. “Yuck.”
He looked personally offended. “Peas are a great source of vitamin C, vitamin E, and zinc,” he protested before grabbing something from the freezer. He wrapped it in a dishtowel, returned to the couch, and pressed the cold lump to her ankle.
Curious, Jax dug through the towel. “Is that a chicken breast? You’re putting a breast on my ankle?”
“There were limited options, Jacklyn,” Rico responded. “You should keep some frozen peas in your freezer or, crazy idea here . . . some ice. ”
Jax wasn’t listening to his words. Her eyes were latched onto his lips again, remembering the taste of them, the feelings they’d awakened inside of her after such a long dormancy. Rico stopped speaking. His eyes caught her gaze, and she could almost feel the heat in his stare, the desire pulsing from him. His hand moved, as if on its own accord, stroking up her leg.
Then he stopped. He cleared his throat, removed his hand from her leg.
No, keep going, a soft keening voice whined inside her head.
“I should head out, let Theo know what happened,” he said, scooting back.
“I want a do-over,” Jax said, the words leaping unbidden from her lips.
He frowned. “A do-over on the stakeout? Not alone you won’t.”
“A do-over”—her voice went raspy—“on the kiss.”
That made him pause. He frowned, his dark eyes probing hers. She could practically see him replaying their last kiss in his mind. Her slamming the car door, fleeing from him.
It’d been so stupid of her to ask. Of course he wouldn’t—
“Are you sure?” Rico asked at last.
Jax didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
He rose, positioned himself next to her hip on the couch, and cupped her head in those wonderful, worshipful hands. His lips grazed hers, soft, teasing. She pressed in hard, and he backed away.
“Softly,” he whispered, his thumbs stroking her temples. “I want to take my time.”
He kissed her lightly, once, twice, then longer, his lips opening against hers. Jax wanted more. He was giving her drops of water after two years in the desert. But then she released a breath, closed her eyes, and sunk into his tender ministrations .
Rico’s lips became firmer, his tongue flicking into her mouth. Her arms reached around his neck, and he tilted his face to kiss her more deeply.
This was all so different than the sloppy, rushed kisses Jax had experienced in college. Those boys had pawed at her clothes and kissed her like they wanted to devour her face. Rico took his time, tasting and exploring, letting her warm beneath his lips.
Jax felt her body coming alive with his touch. Bubbling with heat and need. It felt raw and glorious. Rico released her lips and nibbled on her earlobe. His breath sent shivers down the curve of her neck, and her entire body tightened. She breathed in the scent of his cologne and glorified in the low moan he released.
His mouth found the tender flesh of her neck, and suddenly the darkness flickered to life in her chest. Fear fluttered on the edges of her vision. Her stomach twisted. With short, panting breaths, Jax pushed the darkness away, back down in its leaded coffin.
No! she told the terror, scraping to get out. Not this time.
“Is this okay?” Rico whispered against her neck.
“More,” she said simply.
He granted her wish, trailing slow, soft kisses down her neck, then reclaiming her mouth. She slipped her tongue through his lips to explore.
His hand stroked her leg, then moved to cup her breast.
Jax jerked back, the darkness banging on its coffin lid.
Rico dropped his hand, then gently pressed his forehead to hers.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what—”
“We go at your speed,” he said.
She wanted to weep. From gratitude? Embarrassment? A need to simply release the jarring mix of fear and want swirling inside her? She wasn’t sure. Maybe all of the above .
“Meow?” Styles asked. He stared at them from the armrest of the couch.
“I need,” Jax said, panting.
“Tell me.” His voice was a soft growl.
She gripped his shoulders, holding on to him as if he could protect her from the storm of her emotions.
“I need you to . . .” she tried again. The words bubbled in her mind. I need you to give me time. To be gentle and understanding. To tell me I’m not crazy or forever broken.
“I need you to . . . walk my cat,” Jax said, her courage deserting her.