Jax (Cocky Cage Fighter Series) (8 page)

For so long I've been told it's what I
needed
to do.
Should
do. That it's a great opportunity, and one day I might be the freaking First Lady. But what about what I want for myself? I don't yet know what that is, but I'm starting to think that whatever it turns out to be, it won't be a loveless marriage like the one my parents endure.

It's easy to pinpoint the cause of my sudden contemplation. I'm developing a horrible, probably incurable, case of hero worship for the one man I never imagined would come to my rescue, and who also happens to be the one man I absolutely can't have.

…

I've chewed off every single one of my perfectly shaped, manicured fingernails by closing time Thursday. No call from Jax yet, but I don't know how long those tests take. It's been an hour and a half, so I figured he'd be done by now. He didn't even stop in to say hello when he picked up the check before his appointment.

Ready to call the work day good, I turn off my computer and grab my phone and purse. Then it hits me. Jax doesn't have my cell phone number. Son of a...beach. Saving his number in my phone, I decide to send him a text, just a quick note to call me either way. Busy typing on my phone I step off the elevator and out the front door heading toward my car.

"Page."

"Sheesh! You scared the heebie-jeebies out of me!" I exclaim to Elliot, clutching the phone to my chest to keep my heart from leaping out onto the sidewalk. 

"Get a grip, Page. And when the hell are you going to stop using toddler phrases and speak like an adult?" he asks.

It still amazes me that God would go to such trouble creating an exterior masterpiece, and then hand the man's soul over to the devil. Or maybe he traded his soul for all his millions.

Elliot's gray designer suit fits his impressive frame perfectly, and his ridiculous four hundred dollar politician haircut has his thick brown hair sweeping to the right in the exact formation of his many right-wing supporters, my dad making the top of the list. 

"Oh, crap. I must have missed that adult speaking course in college. What was it, Proper Procedures in Profanity 101? Maybe there's a
Potty Mouth for Dummies
I can order from Amazon to catch up."

"What the fuck is the attitude about?" he asks, rocking back on his expensive heels with his hands casually in his pockets.  

"Hold on, let me take notes," I say, pretending to type on my phone. "What the...was that f-u-c-k? I want to make sure I get this right. Here, let me practice using it in a sentence. What the fuck do you want?"

Elliot scoffs indignantly. "You're not going to thank me for the flowers?"

"Sure I will, as soon as you
actually
apologize. Go ahead, let's hear yours first."

"Jackson Malone is a bad influence on you."

A bark of laughter escapes before I can even try and hold it back. "And exactly how well
do
you know Jackson Malone?" I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest. His quick judgment pisses me off, even if I had done the exact same thing.

"I know he's an out of control meathead, and he's going to get what he deserves."

"You don't know
anything
about him! You're just jealous because he's the epitome of virile, and pissed that he was able to cut you, Mr. High and Mighty, down in a few sentences," I counter, walking past him.  

"Where are you going? I came to take you to dinner."

"I'm not hungry," I mutter over my shoulder.

"Well, I am," he says, grabbing my arm to stop me. "Come on, Page. I've missed you."

Oh crap. He's looking at me with those sad, denim blue, puppy dog eyes. The look he pulls out right before he gets all charming and I can't help but give in every single freaking time. He's a good looking bastard and he knows it.

What was the old saying? If you can't screw the man you want, screw the one you're with? Tonight I need the reminder that my thoughts about Jackson Malone are stupid and pointless, because he's definitely off limits. Maybe Elliot can help me accomplish that.

Jax

I watch Page hesitate on the sidewalk, but I already know the asshole isn't going to take no for an answer. I had overhead their entire conversation from the shadows of the parking garage, and barely held back my laugh at Page's cattiness. I had no idea the woman had it in her, so maybe it was my bad influence.

I'd been here for ten minutes before she walked out, debating whether or not to go inside. I had the polygraph report in my pocket, but for whatever reason I couldn't bring myself to show it to her. I wanted her to believe me without a fucking piece of paper to back it up.

"Fine, but
just
dinner," Page finally responds to the jerk. I admit that I'm shocked when she actually caves after how shitty he treated her yesterday. Why does she put up with this hateful fucker?  

"You say that now," the asshole says, taking a step closer to her and reaching for her jaw. "But you know you'll change your mind."

My teeth grind painfully against each other from the anger boiling up inside me at seeing him fucking touch her.

When Page doesn't protest the jackass leans forward and kisses her cheek before moving over to her lips. Her posture is cold and rigid at first, but after a few seconds she relaxes into him and presses her palms to his chest.

My own chest constricts, freezing my lungs just like getting slammed on the canvas during a fight. I've never felt anything like it before, and I have to say it sucks.

As much as I want to get back in my car and leave, I can’t. My feet are cemented to the ground, forcing me to watch while I try to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Whatever it is doesn't ease up. Not when he loops his arms around her waist, and definitely not when she willingly presses her body against his.

"My place or yours," he asks when he pulls his lips away.

"Yours," she responds, so softly I barely hear it from my hideout.

"Then let's go. I'll drop you off at work tomorrow," the dickhead says, grabbing her hand and pulling her around the building.

Still feeling somewhat numb, I get into my
impractical
car. For a few minutes I consider calling one of the many women in my phone to get sucked or fucked, just because I can. I had missed calls from four different girls just today, but it's stupid to even consider doing something so risky. As much as I hate to admit it, Page is right about needing to lay low when it comes to women until all this shit is over. Besides, I don't really
want
any of those faceless women. So if I'm not going to fuck, I'm going to fight.

