Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

“I don’t back down from challenges.” I hold my chin up high. He thinks he can instill fear in me, but I’ve already seen the worst of people. “By all means, good luck trying to make my life hell. I don’t mind the heat.”

Jax steps out of my way so I can walk toward the kitchen. I fiddle with the hotel’s coffee maker, desperate for something to kick my butt into gear. I’ll need all the help I can get with Jax in an irritable mood first thing in the morning.

He frowns as he leans against the counter. “Every time I think I’ve said or done something to make you quit, you surprise me by staying. Why is that?”

“If I quit because you make fun of something I do, then I need to reassess my job. Get over yourself. I’m here for the long game.”

“That’s my fear with you. Short game, long game, endgame.” His eyes flash with uncharacteristic vulnerability before it disappears as quickly as it came. “I’ll leave you to it then. I need to get ready for our flight.”

I’m left staring at Jax’s retreating body. Why is he afraid of me?

Truly, I’m afraid of him. I have no idea how to cope with my attraction toward the one person I can’t and shouldn’t want.

“Where have you been hiding this for the past few weeks? When you mentioned us going on a private jet, I didn’t expect this.” I stare at Jax’s sleek plane, the black paint gleaming under the morning sun.

“My dad had to borrow it for work stuff, but we get it for the rest of the season. Don’t get used to it though. One season will fly by and then you’ll be back on commercial airlines with cheap pretzels and screaming kids.” Jax struts the carpet like a catwalk, his Doc Martens thumping against the ground as he twirls.

“Did you say a bad pun? I’m shocked.” My eyes linger on his butt. I can’t even remember the last time I was this focused on every part of a man. From Jax’s long legs to his muscular thighs, to his corded arms straining from dragging his luggage behind him.

“My eyes are up here.” Jax snaps his fingers.

My eyes lift, meeting his hazel ones. “I know. I was checking out the carpet. Black just like your soul, I’m guessing?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

Seeing as Jax is the human equivalent of a Rubik’s cube, I was—under absolutely no circumstance—getting it. “My bad. Insinuating you have a soul means you’re redeemable. You’re like my dolls: vacant and cold.”

He taps his chest with one tattooed finger. “Emphasis on the cold, especially around my heart. You’re lucky I give a shit about my career because if not, you’d be fucked out of a job.”

I let out a shrill laugh. “No, I wouldn’t. I’d end up working for people who actually want my help instead of an entitled prick who acts like he’s God’s gift to Earth.”

Okay, maybe I would be out of a job paying double what I usually make. But at least I wouldn’t be a few months from finding my first gray hair.

“Elena, dear, stop showing your true colors. I’d almost think you have a thing for our back-and-forth. I won’t lie to you though, that type of self-inflicted torture would make for an interesting personality trait.”

“My personality is begging me to shove a heel up your ass, but I keep it in check. I deal with greater douchebags behind the scenes at press conferences.”

“Who knew you had such naughty kinks?” Jax laughs at my growl of frustration.

We walk up the stairs of the plane and greet the pilot. The interior of the plane is creepy. I’m surrounded by black—from the leather chairs to the carpet to the walls. “This is yours?”

“That’s what my accountant tells me. Why?” Jax deposits himself into one of the captain’s chairs.

“It’s so…”

“Depressing?”

I nod my head. “You’d think something this expensive would be more welcoming.”

“I like the color.”

“It’s the equivalent of a flying coffin.”

Jax scowls at me. “Fitting, seeing as I’m mourning the loss of your career.”

“A little premature, don’t you think?”

He shrugs, grabs his headphones from his backpack, and messes around on his phone. I sit on the opposite side of the aisle. Jax remains engrossed in whatever he does, ignoring my presence.