Everybody Falls (11 page)

I directed him to the back alley, to the back door and had him park next to my POS 2003 Chevy Cavalier, practically the only car in the paved lot.

"You live above the store?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, my Grandma left me the place. It's okay. Quiet, which is all I kind of need at the moment," I confessed, my eyes on the upper windows. There was a soft glow from the over the stove-light I'd left on, guessing I would be home after dark.

Okay.
Hoping
I'd be home after dark, if I was going to be truthful.

He opened his door and made his way around to my side. I couldn't guess what was on his mind.

I knew what was on mine.

Bed.

Us.

Making noises that might scare the birds from the trees, if I was, again, being honest.

He repeated the movements he'd done since he'd picked me up, with a hand to getting me in and out of the truck.

How old school was that, I ask you?

As soon as the passenger door latched, he was on me like white on rice.

Or, I was on him.

Take your pick.

His mouth was killing me. That tongue that moved in my mouth, working, stroking all my sensitive areas. Almost like he was licking me somewhere else.

His hands.

God, those largem callused hands which knew how to grip the right spots, stroking, lifting, pressing me against him.

Oh, dear strawberries in cream.

The man knew how to move.

When to flex his knees and press that hard length so it aligned with my inner thigh. To stroke, sweetly breeching the four layered seam of my jeans that met in my center; my very wet, very swollen core. Rubbing and stroking that hardness in just the right way, on just the right spot.

His mouth was capturing my whimpers and I could, again, feel my orgasm building with just his mouth; the through-the-clothes feel of his hard length.

Holy lemon with blueberries.

I was going to see stars, right here in the alley with nothing except the glory of the twinkling night above us.

His long, dark hair created a canopy of privacy over our mouths as we moved together. And I could feel all of myself melting. Damn well flowing like the chocolate sauce in one of those fountain things.

As before, he lifted his head and pressed another kiss on my forehead.

"Lace? Baby?" I heard him say through my sex-induced fog.

I swallowed thickly, knowing what was coming.

"You gotta go, right?" I said. My voice sounded funny, hoarse, even to me.

"Yeah, Baby. I do," he said. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

I must have nodded or given some kind of signal because I felt him begin to move away.

Except, damn, it was hard to peel myself off of him.

He stayed at the truck as I wobbled my way to the back door.

I turned back and saw he was standing a step or two behind me.

"I had a really good time tonight, Jack," I said, the fog only now starting to clear.

"Me, too, Lacey," I heard him say. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, honey. Tomorrow," I said before opening the door and going inside.

I don't use toys often. However, I have to admit that the plastic, battery-operated rabbit thingie Ricki had given me a couple of birthdays back got quite a workout that night.

*.*.*.*.*

It was only a couple of miles from Lacey's to Grams yet Jax knew he wasn't going to make it and pulled the truck to the side of the road, leaving the lights on and the engine running.

He yanked open his fly with one hand and reached for the glove-box handle with the other, grabbing a wad of napkins.

He was right. It took approximately three strokes and he was spilling all over the crinkling paper, releasing what had been building for hours.

God, relief.

But, his fucking dick didn't want to go down.

It wanted Lacey, just as much as his heart did.

Fucking hell.

He couldn't remember ever feeling like this in his life.

She was like something from a book; a siren that could see him crashed upon the rocks that surrounded her, just from hearing her tempting song. From feeling her luscious body in his arms.

Jax didn't know how to handle her or the feelings that ran through him at just the thought of her.

Fuck.

And to almost have his secret, his unworthiness, exposed in that truck-stop? Oh, God. He couldn't imagine the outcome of that one.

Jax re-zipped his jeans and tried to ball up the soaked napkin, making a mental note to put it in the outside trash before going into the house.

Like a goddamn eighteen year old.

Then, he'd never gotten to be a regular, goddamn kid in what should've been his high school years.

He'd simply been known as the Eternal Teenager when he was playing, touring the world with one of the legendary bands of rock.

*.*.*.*.*

"Did you have a good night, last night, Hot Stuff?" he heard Grams ask as she made her way into the kitchen the next morning.

"Yeah, it was good," he replied.

He'd been up for hours, already getting his run in and making a pot of coffee, his way. The dark of the bean showing up in what filled the carafe as he watched her hold it up to the light.

She shot him a glance and with a soft 'harrumph', she added water to her cup.

"So…" she drawled, seating herself in the dining room chair next to him. "Where'd you go?"

"Highway 49," he said, sipping the hot brew carefully. "Then to a diner just north of here."

"The truck stop by the Quickie Mart?" she asked.

"Yeah. Almost got caught out, too. Had to slip the waitress a fifty just to get a free pass," he admitted, ducking his head. God, he hated having to hide and having to lie to Lacey.

"They'll forget sooner or later," Grams stated firmly, reaching and patting his hand as she settled back into her chair at the scarred breakfast table.

He nodded, but realized it would probably be a lot later than sooner and that hurt.

"Did you at least get to put your tongue in her mouth?" Grams asked after a time, in a voice that sounded like she was asking about the weather.

He shot her a glance before doing a slow blink. He wasn't sure but he didn't think grandparents were supposed to ask those kind of questions.

"Uhm…" he started.

"Never mind," she interrupted with a chuckle, holding a hand up to stop him. "I really don't want to know. I'm just glad you had a good time. She's a good girl, Jax. And I'm glad to see you two getting along."

