JAX (The Beckett Boys, Book Two) (2 page)

I linger outside for as long as I dare, enjoying the silence around me. There are only a couple of other people out here now, near the far entrance of the hotel, their voices little more than soft murmurs.

I really hope tomorrow goes well. Aubrey wanted me to sing, and despite my nerves, I agreed.

I clear my throat and whisper-sing the piece I chose, just to make sure my voice is ready and I have the song memorized, even though I’ve practiced it a hundred times over the last week. As I sing, the words fill me—a song about love, hope, forever.

A mental image of Smith from earlier, looking at Aubrey like she’s the center of the universe, makes the words trail off, and I go silent, my throat tight. Does that sort of love exist for everyone, or just for them?

Will it even last? Is he true?

I can’t help but hope yet again that he doesn’t break Aubrey’s heart the way my poor sister got hers crushed.

Aubrey feels he’s worth the risk. What does it matter what I think? I’ll just be here to support her no matter what.

I rise from the bench, dust off the back of my skirt, and head toward Aubrey’s car. I already put the decorations in a bag in the back, and the Beckett’s feisty Aunt Sylvia gave me the car key. I pop the trunk open and tug the bag out. Rest my hip against the passenger door, legs crossed at the ankles.

And wait.

And wait.

Ten minutes pass.

Then another five.

Each minute that ticks by makes my blood boil a little bit more.
I knew it.
I knew he wouldn’t be here. Everything about Jax is so predictable. He’s probably still drinking—when I left the table, he was throwing down beer after beer like it was his job.

Or maybe he’s passed out somewhere by now.

I go back into the restaurant, which has a few laughing and talking people clustered around tables and at the bar. No sign of him. I weave through and peer in every corner just in case he’s there making out with someone…or doing more.

Where the hell is he?

My jaw tightens as I stomp up the stairs one flight then toward our block of rooms. Aunt Sylvia told me his room number over dinner, giving me a knowing look and admitting that Jax could be “flaky” sometimes and I might have to hunt him down. Right. Flaky.

I go up to his door, just a few away from mine and across the hall, and give a couple of hard raps on the wood.

There’s a sound like murmuring voices on the other side, and then nothing.

I knock harder and don’t stop until the door is ripped open and Jax is standing there in nothing but his unzipped jeans and mussed hair. He blinks in surprise, his eyes a little bleary, then gives me a slow, sexy smile.

“Room service?” he asks me in a purr.

Behind him, a light voice says from the bed, “Jax, hurry, I’m getting lonely over here.” I see bare feet with pink toenails sticking out the end of the king-sized bed, sheets rumpled around slender calves.

I take a deep breath and release it, willing myself to calm down. Of course he’s here, with a girl. Of course. Because Jax is nothing more than a walking, talking cliché. Why would I have thought otherwise?

“You’re supposed to help me with the car decoration,” I say as calmly as I can, holding up the bag I’m clenching in my other hand. “Do you even remember me asking you that? Or did that somehow slip your mind in the last ninety minutes due to your many distractions?”

He laughs, his eyes sparkling at my sharp tone. Nothing phases this guy. Everything’s a big joke to him. “Of course I remember. I just…lost track of time.”

“Jax!” The voice is more insistent now. “Who’s at the door? Is it booze delivery? That would be awesome.” She giggles.

Jax eyes me up and down, his look languid and warm, and I hate myself when my body gets this strange hot flash all over. “Fuck, I bet you taste better than aged whiskey on my tongue,” he says to me in a low voice, his eyes growing dark. “What’s your name again? It’s a city or something, right?” He tilts his head to the side, not taking his eyes off me.

“Never mind,” I tell him in a huff. I clench the bag in front of me, more a gesture of self-defense than anything else. “I’ll just do it myself.”

I spin around to go and hear his soft chuckle follow me down the hall. “If you insist, darling. Thanks for taking care of it.”

“It’s Brooklyn,” I retort, not turning around, keeping my back stiff. “Not ‘darling.’ I have a name.”

Jax gives another husky laugh, which grates at me, and then the door clicks closed behind him. I head outside to do the decorating myself.

* * *

A
half hour later
, I pull back from the car and eye it. Perfect. The forecast said there should be no rain, so I took a chance and covered it with crepe paper and white paint, filling the inside with balloons and even a few condoms tied off and taped to the dashboard. I’m a little winded from blowing so many up by myself.

Don’t think about Jax,
I order myself as I snap a few shots of the car and send them to my sister. She’ll get a kick out of it.

