JAX (The Beckett Boys, Book Two) (7 page)

I toss down my dishrag. Grab Sam’s drink and pour him another full beer. “This one’s on the house,” I tell him. “We appreciate you being a loyal customer.” Smith might get pissed about that, but who cares? Why aren’t we taking more care to retain the people who loyally kept us in business after Dad died?

Their needs matter, too.

Sam gives his first warm smile of the night. “Thanks, Jax. Always thought you were a good one.”

“Then you’re the first,” I tell him with a wink. I move out from behind the bar and head back to the office, where Smith is crunching numbers.

When I click the door closed behind me, he looks up, irritation in his eyes. “What?” he barks out.

I cross my arms. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, that much is clear. You’re in the office.” He gives an irritated sigh. “What do you want, Jax?”

“I don’t care for the way things are going with Outlaws, and neither do our regular customers.”

Smith sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, leaving small spikes on top. “We’ve gone through this before. We sat down and discussed what changes we were going to implement to keep the bar running.”

“But it’s not the same bar anymore,” I shoot back. “It’s just another generic joint where people can get generic beer and generic appetizers and have generic happy hour specials. We used to be different, one of a kind.”

“And we used to be on the verge of closing,” he retorts, holding up a bunch of receipts. “Do you remember how broke as fuck we were? Because I sure as hell do. I’ve been crunching the numbers every day.”

“So? Your big idea is to completely change us and alienate those who remained loyal through our hard times?”

“The people who remained loyal are cheap and rowdy and got us in trouble. We can’t afford that shit anymore.” Smith’s voice is getting a frustrated edge now. He stands up and glares at me. “What the fuck is going on here? Why are we getting into it now?”

“Because this isn’t working for me,” I tell him bluntly.

He stalks around the desk to stand in front of me, eyes narrowed. Smith is an intimidating fucker. But he’s my brother and I know all his tricks. “I’m sorry it isn’t working for you, princess. But our bills are getting paid, and the police and neighborhood are finally backing off. You haven’t had to deal with the brunt of their bullshit. I have.”

“Dad would be pissed if he saw what you were doing here,” I say, dropping the big ace in my hand.

Smith stills, his eyes hard on mine.

It’s true. And we both know it. As much as Smith might feel he’s doing good for the bar, he’s changing everything from what our dad intended. It wasn’t supposed to be some fucking generic bar—fuckers can go to Applebee’s or TGI Fridays if they want that kind of shit.

Outlaws was ours and it was supposed to be special.

What we had was great. Until he started fucking it all up. Putting out ads and coupons in the local paper, for God’s sake.
Coupons
. What the fuck.

“That’s a low blow,” he replies. “I think Dad would most want the business to stay afloat.”

I feel a twinge of guilt over my harshness, but it’s overrun quickly by my frustration. “So little of him remains now,” I say. “The bar was his legacy to us.”

“Right. To us. For us to do as we see fit.”

“Or as you do.” There, the words are out.

Smith inches closer to me, his jaw tight. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that you’re doing what you always do. You run with your own ideas and don’t bother consulting me or Asher.” My anger is a festering pit in my gut. “Even though this bar is part ours, too. But that doesn’t fucking matter to you, because you’re a golden god and you know better than anyone else what is right.”

“Fuck you,” he spits. “If you had to run this bar on your own, you’d see how fucking hard it is. Trying to keep a business running when everyone around you wants you to fail. I think Dad would be more concerned with staying in the black than with keeping true to your outdated vision.”

I turn away from him and leave the room. I’m so mad I can’t speak. I head back to the bar. I don’t give a fuck about the police, or anyone else who wants to shut us down. I won’t cower from them.

My anger spurs me into action. I saunter over to a table with two sexy women and their boyfriends. Shoving aside my emotions, I paste on a fake smile and lock eyes on one of the women, a brunette with great tits. “Hey, darling,” I purr. “What can I getcha?”

She responds instantly, her lips parting, despite her boyfriend’s glare. “Oh. Hi. Um, how about some kind of a cocktail with rum?”

“I’ll make it extra sweet for you,” I say, then lean forward. “If you can handle it, that is.”

The boyfriend stiffens. “Ahem.”

I ignore him and turn to the other girl. “And for you? Maybe you need something with a bit more punch than you’re getting.” I shoot a deliberate glance at the man beside her. His face reddens. Then I look back at her. “I bet you can handle it, can’t you.”

Her eyes widen, and she gives a shocked giggle.

The two men stand and shoot hostile glares at me, but both are smaller than me by a good few inches and several pounds. I release all of my anger and stare at them until they wilt.

