JAX (The Beckett Boys, Book Two) (8 page)

When my phone vibrates again with yet another incoming message, I shut it off and close my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep.

* * *

I
exit
my philosophy class and feel my phone buzzing again in my jeans pocket. That sick lurch overtakes my stomach. Is it Jax? After I didn’t reply to his messages from last night, he left me alone. To my relief
and
my disappointment, if I’m honest.

I’m not ready to talk to him though. I don’t even know what to say. If I try to explain, I’ll just sound like an idiot. Maybe the best way to handle this is to ghost out, just stop talking to him.

At least it’s Friday afternoon. I’ll hang on campus this weekend. Stick close to my dorm and study. God knows I could use the time. I’ve spent far too much time mooning over Jax already, distracted and unable to focus on my coursework. This should be the perfect impetus to get me back on track.

When I return to my room, I finally peek at my phone, ready to delete the message before reading it. But it wasn’t Jax texting me. It was my mom.

I smile and dial her number, wanting to hear her voice, not just message her. “Hi, Mom,” I say when she picks up.

“Brooklyn! I wasn’t expecting a call. What a nice surprise.” I can hear the warmth in her voice, and for a moment I feel homesick, my heart aching. Back in New York, things aren’t this complicated. Life is straightforward. I know what’s expected of me, who I am, what I want out of my life. But here, things have changed since I met Jax. He flipped everything upside down.

She and I spend a few minutes catching up on things. Mom tells me how her trip with Dad went—they visited a friend of his in Spain, which is why they didn’t make it to Aubrey’s wedding. She gushes about the food, the atmosphere, repeating several times how much I’d love it there.

“So are you ready to come home for the summer?” Mom asks.

What a loaded question. Part of me says yes. That I need space to lick my wounds and get over whatever the hell this is I’ve been feeling for Jax. But the other part knows once I get home that things will be just the way they were before I left—with Mom and Dad directing my actions, nudging me on what I need to do. Keeping tabs.

My freedom will be gone. I’ll be back to my plain, unadventurous self. The one who never does anything wild or unexpected. The one who follows the rules.

“It’ll be great,” I force myself to reply. If I say it enough times to myself, I’ll start to believe it.

“I’ve already grabbed job applications for you,” she continues, enthused. “So you can work during the summer. I’m sure you’ll want to save up money.” Mom goes on for several minutes about the companies she searched out for me, and I find my heart sinking. She’s already planned everything out for me.

What about what I want?
I ache to ask.

I know she’s trying to do what’s best for me. But even more so, I know she wants to fill my time so I don’t have the ability to mess up the way Della did. Find a wild boy and have sex and get knocked up.

Too late, Mom
—at least on the first part, I think to myself and smother a bitter laugh. I give the appropriate affirmative sounds to whatever my mom is saying on the phone and try to pay attention.

“We’ll see you soon,” Mom says. “We’re excited about graduation. How are those classes going?”

“Fine,” I say automatically. Well, okay, so I didn’t study as hard as I did this week, but I’ll make it up this weekend. God knows I’m going to be swimming in free time anyway. It’s obvious Jax is going to leave me alone now.

That’s good, right?

Mom and I utter a few more pleasantries, then we hang up. I plop my phone on my bedside table and fling myself back on the bed. Sigh and stare at the popcorn ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about how he was last night—utterly wild and out of control, not caring about anything but partying and being the center of attention.

Silly me. I thought there was more depth to him. I would have sworn so, in fact. But maybe I was fooling myself. And yet, I know I wasn’t. I know whatever we shared on my bed was genuine, if fleeting.

Doesn’t matter now. I left the bar without a word. Surely he’s pissed at me about it. Probably why he’s stopped texting. I’m better off this way.

I can’t help but miss him, just a little.

Okay, more than just a little. Somehow, after just a few times being around him, he’s managed to work his way into my brain and take up residence there. I’m the worst kind of idiot, because I know what he is, how he is. Yet I’m sitting here thinking about him anyway. Wishing he was here, touching me with his big, capable hands, murmuring soft words in my ear.

I don’t want to think about Jax.

I sit up and grab my textbook and stare blindly at the chapter we just went over for a good fifteen minutes. Telling myself I’m not going to think about Jax at all.

Not one second. Not one little bit.

I tell myself that and know it’s a damn lie.

I
fucked up
. Big time.

I sit at my beat-up kitchen table and sip on coffee. It’s just after three p.m., and I only managed to rouse myself out of bed a half hour ago. My head pounds, a testament to all the shots I consumed last night. Way more than I usually do.

Why did I drink so much?

I groan and rub the aches across my skull. It’ll take a little longer for the ibuprofen to kick in. My own stupid fucking fault—I deserve to have my head feel like it’s ripping in two for how I acted in front of Brooklyn.

Some dumb-ass impulse on my part made me act that way, showing off to the crowd, riling them up. Proving to her and to me that I’m a hopeless cause. I sabotaged it, and she doesn’t want to see me again now. Probably for the best, right? We’re wrong for each other, and God knows I’d end up just fucking it up in the future.

