does it matter what I think? I’ll just be here to support her no matter what.
I rise from the bench, dust off the back of my skirt, and head toward Aubrey’s car. I already put the decorations in a bag in the back, and the Beckett’s feisty Aunt Sylvia gave me the car key. I pop the trunk open and tug the bag out. Rest my hip against the passenger door, legs crossed at the ankles.
And wait.
And wait.
Ten minutes pass.
Then another five.
Each minute that ticks by makes my blood boil a little bit more. I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t be here. Everything about Jax is so predictable. He’s probably still drinking—when I left the table, he was throwing down beer after beer like it was his job.
Or maybe he’s passed out somewhere by now.
I go back into the restaurant, which has a few laughing and talking people clustered around tables and at the bar. No sign of him. I weave through and peer in every corner just in case he’s there making out with someone…or doing more.
Where the hell is he?
My jaw tightens as I stomp up the stairs one flight then toward our block of rooms. Aunt Sylvia told me his room number over dinner, giving me a knowing look and admitting that Jax could be “flaky” sometimes and I might have to hunt him down. Right. Flaky.
I go up to his door, just a few away from mine and across the hall, and give a couple of hard raps on the wood.
There’s a sound like murmuring voices on the other side, and then nothing.
I knock harder and don’t stop until the door is ripped open and Jax is standing there in nothing but his unzipped jeans and mussed hair. He blinks in surprise, his eyes a little bleary, then gives me a slow, sexy smile.
“Room service?” he asks me in a purr.
Behind him, a light voice says from the bed, “Jax, hurry, I’m getting lonely over here.” I see bare feet with pink toenails sticking out the end of the king-sized bed, sheets rumpled around slender calves.
I take a deep breath and release it, willing myself to calm down. Of course he’s here, with a girl. Of course. Because Jax is nothing more than a walking, talking cliché. Why would I have thought otherwise?
“You’re supposed to help me with the car decoration,” I say as calmly as I can, holding up the bag I’m clenching in my other hand. “Do you even remember me asking you that? Or did that somehow slip your mind in the last ninety minutes due to your many distractions?”
He laughs, his eyes sparkling at my sharp tone. Nothing phases this guy. Everything’s a big joke to him. “Of course I remember. I just…lost track of time.”
“Jax!” The voice is more insistent now. “Who’s at the door? Is it booze delivery? That would be awesome.” She giggles.
Jax eyes me up and down, his look languid and warm, and I hate myself when my body gets this strange hot flash all over. “Fuck, I bet you taste better than aged whiskey on my tongue,” he says to me in a low voice, his eyes growing dark. “What’s your name again? It’s a city or something, right?” He tilts his head to the side, not taking his eyes off me.
“Never mind,” I tell him in a huff. I clench the bag in front of me, more a gesture of self-defense than anything else. “I’ll just do it myself.”
I spin around to go and hear his soft chuckle follow me down the hall. “If you insist, darling. Thanks for taking care of it.”
“It’s Brooklyn,” I retort, not turning around, keeping my back stiff. “Not ‘darling.’ I have a name.”
Jax gives another husky laugh, which grates at me, and then the door clicks closed behind him. I head outside to do the decorating myself.
A half hour later, I pull back from the car and eye it. Perfect. The forecast said there should be no rain, so I took a chance and covered it with crepe paper and white paint, filling the inside with balloons and even a few condoms tied off and taped to the dashboard. I’m a little winded from blowing so many up by myself.
Don’t think about Jax, I order myself as I snap a few shots of the car and send them to my sister. She’ll get a kick out of it.
It doesn’t matter. I got it done, and after tomorrow night, I