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In a flash of movement I was back on the couch again, my heart racing a mile a minute. I set down his whiskey in the spot where his wine had been, and pulled out my phone so I could pretend to be on it.
He returned to the room still warm and flush from the shower. Only now he was wearing a T-shirt, and a pair of loose-fitting sweat-shorts.
“All better?” I smirked, without looking up.
“Much.”
I watched as he sank tiredly back to the couch, the cushions spitting out air beneath the weight of his bulk. Eventually he reached for his whiskey.
“What are you doing here, Harper?”
It was a good question. I wasn’t so sure myself.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you show up here at midnight, after getting rejected upstairs—”
“I did not get rejected upstairs.”
He made another smug face. I shot him an even scarier-than-before glance.
“Whatever.”
There was truth in what he said, of course. I had shown up to Adrian’s apartment tonight looking for something more than a nanny gig. We both knew that. Just as we both knew I’d been surprised and angered by Amy’s presence.
Still, I had no right to be. Up until last week, I hadn’t spoken to either of these men in years. Adrian owed me absolutely nothing. I hadn’t asked him about his personal life, so he’d never really lied. I’d just assumed that since he was separated from the mother of his child, he was single.
That didn’t make the whole thing any less bitter for me, though. Sitting in his empty apartment, taking care of his son while he was out with someone else? It was a tough pill to swallow. The only consolation, really, had been Brayden himself. The little boy was smart, sweet, and heartbreakingly adorable. We’d bonded instantly he and I, laughing and playing together until, finally exhausted, he’d fallen asleep in my arms.
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here,” I finally admitted. “But now that I am here, I did want to tell you something.”
“Your Star Wars socks finally came in the mail?” he quipped.
I shook my head slowly. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about your brother.”
Jax paused for a long moment, but his expression didn’t change. Eventually he tilted his glass back and drank all his whiskey at once.
“You didn’t put ice in this,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“You didn’t ask for ice.”
“Ice in whiskey is implied, unless specifically—”
“God, why are you such an asshole?”
He sat there doing nothing. Just staring back at me.
“I’m serious!” I shouted, practically into his face. “Every time we’ve ever talked, it’s all sarcasm and insults and quips and—”
“You ever think maybe I just don’t like you?”
I glared back at him scathingly. “Ever think maybe you’re just a belligerent dick?”
“Nah.”
I could feel my temperature rising with each passing second. He was so infuriating!
“Asshole.”
