Amelia can look like she wants to scratch my face off all she wants, but she’s not hanging out at her house, in Ava’s loft, or anywhere alone until we figure out who slashed her tires.
Ava’s annoying ass was right.
The two have to be connected.
We chat with Toby for a while, who says he’ll keep an eye on the place. I tell him it isn’t necessary, that it is my job, but he says he needs the overtime pay anyway. Then, I call a tow truck company and have Amelia’s car moved to a repair shop for new tires.
“Take me home,” Amelia demands when we’re in my car.
I keep my eyes on the minivan in front of me, the kids in the backseat sticking their tongues out at us. “Why not mine?”
“If you’re so adamant on protecting me, which I couldn’t care less about, we’re doing it on my terms. Otherwise, go to your house, and I’ll call you if I see any tire-slashers lingering around.”
“Amelia.” I blow out a ragged breath. “I’m not trying to be a dick. I want to protect you.”
She scoffs. “From what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Chris’s psychotic-ass family?”
“We don’t even know if it was them.”
“Whoever it was, I’m not taking the chance of them fucking with you again.”
“You should’ve protected me when you were breaking my heart.”
I grip the steering wheel, not wanting to go there because I need Amelia to not kick me out of her house. We’ll save that chat for when she can’t tuck and roll out of my car.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at my place?” I ask. “Your laundry room floor kills my back.”
“Sorry, Senior Citizen Jaxson, but no. And you don’t need to worry about the comfort of the laundry room because you’re sleeping on the front doorstep, where you love to hang out anyway.”
My stomach grumbles as I ignore her comment. We both know that’s not where I’ll be laying my head down tonight. Not that I expect her to sleep with me, but I won’t have the same sleeping arrangements as the random animals that come to her door at night because she feeds them.
Chris showed me pictures of her feeding a racoon once. She’d put Cheerios, peanuts, and a deli sandwich on a plate, as if it were a toddler, and left it out for the animal. Yeah, not about to get attacked by Rocky Racoon because he thinks I stole his ham sandwich.
And since my thoughts are on food, I turn in the opposite direction of her house. “I’m starving. Lunch at Shirley’s it is.”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, man. That starvation must’ve already hit your brain if you think that’s happening.”
Rather than answer her and get smacked with another insult, I stay quiet, and so does she until I turn the corner and veer into the diner’s parking lot.
“Are you nuts?” she shrieks, causing my ears to ring.
I start unbuckling my seat belt, and her hand flies out, stopping me.
“Do you not remember the last time we were at Shirley’s together?”
I nod, turning to look at her and hoping she detects my remorse. “I do, which is why I need to make it up to you.” I force myself to put some pep in my voice. “And what better way to apologize for my stupid behavior than to feed you as well?”
She isn’t having it. “Feed me an M&M’s granola bar for all I care.”
I carefully ease her hand off the seat belt and finish unbuckling it. “I’ve never seen those on the menu, but I’ll be sure to ask.”
“People will see us together.” She wraps her hand around my wrist, her face pleading, as if stepping into that diner will condemn her to hell.
“I don’t give a shit,” I say with all the honesty in the world.
She icily stares at me. “Since when do you not care about that?”
“Since I became a man on a mission to get his girl back.”
She winces at my response. “I was never your girl.”
“Bullshit,” I hiss, shifting to face her. “Who was in my bed every night for weeks, Amelia?”
She presses her lips together and doesn’t answer.
“You. Who did you have an out-of-town date night with?”
Silence from her.
“Me.” My voice speeds up, the same as my heart. “Who told me she loved me?”
Her eyes water, but there are no words.
“You.”
“Stop, Jax,” she says around a shaky breath.
I don’t stop. I can’t stop. “And who fucking told you he loved you back?”
“I said, stop it,” she bites out.
“How much more do I need to go on?”
“Who did you fuck and then tell to leave?” she screams before stabbing her hand into her chest. “Me, Jax! Me!”
That shuts my ass up real quick.
I reverse out of the parking lot, both of our breathing ragged, and drive to her townhome.
Amelia stays in the living room, working on her computer, and keeps her distance from me the rest of the day. The only time she reluctantly talks to me is when I have my buddy, who owns a security company, come to the house and install the best alarm system on the market.
It’s late, and we just finished our How to Work Your New Alarm 101 when there’s a knock on the door.
Amelia turns away from me and rushes to the door, her bare feet pitter-pattering along the tiles.
“Whoa,” I say, stopping her before she gets there, as if Mick is on the other side with a chain saw. “I’ll get it.”
Ignoring me, she swings the door open. The same teenage boy who saw me being an asshole to Amelia at the diner is holding up a takeout bag with Shirley’s logo on it.
His eyes bulge as his gaze pings back and forth between Amelia and me.
Oh, he definitely recognizes us.
“Uh …” he mutters, holding up the bag. “Shirley’s delivery.”
Amelia opens her purse that’s hanging from the hook across from the door, dragging out her wallet, but I quickly snag a hundred-dollar bill from my wallet and exchange the food for the cash.
“Really?” I ask when she tells the teenager bye and shuts the door.
“What?” She shrugs. “I’ve been craving Shirley’s since we left.”
“We could’ve easily gone in.”
“Jax, there’s nothing easy between us right now.”
