Jet (Marked Men, #2)(27)



He was like a gigantic, blond teddy bear, only covered in ink and rocking badass chops and sporting a wicked tattoo of an anchor on the side of his neck. He did a whole lot of nodding and grunting in response, but never interjected or told me to calm down. The sun was coming up by the time my eyes were finally too heavy to keep open, and even as I drifted off to sleep, all I could see was Jet sneering and telling the crowd that he didn’t play any kind of love song.

I woke up done. Done feeling caught between the past and the present. Done trying to think twenty steps ahead, because no matter what I did, good or bad, I ended up getting hurt and feeling awful. I was hurting good people and acting impulsively, and all I had to show for it was some seriously twisted feelings for a guy who I couldn’t even get to see the real me.

The resolve was great, and I felt ten feet tall until the front door to the apartment opened while I was folding up the blanket and putting away my makeshift bed. I turned to see the current cause of all my strife come waltzing in with a couple of coffees, as if he hadn’t turned my everything upside down last night with a simple touch and a kiss to end all kisses. Those dark eyes were even more shadowed than normal, and his mouth was pulled tight, like he had to stop himself from saying something that would set everything off once again. It pissed me off even more when I remembered that he looked really, really good with a little overnight scruff on his face in the morning.

I glared at him and crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”

He offered me one of the coffees, but I shook my head and moved to put the couch between us. I didn’t know if he had gone home alone last night, didn’t know if he had gone home at all, and that was one of the major reasons I had taken Rowdy up on his offer to crash on his couch. If Jet had been alone, I would have been tempted to smother him in his sleep. If he had come home with another girl, not only would I have had to move out the next morning, but I also would have had to hire a lawyer because a double homicide would have been certain.

“Cora told me you were here, and I was hoping we could talk before I took you home to get ready for work.”

He sounded kind of lost, like he wasn’t really sure what he was doing here himself. I couldn’t forget that he thought I was just some innocent little flower who shouldn’t be touched by dirty hands. I was so sick of him thinking he knew anything about me or how I really felt about him.

“I heard everything you had to say loud and clear last night, Jet. No need to repeat it—in fact, please don’t. I’ve had enough of you telling me how things are between us to last a lifetime.”

He sighed and I felt how deep down it came from. He set both the coffees on the table in front of the couch and shoved his hands into his jeans. I wondered how he had room.

“That was a shitty thing I did last night. I’m sorry.”

I bristled automatically, because even though I was madder than hell at him, I didn’t want him to be sorry for touching me and for making me feel more than I had felt in years. I wanted him to be as affected by it as I was, and to not be able to stop himself from doing it again.

“I thought you weren’t going to apologize for it, that you were just going to make sure it didn’t happen again.” There was bitterness there I couldn’t disguise.

His velvety eyes flared suddenly and the golden rims blazed with a passion that burned across the distance separating us. “I’m not apologizing for that, Ayd. God, I was up all night thinking about it, thinking about you. I’m sorry about the song, sorry for making you feel bad, sorry for being an *. You keep telling me I don’t know you, and that I don’t have a clue, but the truth is, we don’t know each other, and I don’t know that either of us is really ready to handle the other. What I do know is I want you more than I want to keep breathing.”

He sounded so sincere, and looked so earnest, that I felt something start to break loose in the center of my chest. And then it cracked wide open when he continued in a gruff voice. “My dad is a nutcase and an emotional wrecking ball. He knocked my mom up when she was just a kid and has spent all of his time since then beating her down emotionally. He has made her into this version of herself who has no will, no desire, and no drive to do anything but please him. He cheats on her, and he takes off for months on end and doesn’t call or say when he’s coming back. He’s never had a steady job, and to this day she works herself to death to support both of them, while telling me over and over again it’s not as bad as it really is.”

I saw his dark eyebrows pull low over his eyes and his hands turn into fists.

“I know I don’t ever want anything like that—I don’t ever want to be like that. I also know that no one in a long time has gotten to me the way you do. Girls come and go. I like to think we always have a good time, but none of them has ever stayed with me the way you do. Maybe you aren’t this paragon of virtue I try to make you into. In fact, after getting my hands on you and in you, I’m pretty sure you’re not even close. Why don’t you give me a shot to get to know the other side of you?”

“What exactly are you saying, Jet? You want to be friends with benefits? You want to wander across the hall and hook up occasionally? You need to clarify what we’re talking about because last night I could have happily strangled you.” My voice cracked a little, betraying just how badly the sting of his words and his dismissal of it all had hurt.

Jay Crownover's Books