Jax (Titan #9)(57)

"Tell me."

"You."

Seven's grasp on his hand tightened for the flash of a Vegas sign, but she didn't turn from the lights changing and blinking before them. "You know what I like?"

"Let's hear it," he said.

Her study of the neon landscape broke, and she turned. "That I haven't had to be anyone but me, and…" She shrugged.

His eyes narrowed.

"What?" she asked.

"Not for a million dollars do I think you'd act differently for a man."

She laughed. "Exactly. I'm self-filtering."

"What do you mean?"

With a smile and a forget-about-it headshake, she turned back to the window.

"Tell me," he urged.

"You think I should give you reasons to not like me after you just kinda, sorta said you thought I was cool."

Jax tipped his head back and laughed. "Princess, make your list. Thought you knew I give zero fucks what other people think."

She tapped his stomach with her knuckles, chuckling. "Jerk."

"Try me."

"I have hair better suited for a unicorn." She ticked up one gray fingernail. "I have kids. They're not mine. I don't think it matters, and that's a mind-screw to people. I can't imagine changing my last name. I like the outlaw history that comes with being a Blackburn, and speaking of family, my mother is Native American. Even in this day, people have unsavory opinions." She ticked off more fingers. "I run a business. Not every guy I meet likes that I take on the CEO role, and I work my tail off. If I don't do well, other people don't get paid. And…"

"And?"

"I've always liked older men. I've never been overly impressed with anyone my age, and now, maybe men in their twenties…" Seven sighed. "I wonder if it takes another decade of them asking questions and making mistakes to get to the right answers and adventures worth taking."

He'd wondered what she thought about their age difference. It wasn't much. But if Seven was about the twenty-four or twenty-six he'd guessed, she was on the money with her ten-year reference. "I promise you. My thirty-four years doesn't mean that I have all the right answers—only most."

"Ha," she snorted.

He didn't get why anyone wouldn't fight to have such a great girl. "A list like that scares people away?"

"That and I was married for a while. That sort of crimps dating."

He laughed. "Guess so."

"What's your list? On why you're the asshole I thought you were before I got to know you."

Amused to no end, he sucked his cheeks in. "It's shorter but probably worse."

"I'm a motorcycle club princess. You think you're going to tell me something I haven't heard or seen in action before?"

He cocked his head. "Touché." Jax interlocked his fingers with hers. "I'm simple really. Emotionally unavailable and unable to commit to anything longer than a job."

Seven pulled his hand in the air and let her fingers wiggle with his. "Okeydokey, smoky."

"She says patronizingly."

"No. I'm using you for sex." Seven crooked her head to the side. "Didn't I mention that?"

He laughed, again, for what had to be the thousandth time. "But I'm serious, sweetheart. I don't want to hurt you." He couldn't imagine doing that, but he also couldn't imagine… anything that had happened up to that point. Eventually, his normal self would kick in, and the painful memory of his wife's death would surface once again. Everything happened for a reason, and if it weren't for how and when Carrie died, Jax wouldn't have become a military machine, capable of anything his Special Forces team needed of him.

Seven's hand fell away, and damn it, explaining he didn't want to hurt her already had.

"Come here." She beckoned him to lean close.

"What?"

"Come on, Jax. All the way."

He obliged. After all, he'd upset her feelings without even meaning to by just warning her they'd have no future together. What if he was wrong? What if he should've kept his damn mouth shut? Because if everything happened for a reason… The vein at his temple pounded, and he bent closer instead of following that wicked, confusing thought trail.

"No one can hurt me, Jax," Seven whispered.

He drew back, surprised.

"Sometimes, something happens to you, and it hurts so bad, and you want it to be different so much that no other pain can ever compare. I'm immune to hurt."

Was that why she pierced her body? Dyed her hair? Though that wasn't a pain producer. Perhaps it gave her an adrenaline punch.

"Don't psychoanalyze me," she warned.

"I'm not." They were so much the same, it was eerie. "You're talking about your father, right?"

Seven nodded. "It hurt. I'm over it. Maybe it wouldn't be a big deal to others. Maybe if I didn't have to take care of my mom for so long or wasn't so closely tied to what he left us for… But I don't think it's possible to feel hurt like that. Don't worry about hurting me because I'm not sure it's possible to make me feel pain like that again."