Jax (Titan #9)(68)

Right?

The knock at the door came at the perfect moment before she exploded like a volcano and pounced on him, wanting to shake him until he had some kind of suitable reaction. At least he was a pro at ordering room service. That had never been a quality she knew she wanted in a husband, but she had never sat down and made a list before.

The knock came again, this time harder.

"Coming," she said then bopped the pillow that covered Jax's head. "Food's here. Hope that didn't hurt, honey."

His back shook as though he was laughing, but he didn't get up.

"No worries. I've got this." After she looked around and didn't see any clothing, only that cursed headband with the veil, she pushed the covers onto him and stripped the sheet. She wrapped the white sheet around her like a dress and tucked the train under her arm. "Wedded freaking bliss," she mumbled then stomped toward the door.

Vegas room service had to have seen it all, but still, she tried to smooth down her hair so that her bedhead didn't look like she'd just screwed. She pushed it behind her ears then ran her fingers under her eyes to push away any wayward mascara. There was no telling how she looked other than the presumed hungover and well-bedded. With one last scowling stare at the lump that was Jax, she turned to the door and threw it open, thankful at least for the Bloody Mary. Hopefully, a little hair of the dog would ease her hangover. Afterward, never again would she ever touch a drop of alcohol. Bad, bad, bad decisions happened with that stuff. "Oh!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Seven, you look like shit," Johnny said.

He didn't look so good himself. One glance said he hadn't been to bed yet. Dark circles under his eyes scored a lack of sleep that was concerning. The whites of his eyes were red, and his gaze jittered. His fingers tapped on his sides, not nervously, but as though he'd been hitting eight balls. This was not the Johnny Miller she needed to see right now. No telling what he'd mixed with the coke. No telling where his head was at. But she knew him better than anybody else in the world, and when he went on benders, it could be a bad, spiraling thing. But she wasn't just concerned about Mayhem business and what would happen later on today; she had problems of her own. Johnny, her friend who didn't have the slightest interest in her as a wife or a lover, was not the same person as Johnny the dope fiend who didn't see anything in a rational light and became possessive, angry, and irrational of everything. He could see a bird on a tree limb and claim it as his. Then another bird could land next to it, and under the right circumstances, he would see red.

Quickly, she switched the hand that was holding up her sheet so the right fist was between her breasts. "Is everything okay?"

She had no idea where her phone was. If Mayhem was trying to get ahold of her and couldn't reach her by cell, they likely would've tried her hotel room. They had arranged for the suite and paid for it. They knew where she was.

Johnny lifted his chin, his skittering eyes unable to fix on her hair. "What'd you get into last night?"

"None of your business. Why don't I call you when I get dressed if you need something?"

"Looks like someone rammed you across the floor. Hair's all tangled and shit."

"Johnny Gabriel Miller, shut your mouth. I watched you get a blow job last night, and you have no right to talk."

"He here? That Jax motherfucker?"

"I want you to leave. Now. Call me later when you've come down so I can give you hell for being such a prick." She turned and grabbed the door she was propping open, ready to slam it shut, when he grabbed part of the sheet.

Seven reeled around, using both hands to pull it up. "What the hell?" she hissed at him quietly, not needing Jax to hear and come over and cause any more of a problem. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

Johnny's nostrils flared. "Or have you?"

"What?"

His eyes narrowed to judging slits, and they dropped to the white-knuckled fists holding up her sheet.

Son of a bitch.

Johnny's smirk was as sarcastic as it was furious. "Never expected this from Miss Responsibility." He snorted. "Or make that Mrs. Responsibility."

The wave of nausea rolling through her stomach had nothing to do with having too much to drink last night or the stupid misfortune of having Jell-O shots as a decent portion of what she could remember of her dinner. If there was anybody in the world worthy of marrying, it was Jax. But explaining that to Johnny, particularly in his current state of mind, was a lost cause. For the first time maybe in her entire life, she didn't want to understand, defend, or put up with Johnny. He wasn't the ex-husband that she was friends with. He wasn't the family friend whose indiscretions she had to overlook because they were so close, they might as well have been siblings—or lovers, however creepy that was.

Jax was worthy of a defense, but Johnny wasn't worth her breath right now. "I'm so tired of you. But more importantly, he means so much to me that—" She shook her head. "I'll see you later. And only because I have to."

But Johnny was looking over her shoulder, and at that moment, she felt Jax's hands slide around her hips. Without turning from her standoff with Johnny, she looked at him in her peripheral, realizing he'd likely heard what she had to say, but she didn't care.

"Are we all good here, princess?" Jax pulled her closer to his side, dropping a sweet but possessive kiss on top of her bedhead.