“You had a good night?” one of them asks me, his friendly smile lighting up his face.
Nodding, I answer, “Yes, and you?”
“Yeah, I’ve had a great night. It’s my birthday so we’ve hit a few clubs celebrating.”
“Happy birthday. How old?” I ask, enjoying the conversation while Jett’s still busy on his phone.
“Twenty-one.”
“Wow, I would have thought you were older.”
He grins at me and before he can say anything else, one of his drunken friends interrupts quite loudly. “Don’t let his age fool you, darlin’, he’s got enough experience and knows how to fuck. All you gotta do is say the word.”
Strong hands suddenly grasp my arms and move me backwards. Jett’s angry face flashes past me as he steps forward. “What the fuck did you just say?” he fumes at the guy who just spoke, his body tensed.
“I said that my friend here knows how to - ”
Jett cuts him off. “I fucking know what you said, dickhead. What I’m actually wondering is why the fuck you would say that.”
Shit, he’s wound tight, and as far as I’m concerned, the guy doesn’t deserve his attention. “Jett, he’s drunk. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying.” I try to pull him away but he doesn’t budge an inch.
The guy holds his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t mean anything, man. I was just having some fun.”
“Yeah, well I don’t appreciate you having fun with my woman. Be careful who you say that shit to in the future,” Jett continues his tirade and I realise where this is coming from.
He’s jealous.
Well, fuck. If there’s one thing I hate in a partner, it’s jealousy. Jett has always seemed so level headed and secure to me that I didn’t think we’d have a problem with this. Hopefully, it’s a once off because I’m not sure I’ll cope well if it isn’t.
The guy backs off and steers his group away from Jett, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Jett watches them go and then turns to me. “Are you okay?”
He seems genuinely concerned that I’m okay and I wonder if I’ve misunderstood. Perhaps it wasn’t jealousy at all. I give him a smile and nod my head. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
A long, hard breath escapes his lips. “Good. I can’t fucking stand assholes like that who think they can say that kind of shit to women.” He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss to my forehead.
Thank God. He’s not jealous; he’s just concerned.
2
Jett
“Best. Sex. Ever.” Presley declares as I collapse onto the bed next to her.
“I try my best, sweetheart,” I say as I roll onto my side, prop myself up on my elbow and place my hand on her stomach. I don’t tell her it’s also the best sex I’ve ever had. She already knows how whipped I am; she doesn’t need further reinforcement. Hell, at this point, she could rip my heart apart with how open I’ve been about my feelings.
Her gaze travels down my body and I enjoy the fuck out of her eyes on me. It’s almost as good as her hands on me. I trace my fingers over her stomach while she’s busy taking in my body. Her skin feels so damn good. I could happily stay like this all day – her eyes on me, my hands on her.
Eventually, she catches my gaze again and asks, “What does this tattoo mean?”
She’s placed her hand on the tattoo on my chest. Out of all the tattoos I have, this one has the most meaning and while I never hide anything from her, this one hurts to think about sometimes. I reach for her hand and take hold of it. Dipping my face to hers, I say, “It’s a reminder.”
“Of what?” She’s watching me closely, waiting for my reply.
I squeeze her hand softly. “Not to let life pass by while I’m dealing with shit. To dance in the rain during the storm.”
“Tell me about it. Why did you choose those images?” she asks, her voice breathy as if she’s holding her breath a little.