Swing For The Fences (Bad Boys Redemption Book 2) Page 6
Jax certainly isn’t the same boy from our freshman year. New and improved, he’s the caramelized glaze on a sticky pecan bun. My mouth waters, and I force my gaze back to his face before I take a bite.
But the masculine jawline peppered with a hint of stubble doesn’t help.
A small dimple pops on his left cheek. Not the kind you find on baby-faced men. This one is sexy. Sultry. My insides melt as the tingling sensations from earlier flare between my thighs with a need he’s quite capable of filling. I conjure an image of his rough bristles scuffing against my sensitive skin. His tongue… Jesus, this dry spell lasted too long.
“You through?”
“Through?” I snap out of my lust-induced vision and focus on the man I’m supposed to be avoiding. “With what?”
“Whatever fantasy you have going on inside here?” He points his finger at my head and then places his hand on my shoulder.
My jaw drops, and I jerk my shoulder away from his touch. “I was not—”
“Don’t deny it because either you’re seriously stalking me, or it’s fate.” He snaps his fingers. “That’s it, the universe wants us to be together.”
“It most definitely isn’t me stalking. But fate. Really?”
“Don’t you find it rather odd that in a city with over eight million people, we bump into each other twice?”
“Yes, but—”
“Are you Ms. Kennedy?” a young girl asks, interrupting.
Jax lifts a challenging eyebrow. My gaze lingers on him momentarily before turning to the girl. I answer, with all the dignity I can muster, “Yes.”
“Mr. Kessler will be here shortly.” Her gaze drops to the pool of water collecting around my feet. “He’s a few minutes delayed due to the weather.”
“Thanks. I can certainly relate.”
“Yeah.” She glances at the floor again. “I’ll, uh, grab a mop.”
The buzz from the phone kills the awkwardness between us. As she meanders to the counter, I turn back to Jax.
“Kennedy?” he asks.
“Yeah, I took my maiden name back. Didn’t want to be Mrs. Burger any longer than I had to.”
His lips twitch, holding back the joke I know is on the tip of his tongue.
“What are you doing here?” I repeat my question, curious as to why he’s downtown.
His cocky expression morphs into discouragement, along with a hint of worry.
“I’m looking for an authentic biskvitena.” He blows out a breath. “But I'm not having any luck.”
“Biskvitena? The Bulgarian torte?”
Jax’s head tips back as he narrows his eyes. “How’d you know that?”
Crap. How would I know that without spilling the truth? Funny story. This one night my junior year, I saw you hanging all over a girl. It upset me so much I grabbed a bottle of wine and drank it in my room. I spent the entire evening looking up Bulgarian dishes. Since you’re part Bulgarian, I ended up making a list. Biskvitena was listed under dessert. Yeah, that psychotic event I’ll keep to myself.
“I like to cook, remember? Sometimes I dabble in international dishes.” I gulp as something dark and primal passes through his deep brown eyes. I get the feeling he would like me to be on the menu. “There’s a Bulgarian bakery in the Lower East Side.”
“I tried them,” he says with a grunt. “They’re closed for renovations.”
Thunder claps in the distance, but the rain lightens to a gentle sprinkle.
“Are you cold? You’re completely soaked.” He starts to hand me his jacket, but I wave him off.
“No, I’m okay,” I lie, but my curiosity piques. “Why do you need a biskvitena?”
“My grandma turns ninety Saturday. I’m not too sure how many she has left.” He shrugs and looks away, but I catch a glimpse of glossiness coating his eyes. “I wanted to surprise her with her favorite cake.”
My heart sinks to my stomach from his dejected tone. “I’m not sure if there are any other Bulgarian bakeries close by.”
“If there are, they’re not listed.” He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “I’m scouring every bakery in hopes someone knows the recipe or is willing to at least try.”