They grab their girlfriends’ hands and tug them out of the seats, saying how Outlaws is dirty and greasy and they didn’t want anything here anyway. Then the four of them leave.

I’m petty. Petty as fuck. But a small part of me gets a burst of pleasure from fucking up my brother’s big plans to have a bunch of local shithead preps come into the bar.

Let’s see if they ever return again.

For the next half hour, I spend my time ignoring anyone who isn’t a usual at Outlaws. Fuck them—if Smith wants them served, he should do it himself and crawl out of the office. I whistle and pour beers, and I’m happier than I’ve been in days.

The front door to the bar opens, and a group of college-aged girls step in, their eyes blinking wide as they check out the place.

And then my heart gives a strange lurch—in the back of the group is Brooklyn.

T
he moment
I walk into Outlaws, with the loud metal music blasting, the smell of beer pungent in the air, the clusters of rowdy people shoving each other and giving blaring laughs, I know I’m out of my element.

I’ve never experienced a place like this before. Something so wild and out of control. I can see why Jax loves working here—it seems right up his alley. Is this really what he’s like? I can’t help but wonder. And remember how he was last time I saw him, lying naked in my bed, his eyes so vulnerable, him sharing things about his past.

The Jax I see at the bar isn’t like that at all. He’s serving drinks, giving coy winks, flirty smiles. And people are responding to it, clamoring for more, like moths to a flame. The same way he draws me.

My chest tightens in a flare of jealousy. I try to ignore the feeling, but it won’t go away. Jax isn’t mine, I remind myself. Just because we shared something new to me doesn’t mean it was
that
meaningful to him. I’m sure he’s gone down on a bunch of girls.

The thought turns my stomach.

“Come on, Brooklyn,” my friend Dianna says with a squeal. She tugs my hand and leads me toward the bar. “This place is fucking awesome! I bet we could find some hotties to hook up with.”

“For sure,” I murmur, pretending I’m not feeling off balance. Like I haven’t been replaying what we did over and over again the last few days.

Jax’s eyes land on me, and when I see the desire in his eyes, my heart has that strong surge of emotion I felt earlier. He gives me a warm smile.

Could this attitude he’s showing while behind the bar be just a business façade? Maybe I’m judging him too harshly, making assumptions about his feelings or what he thinks about me and what happened between us. After all, he is at work. And to make tips, he needs to be social.

Embarrassment swirls in my stomach. God, I’m overemotional. This isn’t like me. I press a hand to my belly and proceed forward with Dianna and Jennifer, the other friend we brought here.

An hour ago, we were sitting in the dorm lobby, eating Doritos, and they both jumped up and said they wanted to go out to a fun bar. Of course, since I don’t go bar hopping a lot, I didn’t have any good suggestions…except Outlaws. So here we are.

Jax doesn’t take his eyes off me the entire time we walk to the bar. The heat in his eyes is potent, makes my skin shiver.

I can tell he’s thinking about going down on me, and my whole body is on fire. Because I’m thinking about it too, have been since it happened, and I want it to happen again. Plus, I didn’t get to make him come—after we laid in bed and talked for a while, he pressed a sweet kiss to my head and left.

I know he wanted more, but he didn’t push me for it. Why? He seemed to enjoy me tasting him. He was super hard in my mouth. So why not finish it?

It’s a question that’s plagued me ever since.

Dianna sidles up to the bar. Gives Jax a bold look. “Hi.”

“Hi.” His reply is warm, but he keeps shooting me glances. “What can I get you lovely ladies?”

“Something good to slide down our throats,” Jennifer says, giving a husky laugh. I know she’s just being her usual flirty self, but it sets my teeth on edge.

I never told them about Jax for multiple reasons. Now I’m thinking I should have. Because I couldn’t deal with either of them coming on to him. It’s ridiculous to think, but I can’t help but imagine him as mine, at least in some capacity.

Hell, his mouth has been on my most intimate spot. No one else has been there before—that should give me a little bit of ownership, right?

Jax smirks at our group and shuffles over to grab a bunch of liquor, shaking and stirring and muddling and pouring. He presents three glasses of dark pink drinks in front of us. “I whipped up rum runners for you guys. They’re strong and good and guaranteed to make you smile.”

When we go to dig money out of our purses, he waves us off.

“This round is on the house. I’m just glad to see you, Brooklyn.” Finally, words directed right at me, and there’s so much warmth and intimacy that it makes me flush.