That’s the understatement of the goddamn year.
Amelia strolls into the living room, flashes of her bare back showing under her crop top doing crazy things to me, and plops down on the living room floor. I have some faith that she doesn’t want to castrate me in my sleep when she holds up a sandwich.
“Burger. Pepper jack cheese. No pickle.”
“Thanks.”
Like most of the day, we eat in silence. The Animal Planet channel is playing on the TV, but I don’t watch it.
“You still do that?”
Amelia cocks her head, a ketchup packet in her hand. “Do what?”
I chuckle. “Take the onion out of the onion ring?”
“Sure do.” She picks one up. “You know I hate onions.”
“Yes, but you love onion rings.”
“I love the onion ring batter,” she corrects, and her shoulders straighten, as if something dawned on her. “I should invent an onion ring batter chip … or cookie. Yeah, most definitely a cookie.” She slides a long onion from a ring and settles it onto a napkin, as if it were the nastiest thing in the world.
I shake my head. “I think you should stick with the brewery, baby.”
She levels her eyes on me. “The brewery won’t be mine for long.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I point a French fry at her. “You thought I was a dick, trying to run you off. Just wait until you even attempt to bring someone else around.”
“Why are you making this difficult?”
“Why are you making this difficult?”
“My forgiveness no longer comes easy, Jax.”
When the clock strikes midnight, as if it were her bedtime, Amelia stands from the couch. We’ve spent the past few hours watching an old-school vet save lives. At first, I was bored as fuck, but then I saw how content it made Amelia and got into it. It’s actually not bad.
“You sure you don’t want to change your mind and stay at my place?” I ask Amelia, standing and stretching my arms. “I hate that laundry room floor.”
She releases her hair from its ponytail, and it drapes over her shoulders as it falls.
I hate how just that simple movement from her causes my dick to stir. I shift from one foot to the other, telling my cock to calm down.
“You can take the guest room,” she says, jerking her head in that direction. “If someone tries to hurt me, I’ll scream.”
I can’t stop myself from saying, “I remember when I used to make you scream.”
She moves toward me, swinging her hips with every step, and stands on her tiptoes. My cock twitches in excitement. Her lips linger in front of mine, and I open my mouth, thanking the good Lord above for whatever just came over Amelia.
She does a double slap along my cheek, drops back onto her heels, and laughs. “Memories are all you’ll have.”
I swallow, rerunning what she just did in my head. I watch her stroll past the laundry room, and then she enters her bedroom, as if it’s nothing.
Uh, what?
I follow and am immediately hit with the smell of her—a combination of citrus and apple blossoms.
My bedroom smelled like this each time she came over.
And then each time she left.
But that scent is gone now, and damn, do I miss it.
“Whoa,” I say, standing in the doorway, watching her unclasp a necklace and set it on a nightstand. “You’re sleeping in here now?”
Her cheeks flush as she nods.
I lean against the door. “Since when?”
“I started on the bedroom floor first a few weeks ago. One night, it got so uncomfortable, so my on-half-a-melatonin brain moved me right on up to the bed. It was like the shove I needed.” She motions toward the hallway. “The guest room, laundry room, porch, or wherever is all yours.”
I don’t back out of the room. Instead, I inch farther into it, keeping an eye out for any flying objects headed in my direction.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“You said wherever is all mine.” I peer down at the carpet. “And, floor, I choose you.”
She shrugs, tugging her tee off, so she’s only wearing a thin sports bra, her nipples peeking through. “Fine.”
She removes her ninety thousand pillows, and I grunt when one gets thrown at my head. Catching it, I smirk.
“Thanks, babe. I needed this.” I whistle. “Now, how about a blanket?”
She flips the light off.
I undress to only my boxer briefs and apologize to my body for making it sleep on a floor. I dramatically fluff the pillow a few times, lie down on the floor, move, and fluff the pillow again. I am as loud as possible in an effort to get comfortable.
“Oh my God,” she groans, flinging a blanket at me, and like the pillow, it also whacks me in the head.
I’m cold, half-asleep, and so uncomfortable when I hear Amelia gasp in her sleep. At first, I think she’s dreaming—hopefully about me—but then she whimpers before crying out loud.
Something isn’t right.
I throw the blanket off and practically dive into her bed. Sliding underneath the blankets, I find her tucked into the fetal position, sucking in deep breaths.
“I got you, baby,” I say as she stretches out and allows me to pull her into my arms. “I got you.”
Falling on my back, I take her with me, and without delay, she snuggles into my side, resting her cheek and hand to my chest.
“My therapist says it’s normal,” she says, soft-spoken, into the darkness. “She said it helps that I stay in here and don’t run out of the room.”
I run a hand down her bare arm, and she shivers. “Does it work?”
“It does.”
“I’m proud of you. This is big, Amelia.”
She scoots in closer to me, a light whimper leaving her.
My hand slips up her shoulder and into her hair, massaging her scalp. “When was the first time you slept in here?”
“The night after you broke up with me.”
My hand in her hair freezes. “And the bed?”
“The day you took me home from Essie’s and I said I’d sell you the brewery. It’s like with each shove, you pushed me back in here, I guess.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating every reminder of all the times I’ve hurt her. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
And just like in the motel room, when it wasn’t supposed to happen, we kiss.