He probably did. For the first time in a six-pack of years or so, he was having trouble focusing on anything but Em. “Sorry.”
Caine laughed. “Just so you know, she’s the best GM on the face of the planet. You fuck that up, I gotta kill you or at least make a good show of it in front of Dixie. She’s also Dixie’s closest friend. You could make shit sticky for me. Don’t do that. Plus, I like her a lot. She’s a good person who’s had a messed-up time of it with that jackhole of an ex of hers. I’m just gonna warn you once, then I’ll shut up. No dabbling with the goods and hurting feelings. Now, if your intentions are pure, carry on.”
“Understood,” he said to his friend, making their circle bigger when another party attendee joined their conversation.
His intentions weren’t exactly pure, because he’d thought of her naked and in a hundred different positions beneath him today, but to be fair, he’d also given equal thought to what it would be like to watch the news with her, take a walk.
Just sex? It’d been a while since he’d just been in it for the sex.
You just met her a week ago.
Yeah? Well, life’s short.
Nobody knew that better than he did.
He didn’t know what it was about Em that made him think about houses, and porch swings, and looking over the morning paper at her across a table littered with coffee mugs and glasses of orange juice. He didn’t even know if she liked orange juice.
But he wanted to, and he didn’t like that. He’d felt this kind of immediate attraction once before, and the end had sucked.
Maybe all this thinking about Em had to do with his fears Maizy would go without feminine input for the rest of her life and that was fueling this infatuation with her. Maizy was only getting older. The older she got, the more his ineptitude for nail polish and glittery lip gloss stood out like a sore thumb.
His hope she’d turn out to be a tomboy, thereby easier to relate to, had been crushed when at just two, she’d latched on to a lipstick at the grocery store and pitched a fit when he’d taken it from her.
Em was that kind of woman. Ruffles and pastel colors.
No doubt, Em was sexy as hell, but she was sexy as hell and apple pie. Warm smiles and fresh blueberry muffins on a lazy Saturday morning. Bedtime stories and reminders to brush your teeth.
And she was fighting like hell to shed that image.
So how was he going to respond to that?
Did he want to?
Jax stole another glance at her while Caine and some guy from the county courthouse talked football, their conversation growing muted as his eyes drank her in.
Her hands were moving in animated fashion until her youngest son, Gareth, stole up behind her and grabbed her leg with a chubby hand very similar to Maizy’s. Em’s right hand reached down to stroke his dark head, the caress light, but full of the exact sort of love he felt for Maizy.
He knew that love. The sort of love that kept you up at night, held you captive with fear, with joy, made you willing to sacrifice every solitary thing you owned in order to keep them safe—make them happy.
That was what Em’s touch held.
A weird tightness bloomed in his chest, making him physically itch. His ears roared. His mouth went dry.
And all he could think was Be her boy toy, stupid.
Nine
Jax looked at his phone again, double-checking the number. Reece. It had to be. It was the only number he didn’t recognize. No message, just the log of the phone call. After all this time, what the hell could she possibly want?
Straighten that shit out, man. Call her up and find out. Get this out of the way so you can focus on the rest of your life. You know it’s what Jake would want. He said so in his will.
The resentful side of him balked at calling her back. Why the hell should he call her? If she caught him when he was available, fine. If she didn’t, she could damn well have the courtesy to leave a message.
The world didn’t stop because Reece Givens was calling. It didn’t stop turning because she wanted something.
Old baggage, pal. You’re hanging on to your resentments and your attachment to her. Those feelings have nothing to do with her connection to Maizy and parenting properly but everything to do with manipulating the situation by allowing your crap to make the choices.
But she left. Walked away. Didn’t look back.
And now she’s back.
Fuck. He scooped up the phone, ignoring the slap of one of the operator’s whips from beyond the far wall, and dialed the unfamiliar number. Maybe it wasn’t her number? Maybe it was some telemarketer’s or Maizy’s new doctor’s number or anyone but—
“Hey! This is Reece—leave me a message and I’ll get back to you ASAP.”
Her voice took him right back to the first time he’d seen her, long legs, lanky, creamy skin and a riot of red curls streaming behind her as she strode across the street to the little luncheonette where she worked.
Bubbly, irresponsible, breathtaking Reece.