But, back to the well-deserved smack. Trix shoved his chest hard, tearing her mouth from his, and skittering several steps away. “What the fuck is your problem?” she snapped, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. “I-I can’t believe that you would think you had any right to touch me.”
She was absolutely right. Not that he was going to tell her as much. “I just had to check on something.”
Her teeth came together with a sharp click. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”
But he wasn’t lying.
The rest of the table had cleared out while Trix had been using the restroom, ostensibly because they had work and life commitments, but Jet knew they’d been trying to give him and Trix some time alone, based on the knowing look that Clay had given him before his friend and Heather had taken off. Tanner was a cool guy, and his girl, Kelsey, had been a hoot. They’d both preceded Heather and Clay, Kelsey’s cheeks flushed from the sheer volume of prickly pear margaritas she’d consumed over the course of the meal.
Based on the hot glances she’d been shooting Tanner as they’d prepared to leave, the other man was going to have a good night.
Unlike him.
“I was checking on you,” he said. “Not whether we still had enough heat between us to spontaneously combust. Though”—he leaned back against the wall, crossing his ankles and arms—“in case you were wondering. We do.”
Trix rolled her pretty gray eyes. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”
Jet grinned. “Thanks.”
“Not a compliment, fuck twit,” she muttered, brushing by him and heading back to the table, not knowing the rest of the group had already left.
He trailed her, and because he was a total asshole already, he figured he might as well enjoy the view. And it was a view. Tight black dress, pointy heels she could stab him with, full sleeve of tattoos down both arms visible.
Jet had spent many an hour holding Trix close and studying those swirling colorful pictures, tracing them with his fingers.
Now she stopped, those arms falling to her sides as she took in the empty table.
Slowly, she turned, angry eyes coming up to meet his.
He held out her purse.
Two steps and she came close. Fire in her gaze, fury in her stride. One part of him thought she was going to smack him again, another thought she might kiss him when those gray eyes caught on his mouth before drifting up to meet his eyes.
The air in his lungs caught.
Fuck, yes. He’d had a taste and now he wanted more—that brief touch had been enough for him to crave her lips on his for a hell of a lot longer than a few seconds.
She leaned close . . . and snatched the purse from his hands.
Then spun around and high-tailed it for the front doors.
And he was again in the not-so-unfortunate position of having to follow her out.
Trix could move in those heels, click-clacking across the floor, pushing out the doors, ass bouncing as she strode to her car. Conveniently, the small gray hybrid was parked right next to his sedan.
She beeped the locks, yanked at the handle, and tossed her purse inside.
A sheet of dark brown hair flew over her shoulder as she spun to face him again. “Why the fuck are you following me?” she snapped then threw her arms wide. Jet noticed there was a new addition to the inside of her left arm—a curved line that was shaded with blue and purple. But before he could look closer, she let her hands fall to her sides. “This is your chance to go. So take it. We both know you’re excellent at it.”
He’d been amused up until that point.
But her words struck home, and as such, his temper spiked.
He crowded her against the car, close enough that he could smell the slightly tropical scent of her shampoo. Even in the middle of the jungle, with humidity making all the rest of them smell like ass, she’d still been all coconut and vanilla and pineapple.
Like a fucking piña colada and he’d been thirsty.
“I didn’t want to leave,” he growled, leaning in and inhaling that tropical scent into his lungs.
“More. Fucking. Lies.”
“I had to go.”
“Great.” She shoved at his chest. “Sure. So, if you had to go, then why were you so pissed off to see me at the table?”
She had him there.
But he’d been pissed because he’d been blindsided at seeing her. He’d left three years before and then spent the entire time trying to pretend she hadn’t existed at all, and now he was finally moving on with his life and had agreed to go on a fucking date after a long ass hiatus, and then of course, it had been Trix sitting at that table waiting for him.
Beautiful, fun, smart Trixie had been there.
Reminding him of everything he’d walked away from.
He ignored the fact that he’d initially felt a blip of pleasure at her presence then narrowed his eyes and focused on the knee-jerk pain of knowing that no matter what he did, what he gave, she wouldn’t ever be able to meet him in the middle . . . and so he said something unforgivable, “I was pissed that you were flaunting your tits to the world in that dress.”
Her cheeks flared pink. “How dare you,” she gritted, shoving him back enough to sink down into the driver’s seat. “How fucking dare you. As if you think you have some sort of say in my body, in my clothes.”
She wasn’t wrong.
He was just trying to be an asshole. To push her away like she’d pushed him, to keep her at a distance and remind himself of all the reasons she was wrong for him.
So he wouldn’t forget all the bad and remember the good.
Trix in his bed, smiling up at him.
Trixie working alongside him, unfazed at whatever crisis thrown their way and always finding a way to get through it without losing her smile.
Trix who’d seen so much, and who’d always had his back.
Who’d never judged.
So, yes, insinuating that about her clothes, about her as a woman, was a low fucking blow.
But it was easier to despise Trix for that initial pulse of joy upon seeing her, easier to blame the fact that their relationship had been doomed from the start on her because she was so closed off and unavailable and—
“Oof.”
Strong.
Caught in the past, he wasn’t prepared for her shove. He stumbled back enough for her to slam the driver’s door shut. He heard the locks click, the engine start up, then had to jump another pace back when she hit the gas and screeched out of the spot.
The glare she shot him as she pulled out made him glad he hadn’t jumped in front of the car to stop her.
Because she wouldn’t have stopped.
And he couldn’t help but think that maybe he deserved it.
In many ways.
Three
Trixie
She was running on about two hours of sleep and a half-cup of coffee because she’d gone on a fucking blind date the evening before instead of grocery shopping . . . and still needed to show up on time for her shift.
But that was nothing new.
She’d spent a decade working abroad, moving from country to country in under-supplied and sometimes dangerous conditions, often with a limited amount of caffeine.
Definitely not the way she preferred to work.
But she could push through.
She always pushed through.