"Yeah, Grams. It's good," he admitted, trying to smile. "For how long, though? What happens when I have to tell her. Tell her about…"

She heard his voice trail off and she knew what he was trying to get at, even if he didn't say all of it. She thought about the crux of it for a couple of minutes. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the old clock over the sink.

"She's a good girl, Jax," she repeated. "And, you're a good man. Take it slow and when you're ready, tell her. Tell her what's in your heart. I think she'll listen with an open mind."

He sighed and took another sip.

God, he hoped she was right.

Because even after sleeping on it, he still wanted Lacey, still
needed
Lacey like he needed air to breathe.

"Uhm, not to take a u-turn or anything," Gram started. "Turner called again last night."

"Yeah, he's been calling lately," Jax replied.

Turner had been the lead guitarist, providing the hot licks for the group and had been Denny's best friend, one of the founding members of the band. He'd been the one that had pushed for Jax to sign himself out of rehab and got him to Grams to finish the rest of his probation.

Except, Turner's calls of late were different.

They were no longer a 'hey, buddy, how they hanging?' but more of a 'so are you still getting paid?' variety.

Wynter's Vicious may not be cutting records or touring, yet each of them continued to get the residual payments for the songs
still
hitting the airwaves, the CDs which were
still
selling.

Jax reached for his cell, knowing that until he talked with Turner, the calls would keep on coming. The man was relentless, whether it was trying to capture just the right riff to take an ordinary song to greatness, or tracking down somebody's ass to rip them a new one.

"Turner? Yeah, dude, its Jax. What's up? Uh huh. Yeah. No, sorry. I don't control my money anymore, man, you know that. Nope. They told me 'no' the last time you asked. Sorry. Wish I could help. Yeah. You, too. Late," Edie heard him say.

"And?" she asked finally, giving Jax the time to process the call. Used to be, her grandson was sharp as a tack, taking in information just as fast as you could give it. Now? He needed time to think things over before he could really react.

She didn't blame the drugs, but they could be a part of it. Or even his time spent in the ocean when he'd tried to drown himself in his grief over his brother's death. She blamed it on the lack of confidence due, in part, to Denny never giving Jax a chance to live his own life. To make his own decisions.

To grow up and become the man she knew he could be.

Edie had gone through a time like that. The time after Pete's first stroke, which had been aided by the drugs they'd had him in on for his cancer.. He'd been her lifeline since he swept into her life at sixteen. A huge tornado of a man. A man she'd leaned on, depended on, to do everything until he couldn't anymore.

Then she'd had to take the reins because she had no idea how to do it. She'd even gone to the bank and told them, embarrassed down to her roots, how she didn't know how to work the checkbook. Luckily, that little Darla or Darcy, whatever her name was, had explained and had given Edie a booklet which contained diagrams and examples. Enough so she could figure out how to pay and record the bills.

"Turner wants money. Says he needs ten large as soon as possible," Jax said slowly.

"Did he say why?" Grams asked him, watching him closely. When the scum-sucking, ass-wipes from his past came calling, especially the other men from the band, Jax tended to lose his focus.

"No. After I told him I didn't control my money anymore he wanted off the phone real fast," Jax admitted.

"So, if you'd had the money?" Gram asked, taking a last sip of her now cold coffee.

His beautiful brown eyes, so much like his mother's, met hers.

"I still would've turned him down," Jax said firmly.

"Good," Edie said.

She got another smile. A smile that, this time, made it to his eyes.

Chapter 10

I had just gotten out of the shower the next morning when the back doorbell rang.

Shit.

I shrugged back into my cute pink and blue camisole with its matching boy-shorts, as I tossed on the chenille robe that Grandma Lil' used to wear. I made my way downstairs grumbling since I was in no shape to do anything except maybe sign for a delivery or some such.

It was Jack.

Jack looking so hot, he was scorching.

"Too early, baby?" he asked warmly, doing an eye roam before moving in and capturing me against his chest as he used his heel to close the outside door.

"God, no," I breathed as I wrapped myself around him, tilting my chin up as he moved his face down and our lips met again, sweetly fusing.

Holy, sweet, rich,
dark
chocolate.

He tasted just like I remembered, felt even better than my memory as he pressed me to the wall, kissing me so full and so thoroughly I couldn't think straight.

I don't know how long we spent, crushed together there against the hard surface of the hallway before he lifted his head.

"Coffee?" he asked in that black velvet voice.

"Oh, oh-kay," I stammered. Geez, the man nearly knocked the English right out of me with his mouth, his tongue, his strawberry-damn hands that had gripped and rubbed and moved over the bumps of the robe I was wearing.

I used my fingers to wipe my mouth as the other hand shot the deadbolt on the back door before I led the way into the shop. I know I must've stumbled my way around the counter, trying to remember my goal in spite of the fog that had again invaded my head and body.

His hand touched my waist as he came fully in, filling the space with his presence which was so much bigger than just his large frame.

"Coffee?" I confirmed, on a deep swallow, as I moved to Bertha.

"Please," I'm sure I heard him say as I turned my back to him. "You look beautiful, Lace."

No, that was not what he said.

He couldn't have been saying those words to me.

Not me, not now.

I knew how I looked, hair in a wet mess, clad in the old ratty robe of my ancestor. No makeup, nothing to entice a man like him.