Jonquils for Jax (Blueberry Lane 3 - The Rousseaus #1) - Katy Regnery Page 0,33

had changed little by little in college, and for good when he’d become a cop. He’d had lots of friends in the department with whom he worked and played in a weekend soccer league sponsored by the city. But since the accident, he hadn’t sought out those friends—for one thing, he couldn’t see worth a damn, so he wasn’t any use on the soccer field anymore. But more importantly, being around those guys made him think of Gil, which made him feel guilty, made him feel bad and angry, made him feel so damned resentful of everything he’d lost.

“Wasn’t always,” he finally answered.

Jax took a sip of her beer, then set it down on the table in front of her with a plunk. “Merde! Getting answers out of you is like pulling teeth.”

“And here I thought I was bein’ downright chatty.”

“No,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re being infuriating.”

“How’s that?” he asked, confused, wondering why the hell she’d gotten so mad so fast.

“Every little tiny answer leads to ten more questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like…why aren’t you closer to your family? Do you still play soccer? Why aren’t you a cop anymore? Do you or do you not have friends? And what happened with the girl?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re not good at this!” she said in a huff, standing up.

“At what?” he asked, following her lead and standing up across from her, his hands on his hips.

“Being friends! If we’re going to be friends…I mean, friends talk and—and share stuff.”

“Believe it or not, Duchess, I just shared more with you than I have with anyone since…”

“Since…?”

Since my best friend was shot and I lost the lion’s share of my eyesight. Since my whole life changed in the blink of an eye.

“You look tired,” he said calmly, using the tone of voice his father had always employed with great success when one of Gard’s sisters was in a snit. “Let’s call it a night.”

“Ooooo!” she snarled, her emeralds wide and angry. “Maddening! Since what? Since when?”

He didn’t know what bee flew into her panties, but she was acting like a brat. He pointed a finger at her, feeling his temper rise. “You’re pushy and rude, you know that?”

“I’d say you need a push,” she shot back.

“And you’re just the one to give it to me, huh?”

“Maybe,” she said, flashing her eyes at him.

He steeled his expression, his voice low and serious. “I’m not your project while you’re between gigs, Duchess.”

“I—I never said you were.”

But her voice was weak and her eyes betrayed her.

He was a little.

He’d known it too, but he hadn’t minded it as much when it was unspoken. Now? It pissed him off, in part because he saw her as his project too, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about this unspoken agreement between two injured birds still wishing they could fly. It felt dangerous suddenly, like talking about all this was something that could hurt him or hurt her, like maybe a quick retreat would be a good idea right about now.

“Come on…I’ll walk you home,” he said, hooking his thumb at the door but opting for a gentler tone.

Without arguing, she took a step toward the door and he followed her. But before she walked through, she turned and leaned against it, looking up at him, her arms still crossed over her chest, her breasts heaving over her forearms with the force of her agitated breathing.

“I don’t want to leave,” she said, her eyes troubled, her brows furrowed.

He stared at her, raising his eyebrows in frustration. “What do you want?”

“Tell me what happened with the girl,” she said quietly, her eyes searching his.

“Why does it matter?”

“It just does.”

He shook his head back and forth, annoyed with her and even more annoyed with himself, because when she asked all quiet and serious like that, he found he couldn’t refuse her. “I found her with my partner. My first partner, Brad.”

“Found her?”

“In my apartment. Our apartment. In our bed.”

Her mouth opened to a perfect O shape, and to his great surprise, he found he was far more distracted by Jax’s lips than upset by old memories of Tiffany’s betrayal.

He nodded. “Yeah. There you go. Now you know. I hope you’re happy.”

“Oh…no. I’m not. I’m—I’m sorry.”

He winced. Pity. His least favorite emotion. And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—stand for it from her. For some reason, pity from the duchess was absolutely unacceptable.

“Time to go,” he muttered.

She flinched. Her eyes were soft in the dim light, bright green and regretful. Vulnerable. Beautiful. God