“Yeah, that’s the problem. The people in this club won’t say shit if anything turns south. I don’t even want him to set his eyes on you,” I yell, weary and knowing this is a battle I cannot win.
She comes to me, throwing her arms around my neck. It’s hard to think when I can smell her skin. “It will be all right,” she says. “I will do exactly as you say at the club. I won’t get in your way.”
“Fine,” I say, still pissed. “You stay right on my hip.”
She actually salutes me, the happy little brat.
Ella’s right about one thing. She’ll always be safe by my side.
—ten—
Ella
“Are you in love with Jaxson?” Brad’s question catches me off guard. For a moment, I think I didn’t hear him right. After all, everything’s louder than fireworks at Peach Corner—the music, the customers and even the bartender who calls out names for drink orders.
“What did you say?” I ask Brad, taking a sip of my beer.
“I said, are you in love with Jaxson?”
Ah, okay, so I heard right. “What is it to you?”
Brad turns his face away, literally twisting his neck, in an attempt to follow two scantily dressed brunettes, who I assume work here, with his gaze. “It’s a simple question,” he says when he turns his attention to me.
I shrug, not feeling generous enough to give him an honest answer. “Jaxson is like a shadow. Can anyone fall in love with a shadow?”
“Avoiding the question,” Brad says, waving at the bartender. “Very reassuring.”
“Why do you care, Brad?”
He shrugs. “I’d like to know if true love exists or it’s just a bunch of bullshit created by greeting card companies.”
I chuckle as the words true love don’t sound right coming from him. “Where’s Jax anyway? What’s taking him so long?”
As if on cue, Jaxson shows up in his jean jacket and pants absolutely slaying it. I don’t know how he does it but he always looks like he just stepped out of the pages of a men’s magazine, even when he’s all casual.
“Did you find a good parking spot?” Brad asks.
Jax ignores Brad, putting an arm around me and planting a kiss on my lips. “I bribed Johnny to let us know if Wolf shows.”
“Not a smart move, JC. Johnny likes Wolf.”
“So? He likes me, too. Relax, B-diddy. We’re here to have fun, remember?”
At least that’s what we want everyone to think. I get a feeling Jax is not one-hundred percent honest with me but then again I’ve grown really suspicious lately.
I’m about to ask what Wolf looks like but I’m interrupted when the lights go out and loud music comes on, much louder than the background music before. The show is about to start.
“Hell, yes,” Brad says when a girl dressed in what looks like a bikini covered in glitter takes the stage, like it’s the first time he’s been here.
I roll my eyes at his excited face but then turn to look at Jax. He returns my glance, taking this opportunity now that the lights have dimmed to squeeze my ass. My man likes public affection, that’s for sure.
The girl on the stage drapes her impossibly long, toned legs around a pole on the stage, swinging around it with her head falling back. She makes pole dancing seem so effortless with her—for the lack of a better term—elegant movements. It’s as if she’s weightless.
Before I know it, I’m totally enthralled and unable to take my eyes off her. There’s something about professional dancers that has always fascinated me, the way they can make their bodies bend to their will and how they feel the beat of the music in their blood.
If there’s another life, I want to be a dancer. It’s so much better than words which are as dangerous as they are exhausting.
I lean back to rest my head on Jax’s shoulder, feeling nothing short of blissful to be his girl, to have finally fallen in love even if the current circumstances are not exactly ideal. Having him at my side is similar to the way very young children feel about their home, so warm and inviting.
As soon as the pole dancing comes to an end and the lights get brighter, I notice an impressive looking young man waving at us to join him at a table.
I pull Jaxson’s shirt who’s talking to the bartender. “Jax,” I say, whispering, “is that Wolf?”
Jax turns to look at where I’m pointing. “No,” he says, waving back at the man, “that’s an old friend, kind of. Nate Henley. We did some underwear modeling together a couple of years back. Haven’t seen him in a while. He just kind of disappeared.”