Jett (Arizona Vengeance 10)

Eventually, our beers dwindle, and Jett gives me a pointed look. He’s ready to go and start the evening between just the two of us.

I’m ready for that too.

Jenna and I make our farewells to the people we met and those we already knew. We give promises to come hang with the team again, and Clarke asks us to come see her at her bookstore, which I’m looking forward to.

Jett announces he’s going to walk us out and ensure we get an Uber safely. Of course, he has no intention of returning, and I know his linemates will figure out what’s going on. I doubt we’ll remain a secret for long, but I’m not rushing to out ourselves.

Jett motions for Jenna to go down the stairs first, then me, and he follows behind us. We weave our way through the crowd, which is still shoulder to shoulder despite the late hour.

We almost make it to the front door that leads to the parking lot when we maneuver past two women and a man standing there drinking beers. They’re young, early twenties, and dressed in Vengeance jerseys.

Jenna moves past them first and as I’m almost past, I hear one of the girls say, “Oh my God… did you see the scars on her face?”

It’s said with the pity that Jenna hates so much, and I feel my entire body lock tight.

The man with them responds, “So fucking gross. How does she even show her face in public?”

I have no clue if Jenna hears, as she has made it by them. She moves fluidly with no tension, so I’m thinking not.

I should keep going and let it go, but the fury that’s pulsing through me has me stopping in my tracks.

Slowly, I turn their way, intent on laying into the group. There’s a flash of movement and Jett’s not behind me anymore, but rather toe to toe with the guy.

And his big hand is around the guy’s throat, squeezing hard enough the guy’s face flushes red.

My head whips toward Jenna, but she’s gone… out the door. I look back to Jett, knowing I should pull him off because he could get in trouble, yet having no desire to save the guy.

With just the power of his grip, he pulls his captive in closer to him and snarls, “You fucking douche. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pound you into the floor.”

One of the women—not sure if she’s the one who made the original comment—grabs ahold of Jett’s arm and attempts to pull him off the man. He’s like stone and doesn’t budge a fraction of an inch, except his head turns her way. Jett’s eyes are ice-cold as he looks at her and the other woman. “You are pathetic excuses for human beings.”

My jaw drops slightly, not by his defense of Jenna. I know that’s the kind of guy Jett is, but because he is intensely furious over the inherent unkindness these people displayed.

Without warning, he releases the guy who grabs onto his throat and wheezes. Jett merely says, “After tonight, I don’t ever want to see you three in this place again.”

And with that, he turns from them, takes my hand, and leads me toward the door.

Except I dig my heels in and stop, forcing him to look at me.

Without thought to the repercussions or the fact that I’m going against my own rule to keep our relationship a secret, I fling my arms around his neck and kiss him hard on the mouth.

Because that was without a doubt the sexiest, hottest, and sweetest thing I have ever seen.

The kiss ends before he can return it, but I take delight in the surprised look in his eyes.

Spinning from him, I hurry toward the door. When we exit, we find Jenna waiting there, head bent over her phone ordering an Uber. She looks up at us with a smile. “I was wondering where you two went.”

I let out a pent-up sigh of relief.

She didn’t hear what was said, and I’m so incredibly grateful that my legs feel a bit like jelly.

“I’ve got the Uber ordered,” she says cheerfully. “You two can go if you want. It’s safe here by myself.”

“We’ll wait with you,” Jett replies, glancing back toward the door.

The message is clear.

He’s become Jenna’s protector and my heart just got snagged a little in the process.

CHAPTER 13

Jett

I’m not sure what’s changed since leaving The Sneaky Saguaro but the undertones of sexual tension between Emory and me have seemingly fizzled.

Not in a bad way.

Not in an awkward way that says either one of us have changed our minds about what we ultimately want tonight. That’s just a given, and I sense that’s still there.

But while Emory amiably chats on the way to my condo about the fun she had tonight and the enjoyment of getting to know some of the players on a more personal level, I can tell she’s somewhere else inside her head.