Dianna and Jennifer, drinks in hand, shoot me shocked looks. Cat’s out of the bag now—of course, I figured I’d have to tell them at some point tonight. They recover fast. “Thanks,” Dianna says to him.

We head over to a standup table.

“Okay, you’re going to tell us what’s going on, right?” Jennifer asks, pushing a blond strand of hair behind her ear.

I give a heavy sigh. I don’t really want to talk about it all—partly because I’m afraid if I do, I’m going to give away how conflicted I feel. But I need to say something. So I explain how my cousin married his brother, and how we’ve gone out since then. It’s a little bit of a stretch to call what we’ve done “going out,” but it’s the closest thing I’ve got besides admitting that he’s licked my pussy in my dorm room bed.

Dianna gives me a long look, remaining silent. “I’m surprised,” she finally says. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy you normally date.”

“He’s not. It’s not that serious, of course.” Because I already know Jax, and nothing about him is serious. I’m not foolish enough to hope for more. “It was just a one-time encounter.”

I say that, and I act like it was nothing, but I know I’m lying. Because part of me wants to believe he thinks I’m special, too. That I’m different. That I’m worth more than a casual one-off fling. He’ll never want anything other than that though, despite the little piece of my heart that keeps remembering how we dropped those walls in bed. How he revealed vulnerable parts of himself to me. I may be innocent, but I’m decent at reading people. Jax was sharing his genuine self.

“He’s cute, I’ll give you that,” Dianna says with a sidelong glance to Jax. He’s talking up a couple of customers, and looking at him makes me feel both swoony and aroused. Reminds me of how those hands, how that mouth, felt on my naked body.

Why can’t I stop thinking about it? Maybe because it was so intense and amazing and deep down I want more.

“But let’s be real,” Dianna continues in a pitying tone. “He’s totally not your type.”

The words stick under my skin and dig at me, taking away my earlier glow.

Dianna is right, of course. Jax isn’t my type. Nor would he ever want to be. I think he’d rather hang himself than date just one girl. Which is why I can’t let him get any more traction in my heart. I’ve spent the last few days exchanging a couple of texts a day with him. Nothing in particular discussed, just random hellos and flirty quips, but enough to keep him on my mind.

I sip my drink, focusing my attention on the liquid in the cup, and try to act like I’m just fine. But some small part of me wants to cry a little bit. It’s a silly response, but he makes me feel emotional. He makes me feel a lot of things.

Things I don’t want to.

Things I’ve been desperate to.

A warm hand strokes my lower back, in the seam between my low-slung jeans and my top, and I turn around to see Jax standing there. My skin tingles from the contact—he keeps his hand on me. The possessive gesture makes my core clench. God, this man…the things he does to me…

“How are ya, darling? Didn’t expect to see you here.” His voice is low, little more than a rumble, but it makes my skin vibrate.

“We’re having a girls night,” I tell him. I try so hard to fake like I’m not drunk on his presence.

“Here? Interesting choice.” He gives a crooked grin. I know he can see all the emotions on my face, despite me trying to pretend everything is casual.

“To be fair, it’s the only bar I could remember,” I reply flippantly, tossing my hair.

He laughs. Leans close to me, his lips brushing my ear. Feeling his warm breath and the caress of his mouth on me makes me hot all over. “You’re good at putting me in my place, darling.”

“Someone has to,” I say. “Otherwise, your ego might get too big.”

Dianna and Jennifer don’t say anything, just watch the exchange. I can feel their eyes boring through me. I’m so going to get the third degree about this later. But right now, I can’t seem to care.

Jax is here, and he’s touching me, and it’s where I most want to be.

“Ever poured drinks before?” he asks suddenly.

I blink and pull back. “Um, no?”

His smile is so bright it makes my heart hurt. Oh God, this guy is so damn cute and endearing. I want to bottle that smile and carry it with me. He grabs my hand. “Come on. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

For the next half hour, Jax keeps me close and shows me how to make cocktails, pour beer from the tap, and work the customers. I absorb his lessons quickly—I have to admit, being behind the bar makes me feel special, not like just another girl he’s messed around with. Surely this isn’t a usual thing for him? The looks a couple of other girls are giving me indicate it isn’t.

Every time he passes by me to pour a drink, or he guides me to where I can find the appropriate liquor to do the pouring myself, his hand is on me. And every time he touches me, my desire for him ramps up.

With each passing minute, my whole body is more on edge, my nipples hard, my lower belly tight. He brushes behind me, and I can feel his hard length pressed along my body. He’s obviously turned on too, which just makes me more aroused.

