Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

Seeing as Jax has vocalized time and time again how much he hates talking about his feelings, I have a hard time believing Connor.

I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Trust me, he would.”

“Jax can’t hate anyone. He hates the world and the shitty cards dealt to people, but he can’t hate you. Trust me—I’ve known him for a while.”

I have no idea what to make of his comment.

Connor doesn’t give me a chance to ask what he means. “I know he’s been difficult, but he’s a good guy. A loyal family man who has some issues that can get in his way. He’s been a bit lost, but I know he’ll get out of this. I like your idea of the psychologist. And don’t worry, I’ll pretend it’s my doing.”

“Thank you.” Relief washes away my previous anxiousness.

I count today as a win for Team Elena.

12

Jax

I’m an idiot. Based on the way Elena stares at me, I should’ve never planned a stupid dinner on our flight from Sochi to Barcelona. Now she looks at me with hope and shit. Hope I need to extinguish since there’s no use for it. At least not toward me.

“Whoa.” Her eyes move from me to the plated tacos and wine.

This totally looks like a date. Shit. “I was craving Mexican tonight.”

She eyes the food, ignoring the flight attendant ushering her to sit across from me.

“Stop acting weird. Your food is getting cold.” I grab a cloth napkin and place it on my lap.

She settles into the seat across from me. “Tacos?”

“Yes. Tacos. You know more words than this, come on. Did I literally stun you? I know I look good but…”

She lifts her eyes from her plate. “I’m surprised. I guess your Prix win put you in a good mood.”

Fuck. I really am a total arsehole. If this is a sweet gesture, I’m doing my job fucking everything up with us too well. The only reason I set up this dinner was because I wanted to thank her for her help thus far.

Instead of expressing my thoughts, I keep my thanks to myself. “Now I know the way to get you to stop talking.”

The flight attendant asks us if we need anything, but I send her away with a thank you.

“So, we have almost eight hours together. Any bets on how long it will take before one of us says something nasty?” I sip my wine to calm my nerves.

“Based on your history, I give it two minutes.”

“That’s the only time I want to hear you referring to me and two minutes in the same sentence.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks. “I walked right into that one.”

“I couldn’t resist.” I brush a finger across her pink cheek without thinking, enjoying the way her eyes cloud and her lips part.

She pulls away from my touch. A smile graces her lips as she grabs a taco and takes a bite of her food. “So…you kept it together for a month already—minus your failed attempt at a suite party. How do you feel?”

I smirk. “The music sounds better on the podium than standing on the sidelines.”

“I’m sure there are more of those wins to come.”

Why does she always believe in me? No matter how many times I brush her off, she keeps up her positive shit with a smile. “Tell me, does McCoy pay you extra to be my personal cheerleader?”

“I should’ve included that in my contract. Probably could’ve gotten a couple extra thousand euros for being your motivational coach.”