That’s what I do, after all.

I stare down at my coffee. My stomach is a knot of tension. When I realized Brooklyn was gone, I sent her several texts asking why she left. Drunk Jax was initially pissed at her just going without saying a word and sent a curt message or two about it. Then Drunk Jax became moony and a little desperate from her silence and asked her to at least let him know she got home okay.

None of the messages received a reply.

I reread them when I got up, shame making my skin hot at all the drunk, fumbling typos, the emotional flip-flopping.

Shit, no wonder she doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m a fucking mess. I ignored her, and she left. Even though she came there to see me—no matter what she says, I know that’s what happened. Brooklyn did something outside of her comfort zone and paid me a visit, and I was a dick, and she saw through my bullshit and decided I wasn’t good enough for her.

I know I’m not, but having her realize it…it makes some stubborn part of me want to prove her and everyone else wrong.

I finish the last swig of coffee and hop in the shower. Showering doesn’t wash away my sullenness. I give a heavy sigh and towel off. Slip into clean clothes. I need to find her and apologize. Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot, but she didn’t deserve for me to treat her like that. At least I can tell her that it was my bad, and if she never wants to see me again, well, it’s what I get.

I exit my house and hop in my car. Stop by a flower store and pick up a small bundle—can’t hurt, right? Ignoring the way part of my brain is taunting me for how I’m trying to woo her, I drive to her campus.

It’s hard to swallow past the tightness in my throat as I make my way up to her dorm room. Will she even be here? I have no idea. I rap on the door and wait.

A moment later, it swings open, and her roommate is staring at me, her face a smooth, expressionless mask. I think her name is…Gail? “Jax.
Quelle surprise.
What are you doing here?”

I hold up the flowers and give her my most charming smile. “I’ve come to see Brooklyn. Is she in there?” I try to peer over her shoulder.

“And why should I tell you?” Ah, there it is…the frozen judgment in her voice. Clearly, Brooklyn has talked to her.

Do I keep trying to layer on the charm? I’m not sure how well it would work with Gail. She seems like a ball buster. Like she can see right through my usual bullshit. I sigh and drop the flowers to my side. “I fucked up. I want a chance to talk to her.”

She studies me for a long time, so long that I start to lose my cool and struggle against the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. One perfect eyebrow is arched as she coolly says, “You hurt her feelings, you know.”

My stomach sinks. Fuck. “I can make it up to Brooklyn.”

“That’s not really an apology.”

This time it’s my turn to arch my eyebrows. “Well, you’re not the person I need to talk to about it, are you.”

That makes her give me a toothy, primal grin. She leans against the door. “No, but I am the person who knows where she is. I know her way better than you do. And if you’re sincere about wanting to have another chance with her, I’m your best bet. But you’ll have to prove yourself to me first.” She eyes me up and down. “I’m not letting some player wiggle his way back into her life who doesn’t deserve to be there.”

Wow, this girl is hardcore. I have to admit, I’m impressed. She’s got a backbone of steel. I’m not getting by her—at least, not today. “Fair enough. Will you give her these for me and tell her I’ll be back tomorrow to talk to her?”

She takes the flowers. Gives a curt nod. “
If
you come back tomorrow, I might be persuaded to open the door for you.” A challenge. I can do that.

I give her my biggest charming grin. “Hon, It’s a date. I’ll see you then.”

* * *

L
ate Saturday morning
, my arms are full as I walk up the dorm room stairs and head to Brooklyn’s room. I kick the bottom of the door, and when Gail opens it, she eyes me in surprise and gives a huge belly laugh.

“Okay, Jax,” she says, looking at the massive flower bundles in my arms. “You might be laying it on a bit thick for Brooklyn.”

I peer over the top of the flowers. “Oh, these aren’t for her.” I thrust the mass into her arms. “I wanted to make a good impression for our second door-date.”

Gail just shakes her head, chuckling for several moments. “You do have a way about you. I can see why she’s drawn to you, Jax. You’re trouble, that’s for sure.” She disappears for a moment, then comes back, her arms empty. “Brooklyn isn’t here.”

“I kinda figured, since I haven’t heard any other sounds in the room behind you.” I was hoping she might be, but of course it isn’t going to be that easy. No doubt Gail told her I was going to come around today and she vanished early.

I can’t blame her for avoiding me, but fuck if I don’t want a chance to see her anyway. I slept for shit last night, thinking about how I could have played things differently on Thursday night.

Gail leans toward me. “Sorry, bud. I promised her I wouldn’t let you know where she is.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” I say. “I’ll just go to every building on campus and ask around until someone tells me.”

“You’d do that, just to talk to her?” Something flickers in her eyes.

“I need to,” I say baldly. Truth is, I miss her. I grew used to our silly chatter in text. I want to smell her skin again, taste that beautiful mouth. I want to hear her give me shit for being vain.

She sighs. “Fuck. This is going to get me in trouble, so you’d better not fuck it up. She’s in the library. Probably at her usual spot—third floor, in the back stacks at a small group of tables. It’s quiet there.” Gail’s jaw hardens. “Don’t make me regret telling you, Jax. I’m not kidding. I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt, and you don’t want a pissed-off lesbian on your ass.”