It doesn’t matter. I got it done, and after tomorrow night, I most likely don’t need to see that douche ever again. He’ll be an irritating memory, nothing more.

In a few weeks, I’ll have my bachelors finished, ready to take summer break, and then start the masters program at my college. My life is moving forward in a positive direction; letting some drunk man-ho rattle me isn’t my style.

After all the crap that happened to Della, she made me swear not to be like her. To not give up my virginity to someone unworthy just because he has a gorgeous smile and a way with words.

I can only imagine how many people have fallen for Jax. Maybe he keeps trophies from all of his victims, the way a serial killer does. The serial man-slut. The thought makes me laugh and flinch at the same time. Whatever. He’s not my concern. He can do whatever he wants, so long as I’m not impacted by it.

I’m going to go to bed—tomorrow’s the big day, and I need to look my best.

F
uck
.

My head is throbbing like a train smashed into my face at a hundred miles an hour. I groan and roll away from the bright light streaming in through the hotel room window. Fumble for my phone to see what time it is.

Well, at least I didn’t oversleep. I have time to get my shit together, shower, shave, and take about a hundred ibuprofen before meeting my brothers for a late lunch pre-ceremony. I sit up, the sheet falling down to my waist, and realize the bed is empty. Just as well—Patty or Patsy or Pinky or whatever her name is had to go do pampering girl shit with Aubrey this morning to prepare for the wedding.

I stand and stretch. Yawn. Grab a handful of pills and down them with water from the sink. Scratch my ass and turn on the shower, then hop in. Fuck yeah, the hot water beating down on me feels amazing and helps restore some of my humanity.

After soaping up and scrubbing most of the hangover away, I set about making myself look presentable. Shave and dress and run my fingers through my hair. I glance at my phone. Only running five minutes behind—that’s good for me. Smith will be proud.

I laugh and slip into my shoes, then click the door closed behind me. No sign of anyone else in the hall, including…what was her name? The brown-haired chick with the hostile green eyes. Brooklyn.

Something about her spurred me into wanting to tease her, prod her, see how she would react. She screams virgin, from her uptight stance to her shock at seeing me in just my jeans last night. I can’t really bust her balls too much though—to be fair, she did take over decorating the car, a task I find on the same entertainment level as going to the dentist or renewing my driver’s license.

No thanks.

I head to the hotel restaurant and see my two brothers in the corner, leaning toward each other and talking. Smith’s tension practically radiates off him, and Asher is trying to calm him down.

I meander over and grab a seat across them, plopping in the chair. “’Sup, bitches.”

Smith gives a deliberate slow look to his phone and says, “Thanks for showing up, wanker. It’s only the most important day of my life. No big deal.”

I roll my eyes. “When did you become so dramatic?” When Smith opens his mouth to say something no doubt hostile, I laugh and say, “Kidding, kidding. I know how important today is for you. I promise I’m not going to fuck it up.”

The waitress comes over, an older woman with a tight bun and stress lines around her eyes. She looks at me. “What can I get ya?”

I give her a crooked grin. “Coffee, as strong as you can make it, if you don’t mind. I have no regrets…except some of the shit I did last night.”

That draws a small chuckle out of her. She shakes her head. “You look like you need at least two coffees, sweetness. Coming right up.”

I clutch my heart and dramatically say, “I’m wounded.”

When she walks away, her step is a little lighter.

“Is there literally no one you will not flirt with?” Asher asks.

I wink at him. “Everyone wants to feel beautiful for a moment. I feel like I was put on earth to help women with that.”

“Your arrogance is astounding,” Smith says in a droll tone. “I don’t know why this shit surprises me by now.” He sips his own coffee and eyes the menu. “Anyway. Aubrey’s been working hard at the wedding, so please help make sure nothing bad happens today, okay? She’s stressed about making it all perfect.”

I salute. “You got it, boss.”

Asher nods. “No problem.”

I get my coffee, we order, then spend the meal bullshitting about everything and anything to help keep Smith from flipping his shit—how the Tigers fare for this upcoming baseball season based on the games to date, how Asher’s semester is going, and Smith’s concern about closing the bar this weekend for the wedding—to which Asher and I both tell him to shut up.

Aubrey still has some work to do on him, I can see. But I have noticed he’s relaxed over the last few months, not the control freak he was before. He’s even entrusted me to do more tasks around the bar.

