A snort of laughter escapes me. “Don’t take that personally. Gabi doesn’t say much to anyone. Reid boys are wired that way.”
“Reid boys?”
“He’s my brother.”
“Wow.” Jax digests that, and I can tell he’s measuring Gabriel’s stone face against mine and wondering why he didn’t figure it out sooner. We’re exactly the same. The only difference is my ink covers most of my torso, while his is hidden on his chest. Oh, and he’s nicer than me when you get to know him, but I’m guessing Jax didn’t get that far.
“Eve loves him,” Jax says.
“I know.” I turn away from him and light the flame under the tea kettle on my stove, my brain tracking back to pinpoint how we wound up discussing my brother’s love life. Or if the fact that Gabi has kept Eve dangling for the last two years is going to be a problem.
But when I glance at Jax again, it’s clear he’s moved on. He’s staring wistfully at my battered steel kettle. “My nan had one like that.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Yeah. She read tea leaves for tourists every summer and told them all they’d die of horrible diseases if they didn’t take their trash home.”
“Sounds like my kind of woman.”
“She was pretty epic.”
I find a genuine smile from somewhere, and open the drawer where I keep the tea that stands between me and the bottle of sleeping pills in the bathroom. I never knew my grandparents, so the fondness lighting his lovely face is a mystery to me. So is the fact that having a stranger in my kitchen is far easier than I’d anticipated when I’d agreed to scoop Eve’s college buddy from the street. But it’s late, and I’m tired, so I don’t dwell on it too much. “You want tea? British people drink that, right?”
Jax leans even lower over the counter and peers into my magic drawer. “We drink builder’s brew with milk and sugar, not green stuff that tastes like perfume.”
“Is that a no?”
He laughs. And I like that too. “You pick,” he says. “I don’t mind.”
I grab a peppermint teabag to go with the floral one that seems to horrify him so much. He watches me brew tea in companionable silence I enjoy as much as his conversation, and I take the time to dart surreptitious glances at him. If he’s the same age as Eve, he’s twenty-six, two years younger than me, but he has wise eyes that don’t match his boyish good looks. And his golden scruff gives his face a maturity that sets me on fire. It’s been a while since a dude turned my head like this. My sexuality is fluid enough that I can happily swing in any direction, but when a dude gets me, it’s right in the gut. And Jax has gotten me so hard I forget to slide his tea mug across the counter until he reaches across and helps himself.
“Thank you. For this, the sandwich, and your couch. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s nothing,” I say absently. I’m still studying the way his hair curls at his neck and fight hard to snap out of it. Now the fear that he’s dead on my couch has eased off, I’m plagued by a stare-down I can’t break. I need to go to bed. And so does he, but I can’t seem to make myself move.
At least get him a fucking pillow. And a blanket. It’s warm up here, but it won’t be if he’s huddled on that couch in his boxers.
The thought makesmeshiver, but I cover it by pushing abruptly away from the counter and ducking out of the kitchen. I grab a pillow from my bed and a blanket from the linen closet. It’s thick Vermont wool, and it smells of wood smoke from the last time I used it. The scent makes me shiver again, but keeping Jax warm is more important than old ghosts.
I take the blanket and the pillow back and lay them on the couch.
Jax takes his cue and drifts to my side. “Thanks,” he says again.
I wave the sentiment away. “I told you. It’s fine. But I’m leaving tonight’s take on the counter all night, so don’t rob me, okay?”
“I’ll try not to. Can’t promise anything, though.”
British people make bad jokes, so I take his sarcasm on the chin and force myself to walk away. After a pit stop in the bathroom, I shut my bedroom door and lean against it, alone at last, but so aware of Jax in the next room I know I’ll never sleep.
And I left my tea behind.Awesome. I cross the small room to my bed and take my clothes off, swapping my dark jeans and T-shirt for flannel pants I don’t usually bother with. But bad dreams make me sleepwalk sometimes, and I figure Jax has had a crappy enough night without me stumbling naked and crying into his makeshift bedroom.
I save that shit for my brother.
* * *
Jax
Tanner has huge eyes. I register this the moment I wake the next morning to find him leaning on his kitchen counter again, watching me sleep with an expression that doesn’t sit right on his handsome face. He has a dark beard, inky hair, and warm, tattooed skin, but even the sight of him shirtless doesn’t hide the worry in those enormous gold-flecked peepers.