Guilt gnaws at my gut. The dessert isn’t difficult to make, not for me anyway, but I don’t want to get involved. Getting involved would be committing to see him again, and that’s something I don’t want to do. The girl’s laughter drifts to the front of the store, and it doesn’t appear she’ll be interrupting us anytime soon.
“How about Draco’s Bakery? They’re Greek and advertise customized cakes.”
“That was strikeout number two. Their normal bakers are on vacation, ironically to Greece. This is like the tenth bakery I’ve checked.”
Well, damn. I’ll hate myself, but his agonized expression is too much for me to handle. “I-I can make it for you.”
“Really?” A sparkle of hope flickers in his eyes, and I want to curse the warmth spreading through my body.
“I take it you’ll need it tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Carl picks the kids up tonight, so that will be perfect.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” He steps closer and his breath hitches. I follow his gaze, which leads straight to the brooch. He opens his mouth to say something, but the girl picks this moment to interrupt.
“Ms. Kennedy.” The girl marches toward us, holding a mop. “Mr. Kessler is here. He’ll just be a few more minutes.”
“Guess that’s my cue to leave.” Jax closes the gap between us and lowers his head next to my ear. “Dixie, you may want to look in the mirror before your interview. Unless you’re putting a new spin on the goth look.”
My mouth parts. For fuck’s sake, how many times am I going to embarrass myself in front of this guy?
His chuckle vibrates across my neck, down my arm, and to my fingertips. I stand there not responding as he backs away.
“Be ready by ten tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have it ready.”
“Thanks, but I meant you be ready.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re going with me.” He laughs at my lack of response. He turns to exit, but before he walks through the door, his voice carries back to me. “Nice pin by the way.”
I stand there, dumbfounded, wondering how the hell I got roped into making a dish for his grandma. And not only making it but meeting her as well. Watching him exit onto the sidewalk, I’m pushed into the past and all the events that lead to line item number five.
JOCELYN
October, Ten Years Prior
Professor Talbot’s monotone voice drones on, and if it weren’t for the scenery seven rows down, lecture hall would be a complete bust. My first assumptions about the class were correct—sociology hasn’t been difficult despite the workload—but sitting through the professor’s lectures are the worst. He should take a page from Food Network’s Heat Seekers and spice things up. Jax has certainly spiced up my life. But we haven’t kissed again. Not even a peck on the cheek. How is that fair? It’s been seventeen days since our hot air balloon date, and shamelessly, I admit the only thing on my mind is his mouth: the firmness of his strong lips devouring mine and his delicious tongue consuming me as if I was his lifeline. I shouldn’t conjure these images. I shouldn’t even think these thoughts. After dedicating three years to my piece-of-shit boyfriend, I promised myself not to become consumed by any male. Two months into college, my oath breaks faster than Zach’s curveball. But damn, how can I not think of anything else? Jax feels so good.
But ever since our date, Jax has bailed due to meetings with his adviser. Between the athletic department’s mandatory study sessions, ball practices, and weight-lifting workouts, we’ve barely had time to text, let alone talk.
As if reading my mind, Jax slips his phone out, and his fingers fly across the screen. He looks over his shoulder at me and grins when my cell buzzes in my pocket.
Jax: Meet after. Our café?
I
try not to smile, but I like the fact he referenced the coffee shop as ours. I lift my head and meet his gaze. He acknowledges my nod with a wink and turns back around. I don’t miss his smile widening or the flutters taking control of my stomach.
I’m so fucked.
Part of me wants to give in to my desires while my sensible side kicks in and wonders if we should even pursue this relationship. If you can call it a relationship. We’re just dating. Nothing has been defined, but it doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out we enjoy talking to each other. And I definitely like kissing him.
“Jesus, this class is fucking boring,” Marissa complains to the girl on her left. I’m surprised it took her this long to start. Usually, halfway through the lecture, she and her friend start discussing their dates. I drown out their hushed whispers—their conversations are always the same: what party they attended and who they screwed. I really don’t need to hear the details of Marissa’s latest conquest, but when Zach’s name falls from her lips, I drift closer. My poor roommate is still hung up on him. She insists their connection’s real, but after stringing her along for weeks, he won’t have anything to do with her. She’s crushed, to say the least. Maybe Marissa is the reason behind him ghosting her.