I toss down money to pay for the bill, and we stand. I stare at my oldest brother, who’s about to give up bachelorhood in just a few hours. My chest tightens, and I fight back the response. Just because he’s married doesn’t mean everything is going to change that drastically, I tell myself. But I know that’s not true.

Everything is going to be different.

We’ve always been a tight unit, despite our fights over the years, especially as he took over the parenting role when our dad passed and we were essentially orphaned. And now Aubrey is the most important person in his life, and I can’t help but feel…weird.

“Okay, see you at three,” I tell him in an overly jovial tone, giving him a hug and clapping him on the back. “It’s all going to go fine. Pull your head out of your ass and stop stressing.”

“You have the rings, right?” he asks me.

I nod and pat my wallet in my back pocket, where I stowed them yesterday after he gave them to me for safekeeping. “Tucked away safely, bro. Chill out and go have a drink or something.”

I tell my brothers bye and saunter out of the restaurant, tossing our waitress a little wink and enjoying how her cheeks flush in response.

I know I’m a flirt. I love women—I love smelling them, tasting them, touching them, and I can’t get enough of it. And why should I? I’m only twenty-three, I’m single, and I’m part owner of Outlaws. Life is pretty damn good, right?

Too good to want things to change when they’re finally going the way they’re supposed to.

In the lobby, I grab my wallet and flip it open, just to confirm the rings are still there. My chest gives a hard kick as I only see a few bills, nothing more.

I know I distinctly tucked them in here, where they’d be safe. I reach into my back pockets and then my front pockets just in case, but they’re empty. Fuck. Fuck.

No, everything is fine. I probably just lost them in the room. After all, I did pull out a condom last night from my wallet, so maybe the rings fell out.

My anxiety loses its edge, and I head to my room. I’m sure they’re on the floor or something.

I search the floor.

I search the bed, taking off the sheets and shaking them loose.

I search the bathroom. My bags. My pants from yesterday. Even the bedside table. Nothing.

God, I’m in deep, deep shit. I sit on the edge of the bed and groan, cupping my head in my hands. What the fuck am I going to do now? I’m still slightly hung over, and doing this much thinking sucks.

Okay, I can figure this out.

I hear voices walking by my door and suddenly remember Brooklyn rapping on my door last night. If anyone can help me figure out what to do, it’ll be her.

She has that ‘get shit done’ vibe that’s good in a pinch. And god knows I’m in a pinch now…

Did she go to do the spa day with everyone else? If so, I’m fucked.

Maybe I’ll luck out and she’ll be in her room.

I walk there and knock on the door. After a moment, it opens, and Brooklyn’s standing there in a dark blue springy dress with her hair pulled away from her face. Her makeup is light, but her eyes shine and her lips are slick and pink and I feel this sudden urge to kiss her mouth.

She frowns at me. “What are you doing here?”

Oh. Right. Rings. I tear my attention away from her mouth and back up to her eyes. Give her a half smile. “So, I think I messed up big time and I need some help. I…” I force my smile wider. “I might have lost the wedding rings.”

Her eyebrows fly up in shock as she gasps, then that pleasant and bland mask falls back on her face. “And why am I not surprised by this?” The judgmental undertone in her voice digs at me. I don’t want to care what this uptight girl thinks of me. And I don’t, because it doesn’t matter. I’m comfortable in my own skin.

“You can stand there and tell me what an ass I am, or you can help me fix this and be the hero of the wedding,” I tell her smoothly. “But we have to figure it out now, because the ceremony is in an hour and a half.”

“Nothing like a ticking time bomb to kick off a major life event,” she says. I can see the disdain for me clear in her face; this girl doesn’t like me. At all.

She doesn’t like me, but I didn’t just imagine her reaction to me last night—her fevered blush as she saw my jeans almost falling down my hips. She doesn’t like me, but she wants me.

Brooklyn sighs and turns around to grab her purse, closing the door behind her as she comes into the hall. From the glimpse I saw, her room is pristine, the bed made. Shocker.

“So walk me through everything you can remember about what you did with the rings,” she says, all business now.

I explain it to the best of my ability.

When I mention waking up and the rings being gone, Brooklyn’s eyebrow arches.

“What?” I say, feeling annoyed already, and she hasn’t even really told me what she thinks yet.

“The girl you were with last night obviously took the rings.”

“Who Patty—Patsy? She wouldn’t do that,” I say.

Brooklyn laughs in disbelief. “You don’t even know her name, but you’re so sure of her moral fiber? Okay, then.”

