Clint finishes his diatribe, and I force a smile. I’m uniquely qualified to be the arbiter of shitty men, and as far as I can tell, Clint’s not a bad guy; he’s just... not Jaxon Hayes.
Jaxon
I sit at the far end of the bar, close enough to Callie’s double date to see what’s going on but still far enough away to go largely unnoticed. There’s something deeply wrong with me. Some kind of Callie-induced psychosis. I shouldn't be here, but I couldn’t stay away. I’d do anything for a scrap of her affection. I’d drop to my goddamn knees right here in the middle of the bar if she asked.
It’s been days, but I can still hear her quiet whimper on the other side of my door, still picture her perfectly flushedcheeks. For the briefest moment, I thought she knew. I thought our secret had been revealed, and I could finally have her. I was wrong. Then she got sick, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. I’ve considered telling her every day since, but how the hell do I even drop that bomb?
Hey Callie, you know that guy you sometimes pay to help you orgasm? That’s me. Surprise.
Cade, the bar owner, sets a beer down on my coaster with a curt nod.
I hold it up in a gesture of gratitude before bringing it to my lips. “Probably should’ve ordered something stronger,” I mutter to myself.
Callie laughs at something Clint says, and my grip on my drink tightens. It should be me making her laugh. What does she see in him anyway? He’s a fucking tool.
Clint stands and offers her a hand up. I watch on bated breath to see if she accepts the offer. She hesitates briefly, but when her hand slips into his, my stomach sinks. I shouldn’t fucking care this much. I have no claim over her.
Callie follows Clint onto the dance floor. He spins her into him as an upbeat song plays on the jukebox. She follows along with the two-step as best she can, faltering a few times. It’d be endearing if I weren’t so goddamn jealous.
As I down the rest of my beer, Mo sidles up beside me. “Green isn’t your color, Hayes.”
“I don't know what you’re talking about.”
Mo flags down the bartender and orders herself a drink. “Your eyes haven’t strayed from Callie since you sat down. She’s too nervous to notice, but it’s obvious to literally everybody else. Even Clint. He’s over there putting on a show to get under your skin.”
“Clint can get fucked.”
Mo jerks her chin in their direction as Clint takes hiscowboy hat and places it on Callie's head. “He might if you don’t get your head out of your ass.”
Clint catches my eye and winks.
My fists flex at my sides. “The fuck he will.”
Mo’s laughter follows me all the way to the dance floor.
Callie’s eyes meet mine, causing her to stumble. I catch her around the waist before she hits the ground. With all the subtlety of a raging bull, I take Clint’s hat off her head and shove it at him. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin, and his shoulders shake with silent laughter. I fail to see the humor in it.
Turning my attention back to the woman in my arms, I tug until we’re chest to chest. Her breath hitches as my lips ghost over her ear.
“Do you know what it means to wear a man’s hat, Callie baby?”
“What does it matter to you?”
I growl. “You trying to make me jealous?”
She lets out a humorless laugh.
I walk her backward until her back is against the wall, take one of her hands, and pin it above her head. “I can't stand the thought of another man’s hands on you. His lips. His tongue. Touching you. Kissing you. Tasting you.”
She draws in a ragged breath, every soft inch of her perfect fucking body molds to mine like she was made for me. I’m certain she was.
I palm her hip, my fingertips skating along her soft flesh through her thin satin skirt. Her breathing picks up, and her chest brushes against mine.
“You want to wear a hat?” I say gruffly. “It had better be mine.”
A spark of defiance lights in her eyes, more green than blue in the glow of the bar lights. She tugs on the chain around my neck, bringing my lips dangerously close to hers. “And then what?”
“We both know the rules.”