“You were with the catcher last week and the first baseman the week before then,” her friend says.
“I told you I’m making my way around the infield. But I’ll tell you, Zach knows what he’s doing. I came three times.”
“Jesus.” Her friend sits back in her chair and sighs.
Jesus indeed. When it came to Devin’s role in the bedroom, he left every ounce of talent on the field. Sex was subpar at best, but he’s the only one I’ve been with. Bad sex is the main reason why I moved “have a mind-blowing orgasm” to the top five. I’d kill for at least one orgasm in my life, let alone three in one night.
“Exactly,” Marissa says. “He’s repeat-worthy, but he made it clear this was a one-time deal. Besides, there’re still more positions to acquire. One in particular.”
My jaw clenches as her eyes train on Jax. She knows damn well we’re…talking. What we’re doing may not be defined, but I’m damn sure not going to share him. I unknowingly did that once with a guy. I won’t let it happen again.
Is this how it is to date an athlete—women throwing themselves at them? Turning the players into a conquest? If that’s the case, I’m not sure I want to be part of that life. Is there enough trust between Jax and I to overcome this jealousy? Because right now, I want to deck Marissa’s face.
“You can’t have them all,” her friend says.
Marissa snorts right as Jax turns and raises an eyebrow at me. The hot-as-sin look he shoots me causes me to blush. My cheeks aren’t the only thing radiating heat. Marissa’s stare burns right through me.
“Looks like one is benched,” her friend murmurs. Honestly, do they not realize I can hear every word?
“Puh-leeze,” Marissa says with a laugh. “Experience always wins.”
I bristle in my seat. I’ve never been good at confrontation. When I caught my best friend with Devin, I barely stood up for myself. It happened at the end of the school year, so after yelling, I pretty much let it go. Hell, I was better off, but that didn’t lessen the sting of their actions. When it came down to it, I was more upset over losing my so-called best friend. I could’ve used our friendship that summer.
The professor’s dismissing words snap me back to the present. I snatch my backpack off the desk and beeline down the stairs to Jax.
“Hey, Dixie.” Jax’s dimple pops at his greeting. He draws me in for a hug, the palm of his hand landing on the small of my back. Marissa is all but forgotten.
That is, until a sugary voice that can hold its own against the most Southern-brewed sweet tea sings, “Hey, Jax.”
Jax’s eyebrows furrow as he glances over my shoulder. “Marissa.”
“Good game yesterday. You’re looking good on the field.”
My back stiffens from the seductive smile she directs toward him. His fingers press firmly against my flesh as he says, “Thanks.” I would shake off the little goodbye wave she gives before continuing down the stairs, but when his gaze drops to her perfectly showcased ass, every ounce of self-doubt surfaces. How can I compete against someone like that? Is she right? Do men like Jax prefer someone more experienced? If so, I’m screwed. I may not be a virgin, but I’m certainly not well versed in that area.
“You ready?” Jax asks.
I go to speak, but my voice falls short. After clearing my throat, I answer, “Yeah,” but I don’t wait on him. I turn on my heels and follow the same path as Marissa. I can’t help but wonder if he’s checking my ass out too. And if he is, do I stack up to her? I pull my jacket closed, cursing myself. This isn’t like me. Insecurity and self-doubt never cloud my thoughts to this degree. But yet it’s there as evidence of the heaviness in my chest. Once we’re outside, the crisp, fresh air fills my lungs, and I can finally breathe.
“Hey, you okay?” Jax asks as he catches up with me.
My pace slows, and I turn to face him. Up to this point, I hadn’t realized I was racing away from him. “Did you have a baseball game?” That’s my answer? A simple yes would have ended his concern, but what do I do instead? I answer with a reminder of Marissa.
