“Well, it just got a whole lot worse.” I give him the rundown of everything, including what Dylan found out about Ryan’s gambling debts and the loan sharks who are likely holding him hostage.
“So now I gotta tell her that her ex is probably being held by some Vegas thugs who are trying to extort her for two million dollars, and oh, by the way, she should watch her back because they might come looking for her next if she doesn’t pay up.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ryder mutters.
“Tell me about it.” I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to tell her without totally freaking her out.”
“You know there really isn’t a way to sugarcoat it, right?”
I snort. “How about:‘Hey, Sasha, your ex might be getting his kneecaps broken as we speak, and you could be next!’How’s that?”
He lets out a huff, pausing before he speaks. “Look man, just do what you always do—rip the Band-Aid off. Be direct, but be there for her. She’s a tough chick, so no doubt she can handle it.”
“Yeah, she is,” I agree, proud of how well she’s handled everything so far. “Still, this is some next-level bullshit.”
“All the more reason to just lay it out on the line. No sense in dancing around it.” Ryder’s voice firms. “Tell her exactly what Dylan found, what the risks are, and that you want to help her figure out a plan. She deserves to know everything.”
He’s right, of course. Sasha doesn’t strike me as the type who’d appreciate being coddled or having information withheld “for her own good.”
“Okay,” I concede. “I’ll tell her. Once I get an update from Dylan.”
“Good. And Jax?”
“Yeah?”
“If you like her as much as I think you do? Be there for her. Not as the guy she has—let’s call it anarrangement—with, but as a friend who actually gives a shit. Abouther. Not just getting his dick wet.”
thirty-three
Balancinga bottle of wine in one hand, I knock on Jax’s front door. I’d insisted on bringing something despite his protests he had everything covered.
The door swings open, and there he is, in all his sexy glory.
Wearing worn jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, his hair is slightly damp and pulled back in a flat ponytail, like he just showered. And, fuck, he smells amazing.
“Hey,” he says, eyes lighting up as he takes me in.
“I brought wine.” I hold up the bottle. “Even though you said not to bring anything.”
“That’s cool. I have beer,” he replies with a grin, stepping aside to let me in. “But wine works too.”
When I step inside, I’m immediately enveloped in the inviting warmth of Jax’s home.
The layout is open concept, with a spacious living room flowing into a modern kitchen similar to mine. His style is surprisingly tasteful. It’s a subtle mix of industrial and mid-century modern with a large sectional leather sofa that looks super comfy facing a massive TV mounted to the wall.
“This is nice.” My tone comes off a little more surprised than I mean it to as I slip off my shoes.
“What did you expect? Beer bottles and takeout containers all over the place?” he chuckles, taking the wine.
“That and maybe a few more tattoo designs on the walls? A couple of skulls hanging around?” I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Those are all in my art studio. Maybe—if you’re good—I’ll let you see it sometime.”
My heart skips a beat at the wordsif you’re good, but I brush it off with an eye roll.
I stare at his ass approvingly as he takes the wine into the kitchen. “I ordered pizza.”
“Pizza sounds great,” I say, trailing behind him. “So the fair’s coming up next weekend.”