“You’re doing amazing,” he murmurs in my ear. I can hear the smile in his voice, and my body responds. I want to please him, have him touch me more. God, the things he does to me. It’s insane.

“You’re not a bad teacher.” He hasn’t been—he’s been patient and fun, and I’ve actually enjoyed learning more about what he does and how he does it. It’s also given me a little more respect for him. Taking care of customers isn’t an easy task. Make that dozens of thirsty, needy, and drunk people, and things get more difficult.

Yet he stays patient, right on top of things.

Jax is a natural with people. No wonder everyone is drawn to him the way I am. When he looks at you, you feel like you’re the only one in his circle of existence. It’s heady, intoxicating. I find myself wanting him to keep looking at me like that, as pathetic as it sounds.

“Jax!” a guy at the bar yells. He’s burly with a massive red beard. His tattoos cover almost every exposed part of his body. He doesn’t look at me at all. “Fucker, do a shot with me.”

Jax laughs. “In a minute, man.” He goes back to pouring beer for an older woman in a tight T-shirt. She doesn’t take her eyes off him—you’d think he was pouring liquid gold on his body from the way she’s staring. Either she thinks he’s hot, or she really wants that beer.

When she gets the drink, she sighs and swallows almost half of it down, then burps. The men around her laugh. Well, I guess that answers that.

“Jax!” the red-bearded guy yells louder. “Stop being a fuckface and let’s do a shot.”

“Fine, fine!” Jax holds up his hands. “Our usual?” He grabs several shot glasses and pours generous amounts of vodka in them. Hands one to me.

“No, I’m good,” I say, waving it off. I’m the designated driver for the evening—I don’t want to be wasted.

“One shot, darling.” He gives me a wink.

“Nah, you drink it for me.”

He tilts his head and downs the shot almost before I can finish my sentence. “Fuck yes, the burn,” he bellows, and the people at the bar yell back at him. It’s evident they love him. Know him way better than I do.

I feel like an outsider looking in, standing behind the bar useless now. My earlier intimacy with him is gone as I watch Jax pound several shots in a row. He jumps on top of the bar and starts kicking glasses off the surface, and the crowd bursts into laughter and applause.

“Outlaws!” Jax says, spreading his arms wide, his eyes closed and face tilted toward the ceiling. “If you’re proud to be wild, let me hear you!”

The whole place erupts. People flood to the bar to watch the spectacle, and I find my stomach sinking. This is the Jax he was when I first met him at the wedding rehearsal. Party animal, life of the room.

Flippant, uncaring about anything.

I slip out from behind the bar, through the boisterous crowd, and go back to my two friends. They’re staring at him in shock.

“He’s…” Dianna gives me a knowing look. “Has this gotten him out of your system, sweetie? He’s clearly not for you.”

My eyes suddenly sting with tears I’m fighting to not shed. She’s right. I know it, and my friends know it clear as day. Jax is crazy. He doesn’t have a serious bone in his body.

“Let’s go,” I tell her, fumbling under the table for my purse. I just need to leave. It was a stupid idea to come here. What did I think would happen, that he’d profess some sort of intimate feelings for me, a desire to date only me? I scoff at my stupidity. No, Jax is much more at home here…with the people who worship him. I’ll never be enough for him.

Jennifer gives me a hug and strokes my hair. “It’s fine, honey. Screw him. Besides, he’s not that hot, anyway.”

I pull back and give a sniffling laugh, wiping at my nose. She’s a terrible liar, but it’s sweet of her to try.

“He’ll just hurt you in the end,” Dianna adds, her tone taking on a motherly edge. “You’re better off ending it now before you get too deep.”

I nod. I know she’s right. I know it and I hate to admit it.

We make a beeline for the door. No one stops us. Doubtful Jax even notices I’m leaving. I tell myself I don’t care. I get in the car and drive away. Drop off my friends at their dorm across campus and park my car.

Make my way to my dark room, strip off my clothes and put on a tank top and shorts, and lie in bed for a good half hour, staring at the ceiling.

My phone buzzes.

I jump out of reflex and peer at the screen. There are a few missed text messages I didn’t hear while I was driving. All from Jax.

I don’t bother to open them. I delete every one without reading. My heart lurches, and I fight the sensation. I don’t care—it’s better this way. He’s wrong for me, and I knew it, yet I still let myself get tangled in him. Better to end it now before my heart gets shattered, as Dianna warned. Because I have a feeling he could break me apart. I’m already in danger of wanting too much from him—sexually and emotionally. Stupid, stupid. It’s more than clear that Jax will never be ready for that.