“No.” He scrunches his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side. “Just a practice game.”
“Do people usually come and watch you practice?”
An understanding crosses his face as he grabs my hand and gives a slight shake. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Let girls like Marissa get under your skin.”
“It’s a little difficult.”
“Trust me. You have nothing to worry about. There are certain types of girls who go after athletes. Sort of like rock star groupies, but in baseball, they’re called cleat chasers or jersey chasers.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “I was warned, but I never believed girls like that existed. They certainly didn’t hang around my high school, so I was surprised to see they weren’t joking. But you have nothing to worry about. I’m more of a one-woman man.”
“Okay,” I say.
“We good, then?”
“We’re good.” With our fingers intertwined, we take off toward the café.
“I don’t mind the mandatory study sessions, but these practice games suck. I’m itching to play a real game, not one against teammates. It’s hard after playing competitive ball during the summer. It’s sort of like a letdown.”
The entire walk, Jax talks about his summer league team, but with a sense of urgency. He gets through with one point and delves straight into the next. By the time we reach the café, I suffer from verbal whiplash. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had great conversations since meeting, but he’s never been this talkative. It’s almost like nervous chatter.
I slide across the vinyl seat while Jax waits to order our drinks. He slips his hands deep into his pockets and rocks back and forth on his feet. This is the first time his confident demeanor falters, and part of me worries there’s more to Marissa than he’s letting on.
He sets my coffee in front of me before he plants his six-foot-two frame across the table. I bring the warm liquid to my lips before I end up asking what the hell is wrong with him. He clears his throat, and I brace myself for the worst.
“So, my mom has been after me to pick her up a ‘Mom’ sweatshirt—you know, the ones that say Penn State Mom?”
I laugh. “Yeah, my momma wants the same thing.”
“Well—” He dips his head and reaches into his pocket. “After practice, Zach and I went to the bookstore so I could buy one. Thought I’d bring it to her during Thanksgiving break.”
I have no idea where this conversation is going. His hand is still buried in his pocket while the other fidgets with the coffee cup. I don’t understand why he’s making a big deal out of a sweatshirt.
“So, I, uh, saw something that made me think of you.”
“I know it’s a little early for gift giving, but I saw this and knew you had to have it.”
I pull the box out of the white paper bag, intrigued by what could be in it. Lifting the lid, I gasp at the shiny gold hot air balloon pendant. “Oh, this is great.”
“It’s not much, kind of small.” Jax shrugs. “I just thought it’d be a great memento for you to remember your grandma’s words and maybe me.”
Wetness coats my eyes and makes the inscription difficult to read. I bat my eyelids a few times before whispering the words. “Soar to new heights.”
“It’s not the exact quote but close enough.”
“Thank you. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” My gaze sweeps to his. “It’s perfect.”
“You’re welcome.” His nervousness makes complete sense now. It is early in our relationship, but as his dark chocolate eyes stare back at me with his restored confidence, all of my self-doubt, all of my worry, and all the Marissas in the world take a back seat. This gesture brought a crapload of reassurance. I’ll treasure this pin forever.
“I need you to clear your schedule for the next few weekends,” he says.
“Oh, why’s that?”
“Because you’re mine, and there are more checkboxes to fill.”
JOCELYN
November, Ten Years Prior
Sweat breaks across my forehead. And not the cute little droplet kind. No, these are actual large beads of liquid trickling along the edge of my hairline. The cold breeze does nothing to squash the burning in my stomach. I squeeze Jax’s hand tighter as we approach the old English-style wooden door, and my gaze sweeps to the Greek symbols etched in the stone decor above the doorframe. A puff of air escapes my lungs at the thought of us going to a party. And not just any party, a frat party where bodies cram together in one room and reek of beer and sweat. Or so I’ve read. I actually don’t know how these parties go down, but if my nerves don’t settle soon, I’ll fit right in with the sweating part.