“Hi.” I halted, unsure of what was appropriate, a hug or a handshake or maybe a kiss on the cheek. My stomach turned over when Jax closed the distance between us.
“Hi.” He gave me a megawatt smile and opened his perfect muscular arms. They begged to be admired and they probably were, just not by me. “You look beautiful.”
What the hell am I doing? “Thank you.” A nervous laugh escaped from between my lips. I remained still.
He leaned forward and our chests collided in an awkward embrace. His smell, aftershave and expensive cologne, crawled up my nostrils. His body was hard and warm and his T-shirt felt nice to the touch. There were so many insignificant things that my brain registered and evaluated while we stood glued to each other next to his car that it almost felt too clinical. As if I was comparing him to Frank.
Actually, I was comparing him to Frank. Weight, height, skin tone, eye color. They were nothing alike, which was exactly what my battered heart needed. A change. A distraction. A different man.
We drove with the top down, Nirvana blaring from the speakers, a cool evening breeze dancing across our skin. Pushing back my nervousness, I did my best to enjoy the ride and the company.
By the time we arrived at the restaurant, a small Brazilian place in the heart of Hollywood, both my mind and my hair had turned into a hot mess. Thick accents and the mouth-watering scent of exotic barbeque welcomed us as we made our way to the door.
“I’m sorry I forgot to ask you, but do you eat meat?” Jax checked as we joined the end of the line. “They do have vegan options.”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” I inched forward as the group in front of us moved. His palm rested carefully on the small of my back, a gesture too intimate and unexpected.
Inside was dim, loud, and busy. Almost chaotic. The kitchen staff spoke Portuguese and the patrons looked drunk and happy. A hostess escorted us to a small table in the center of the dining room.
My eyes darted left and right as we settled.
Jax sensed my unease. “We can go somewhere else if you’re not comfortable here.” His inked hand slid across the table to meet mine, but I didn’t have the heart to reciprocate.
“No, this is fine.” I shook my head and swallowed down my apprehension. The fear of crowds that I’d developed after the release party fiasco was all Frank’s fault. Fear of dating was his fault too. Fear of being alone. Fear of failing. Fear of not meeting expectations. Fear of never being enough for anyone.
We started off with appetizers and drinks. The buzz hit me almost instantly. My tortured mind didn’t fight it. On the contrary, I embraced the dangerous daze, and for the first time since my break-up with Frank, it didn’t feel like the sky was falling. Deep down, I knew this calm was just an illusion. A fake. A cloud of magic dust that was going to evaporate the moment the alcohol’s hold on my consciousness weakened, but I was enjoying the ride while it lasted and I understood why Frank was so drawn to the numbness liquor provided.
Intoxication made all the bad go away, made all the pain, confusion, and the feeling of hopelessness disappear.
The realization terrified me.
“Have you been here before?” I asked Jax, trying to keep our conversation going. My tongue felt thick and heavy inside my mouth. I was on my second drink. On the way here, we’d resorted to discussing music and now, it felt like the right time to talk about other things. Or just talk. Because time seemed like it had stopped. Every second turned into a minute and every minute turned into an hour.
“A couple of times.” Jax nodded.
The food looked and smelled delicious, but my stomach continued to riot. I didn’t know what exactly it was, but the barbeque tasted like paper, the air was too hot, and rivers of sweat streamed down the nape of my neck.
“How did you find it?” I shot him another question, tossing the pieces of meat around on my plate with my fork.
“A friend recommended it.”
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” an unfamiliar voice spoke off to the side. I felt it, the presence of a foreign body. Someone invading my personal space. A stalker? Paparazzi? One of Frank’s fans? Heart in my throat, I tilted my head up to see who it was. A thirtysomething bearded man hunched over our table. Acid bubbled up the back of my throat when he gave me a grin, then followed up with a curt nod. I waited, but nothing came.
His gaze swept over to Jax.
“I know I’m probably way out of line here, man”—he tossed his large, heavily inked hands in the air—“but me and my wife are huge fans. We loved you on Mad Ink. Just came out here for a weekend from Minnesota.”
Relief instantly replaced my agitation. Always expecting people to approach me in public by default, I’d forgotten about Jax’s TV show appearance.
Smiling, he dropped his utensils on the table and held out a hand for a shake. “Thank you, brother. I appreciate it.”
A large woman with dark curly hair and thick makeup, most likely the beard’s wife, was barreling her way through the cluster of tables.
“Any word on the second season?” The man asked.
“No second season.”
“Bummer.”
“I know, but it is what it is, brother.” Jax fished out his business card from the front pocket of his jacket and handed it to the beard. “Hey, if you want to get some ink, come see me.”
“I’d love to, but we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Whenever you’re in town again.”
The wife finally made it to our table. More handshaking and fangirling took place. I watched them through a curtain of hazy blur. My head, my mouth, my limbs were like cotton.
“I’m so sorry again, but do you mind taking a photo with us?” The beard whipped out his cell phone. “Please.”
Jax stood. “Sure. Absolutely.”
A cell phone was thrust at me. I took it and scrambled to my feet.
The Minnesotans sandwiched my date and grimaced for the camera. People inside the restaurant stared at us as I clicked the button. Moments later the couple was gone. Their squeals still rang in my ears when we settled back down.
“I’m sorry about that,” Jax said with an apologetic smile on his lips.
“It’s okay. I…” I paused mid-sentence, unsure whether he needed to hear about my regular run-ins with the paparazzi and creepy fans of my ex.
The silence that swelled at the table felt heavy. Like my head.
Jax cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I’m not a stalker or anything, but I heard about you and Frankie Blade.”
My pulse jumped. “Oh.” I bit my bottom lip and continued to stare.
“It’s none of my business,” Jax said, then went on, “You don’t have to tell me anything or explain anything. I’m just really glad you texted.”
“It’s over,” I said quietly.
He tilted his head in question.
“Between me and him,” I explained. I had no idea why I was telling that to my tattoo artist. Except that I needed to vocalize it to someone other than my mirror reflection, to manifest my break-up as something real. Frank and I weren’t anything anymore. We parted ways over a month ago. Because I was suffocating him with my goodness, because he couldn’t keep his promises, because he was like everyone else—a rich ass who didn’t see how lucky he was, a selfish child who was wasting the second chance he’d been given.