22
Ruby
I slamthrough the open door of my hotel room straight into a suffocating mix of people, alcohol, and a sickly smell of weed. The music blares from one corner, with a dozen or so people crammed together in the room. Jax is on the bed, shirtless, with a petite blonde girl wrapped around his naked chest.
“Ruby!” He waves a half-empty bottle of bourbon at me. Jesus, he’s buying into the cliché.
What do I do? The headspace Jem just dragged me into isn’t one that can include other people. As Jax disengages from the girl and heads in my direction, I’m aware of others staring at me.Crap.Tears.I scrub my face and head for the brightly lit bathroom. Jax appears.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ve got drugs in here! If Jem knew, he’d lose his shit. Do you want him to drop us?”
“He won’t know. Anyway, it’s only a bit of weed.”
Something Jax has evidently used, judging by his pupils. “Is it?”
Jax shrugs. “As far as I know. Couldn’t vouch for what everyone else has taken.”
“Shit!” I turn on the tap and splash my face with cold water.
“Where’d you go? What happened?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Who upset you?” I dry my face on a white towel. “Ruby?”
“I said I’m fucking fine!” I yell and push past him.
“Come here.” Jax takes my elbow and guides me around the bodies on the floor, and into the empty hallway. “Where did you go?”
Leaning against the wall, I stare at the worn carpet. “I went to see Jem. I didn’t want to come back here for another party, so thought things would be more peaceful with him.”
Jax straightens. “What did he do to you? I’ve seen him watching you. Did he come on to you?” He sweeps a gaze over my figure. “Did he do something you didn’t want?”
“Nothing! He didn’t do anything!” The tears return, threatening to spill.
“You don’t cry for no reason.” Jax continues. “You never cry.”
“Well, clearly I do.” I move away as he tries to touch me again. “Jem wouldn’t do that—he doesn’t want to screw things up with the band.”
Jax rests against the wall next to me and says quietly, “Yeah, I get that. Relationships inside the band would screw things up whether it’s the manager and the singer or the lead guitarist and singer.”
“Exactly, and he…” I stop. “Lead guitarist and singer?”
Jax screws his face up and rubs his temples. “Shit, forget I said that. I’m drunk and a bit stoned.”
I cross my arms tightly. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare throw this crap at me! There’s nothing between us.”
“Ignore me. I care a lot about you. I’ve seen the shit you’ve been through, and even though you pushed me away and refused to let me help, I still kinda feel protective.”
“Protective?”
“And yeah, I probably like you too much, but I ignore that. Thing is, I can’t if I see you with someone else.”
Ohmygod. Talk about things going from bad to fucking worse. “Shit, Jax!” I shove him in the chest. “Don’t do this! Stick to screwing your groupies—there’re plenty willing.”
He catches my arm. “Yeah, I understand that you’re not interested, but you’re special. Too special to be screwed around by Jem Jones.”