I can’t help it; I blurt out, “I dunno, that sounds kind of sexy.”

Gail’s laugh is genuine, and the tension on her face eases. “You’re fucking nuts. Go. Get out of here, asshole. And I don’t want to see you here again if you don’t make it up to her.” She spins me around and shoves at my back.

I walk with purpose back to my car, grab the other massive bundle of flowers I stuck in my backseat, and walk to the library. Try not to feel like my next move is one of the most important I’ve undertaken in a long time. When’s the last time I cared this much about fixing a mistake?

This isn’t like me. But Brooklyn isn’t just some girl.

I walk through the library’s massive double doors and get quite a few interesting looks. I saunter up to one of the girls standing near the entrance and say, “Where’s the elevator?”

She points to the back corner. “Over there.” A pause. “Those look like apology flowers.”

“Here’s hoping they work,” I admit.

That makes her laugh. “Good luck,” she calls to my back.

When the elevator reaches the third floor, my heart gives a small lurch and I step out. Move toward the area Gail pointed me in, and there she is, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, upper body hunched as she writes furiously in a notebook. Even seeing her in profile steals my breath. She’s so fucking gorgeous it makes my chest ache.

Get your shit together,
I warm myself. This isn’t the time to dissolve into some sappy, spineless fuck. I walk toward Brooklyn, putting the flowers up high enough that I can barely see over the tops, and then clear my throat.

She looks up, blinks in surprise, clearly taken aback. When I drop the flowers down and reveal my whole face, the surprise fades to a multitude of emotions—none of them good. Brooklyn turns back to her material and sighs as she closes the book and notebook. “Gail caved, I see.”

“She ran me through the wringer, to be fair,” I murmur.

“I don’t want to do this,” she says, pushing her belongings into her backpack. She stands and starts walking away from me.

Fuck. “Wait. I need help,” I tell her.

That stops her in her tracks. She spins on her heels, brows quirked. “The great Jax, admitting he needs something? Someone write down the date.”

“These flowers are getting heavy,” I tell her with a wide grin. If she’s talking to me, busting my balls, I still have a chance. I just have to keep her talking.

“Guess you should have thought of that before.” She slings the backpack over her shoulder but doesn’t move. We stare at each other for a moment, and I drink her in, those wide eyes, her curvy lips, the V of her throat. She purses her lips. “Okay, so what do you need help with?”

“I need to find a book.”

That knocks her off her guard. She looks taken aback. “What?”

I step closer and drop the flowers to my side, clenching the massive bouquet in my fist. When I’m just a few inches away, I can smell the warmth of her skin, her lotion, that familiar flowery scent that makes me hungry for her all over again. “Will you help me?”

“What kind of book?” Her voice is low. She’s still staring at me.

“I want to borrow a book on how to make up for being a huge ass. Think they carry something like that here?”

She’s fighting a laugh, I can tell—she struggles to keep her lips thin and pressed together, her face even. “I think you need more than one book on that subject. You’ve had years of practice being an ass, I’m sure.”

“It’s true. It’s a fatal flaw.” I put the flowers on a nearby table then dare to reach over and cup her upper arms. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away. “Brooklyn,” I say quietly. Lift one hand to stroke her chin, her jaw, her delicate throat. “Let me make it up to you.”

Her eyes get a tinge of uncertainty in them, and that flash of raw emotion threatens to undo me. I did this to her, made her scared of being with me, made her vulnerable. I really am a dick. This is what I do, how I manage to fuck things up. How I sabotage my own life.

“Nothing crazy,” I promise her. “Just food.” I want more, my body aching for her just by being in her presence, but I’m not going to think about that right now.

“Just food?”

The tension in my chest eases. Thank fuck. I raise my brows. “Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we? You can rip off my clothes later.”

She shakes her head and gives a genuine laugh. “I must be insane. Fine. Let’s go have some food.” Her gaze glides over to the flowers, and she picks up the bundle and smells them. Her face softens. “Wildflowers. These are really pretty.”

“Seemed appropriate,” I admit with a sheepish shrug.

We exit through the elevator and I follow Brooklyn out the door.

The sunshine has warmed the air up more so there’s barely a hint of chill in the air. The fates are smiling on me.

“So where are we going?” Brooklyn turns her beautiful face up toward me.

I can’t help it. I grab her elbow, stop her in her tracks, and press a kiss to her mouth. There was no way I was going to make it another minute without tasting her. When she sighs and parts her lips for me, I cup her cheeks and deepen the kiss. Take her mouth. All the cells in my body surge to life, and for the first time since Brooklyn left the bar, I feel good. Whole.

This is right.

I pull away, leaving her breathless. Her mouth is swollen from my kisses and her eyes are slightly glazed and she’s pliant in my arms. I want to stroke her pussy through her jeans right here, and it’s hard to keep my hands on her face instead of roaming her body. I ask her, “How do you feel about a picnic?”