Shit. She has a point.

I vaguely remember getting the girl’s number and putting it into my cell. I pull out my phone and find her name in my contacts list—Patty. I knew it was Patty.

I send her off a quick text asking if she remembers seeing the rings.

Brooklyn’s arms are crossed, watching me the whole time, and I can feel the judgment radiating off her, but I ignore it for now.

When Patty texts back and says she didn’t see anything but she’s happy to come and help me look, with a little winky smiling face emoji, I sigh and shake my head.

“She doesn’t have them, she didn’t see them,” I tell Brooklyn.

There’s a long silence as Brooklyn considers all of this. Her expression is thoughtful, her lips pursed. I once again feel the sudden urge to taste them, and then remind myself that I’m in the middle of a full-blown crisis, and besides, this girl has an attitude on her and is way too uptight.

Not my style at all.

“Okay, so we’re just going to go buy two more rings to replace them.” She digs into her purse and pulls out her phone, scrolling through her photo album. “Ah-ha! Success.” With a triumphant smile, she shows me a picture of a wedding ring set. “Aubrey sent this to me last month after they chose their rings.”

The smile on her face totally changes her look. She’s no longer prissy and condescending. No, she looks like a breath of fresh air, like innocence and happiness, and I find myself drawn to her, shocked by the personality change. Wanting to see her smile like that again.

“You’re a genius,” I tell her with a genuine smile of her own. Damn, I have the best ideas—I knew seeking her out would work. And yet…shit. Two problems. One, where the hell do we find these rings…and two, where do we get the money for them?

I grab her by her small hand and lead her down the hall. We’ll sort those details out in the car. Right now, we have to get the fuck on the road and be back before anyone else knows what happened. My brain whirs with ideas on where to get money immediately as Brooklyn stumbles to keep up with me.

“You’re walking really fast,” she says in a breathless tone.

“Do more cardio, darling. I have a
lot
of stamina.”

I can almost hear her rolling her eyes, and I laugh. She’s so predictable—any comments about bedroom activities totally set her on edge, draw out a reaction. I like that. “You don’t know a thing about my cardio habits.” But I notice she hasn’t drawn her hand out of mine yet.

The skin is soft and warm, and it hits me that it’s been a while since I’ve done something this simple. Holding a hand. Simple and intimate… I smoothly let it go and press my hand to her lower back instead, guiding her to my car.

“Our ride, milady,” I say with a flourish.

Brooklyn sucks in a breath as she checks out my ride, a classic dark orange 1973 Plymouth Cuda. Total muscle car—my dad was a huge fan of them and always wanted one. When he died, I found a used one online and bought it on the spot.

“This is gorgeous,” she breathes as she runs her fingers along the trim. “Please tell me it has a Hemi.”

I gasp and clutch my chest, trying to gloss over the fact that I maybe just popped a little bit of a car boner when I heard her say Hemi. “Are you kidding me? A gearhead? Say it ain’t so.”

Archly, she opens the door and slides in. “You don’t know a thing about me, Jax.”

Fuck. I have to admit, as I make my way to the driver’s side, that she’s right. I’ve made a lot of assumptions about her based on her type. But Brooklyn’s sparking my interest, and I’m finding myself curious to see what else is going on under that prim-and-proper surface.

“Your goal,” I declare as I rev the engine, “is to find a local place that sells the rings.”

She whips out her phone. “I’m on it.”

I weave us through traffic onto the freeway. I hear her fingers tapping across the screen as she searches.

“Bingo!” Brooklyn declares, pumping her fist in the air. “I think we have a winner. There’s a jewelry store about…twenty minutes from here straight down the highway, according to the map. Let’s give it a shot.”

“Nice job.” I pull off the highway, and she gives me a confused look.

“Where are we going?”

“We need money first,” I tell her, then wind my way to the front of Outlaws. Since the bar is closed, no one is in the parking lot, so I get a spot easily in front of the door. I shut off the engine and say to her, “Be right back.”

Her door closes a moment after mine, and she follows me in as I key the front door open to the bar. It’s quiet, with the scents of cleaner hitting me square in the face. Since Smith got together with Aubrey, our place has never been so clean. Not even any peanut shells on the ground.

That was one of my favorite drunk games—stomping on shells. Bummer.

“What are we doing here?” she asks me.

I head back to the office, Brooklyn on my heels, then squat in front of the safe. “I’m getting money, of course. Keep up, darling—I don’t have time to explain it all.”