On the way to the gym I'm surprised to get a text message from Page. One that says, "
Call and let me know how it went, either way
." And immediately after that, "
First thing tomorrow
." Because it looks like she was going to be busy tonight.
Fuck
.     

I park and head inside what is practically my second home.

"Jax! What are you doing back so soon?" my head coach and manager, Don Briggs, asks as soon as I walk through the door.

Shit.

I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone, but I know he won't just give up.

"Nothing else to fu-reaking do," I say, catching myself at the last minute when I notice Coach's teenage daughter eating dinner behind the front counter with him. "How's it going, Sadie Hawkins?"

"Bored out of my fucking mind," the brunette
Annie
replies with an eye roll.

"Sadie!" Coach admonishes her. "You guys are bad influences on her," he says, scowling at me.

"Your fault for bringing her in here."

"Do you think I trust her to stay home by herself? Hell no. I'm not stupid. I know exactly what boys convince sixteen-year-old girls to do when they're left unsupervised."

"Dad!" Sadie covers her face and groans in embarrassment.                    

I shake my head in slight amusement and quickly go change in the locker room. I push the earbuds in and strap the iPod to my arm, turning the volume of the thumping bass up until it's at hearing damage levels. I consider running a few miles, but know that will never do. I need to hit something. Hard.

After wrapping up my hands I go straight to one of the hanging bags and start in, pummeling my fists into it like it's someone's face and body. Imagining it's the jerk that doesn't deserve an incredible woman like Page doesn't help as much as I thought it would. Probably because it's hypocritical to say he isn't good enough for her, knowing I'm certainly not either.

The longer I throw punches and kicks the worse I feel. I'm suffocating on the lack of control in my life. I can't fight. I can't get rid of these bullshit charges. And I can't fuck. Instead of my usual any-hot-woman-will-do policy, I'm starting to think it was now only-one-woman-will-do. And even if she didn't think I'm a fucking monster, and she wasn't engaged to an asshole, she's still off limits. There's no way I'd risk her losing her license to practice law.

"Who you beating the shit out of?" Jude asks, when he yanks one of my earbuds out.

"No one."

"Right." He laughs, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel. "You don't rock the bag like an eight-point-oh on the Richter scale unless you're seriously angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Um-huh. So it won't bother you if I tell you that last night after you left I threw your hot ass attorney in my bed and tried to make an earthquake with her-"

I have an arm around his neck and the other around the back of his knees, cradling and pinning him to the mat before he can blink.

"Kidding. Damn. So why…are you…pissed?" Jude asks through gasps while I choke him and he kisses his own knees.

I eventually release my hold, allowing him to stretch out like a slinky back to his normal size.

"I'm not," I respond, standing up and going back to the bag.

"You are. You want Page, right? I mean who wouldn't, she is so fucking-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Let me guess… She did the unthinkable and turned you down? Did she finally manage to put a ding in your impenetrable ego?" he asks, as he finally gets to his feet again.         

"She didn't turn me down, because I didn't ask her out."

"Then what's the problem? You afraid she won't enjoy your rear naked choke hold?"

"Fuck you," I bark, nailing a few combo shots on the bag.

"Too soon for choke jokes? My bad."

"She's engaged to an asshole. Even if she wasn't, she can't fuck with clients or she'll lose her law license."

"Then get another attorney," he says simply.

"Hell no. I think she might be the only one that can keep me out of prison."

"Then suck it up and get the fuck over her," he yells before walking away. Easier said than done.

…

Page

What the heck was I thinking
? I ask myself as Elliot drills himself into me over and over again, faster than a woodpecker on speed, and just about as annoying.

"Oh shit! Fucking amazing."
Slap
. "You know you missed it," he groans, followed by two more slaps.

On my hands and knees I watch the headboard creep closer to my face, knowing I'll probably ram into it soon. Not that it would slow Woody Woodpecker back there down.

Thankfully he must be getting close to the end, because the frequency of smacks to my ass are increasing right along with their intensity. When my eyes close in boredom, I can't stop myself from thinking about a different man from the one currently inside me. My mouth goes dry just thinking about his massive, chiseled body. The feeling of it pressed hard against my backside. Remembering his dirty words about screwing me so good I'd forget what I was pissed about. Watching his darting tongue lick the freaking cookie, all hot and sensual. My insides clench when I imagine that tongue between my legs, licking me, teasing me into a frenzy. Elliot grabs a handful of my hair, tugging my head backwards, but instead of him, I imagine it’s Jax yanking on my hair, forcing my mouth up and down his long, hard length.

"Ah!
Oh God,
" I moan in surprise when my body shakes with pleasure, radiating from deep inside me and spreading through my body in waves so intense I can't hold myself up any longer. I collapse onto the mattress and wait for Elliot to finish.

"Damn, Page. You came so fucking hard. I gave it to you good, didn't I?" he asks.     

"Mmm," I reply, and then pass out with sweet dreams. 

…

It's early Friday morning, and I had just hung up with the prosecutor in Atlantic City when the receptionist buzzes me. I'm still distracted by the news that Jax has been indicted by the Grand Jury, and needs to be in court Monday morning unless he wants to get arrested again. Awesome. 

"Jackson Malone is here to see you," Jamie says over the intercom.

Shit! I told him to call me this morning and let me know the results. Him showing up…did that mean he passed or failed? Am I ready to know the results, that he's telling the truth and is innocent, or that he's lied to me and is actually guilty? I'll still represent him either way, but I know the way I feel about him will change, and I'm not sure I can handle that.

"Page?" Jamie asks.

"Oh, um, go ahead and send him back," I reply, tidying up my desk and running my fingers through my hair to fluff it. Why do I do that? I have no freaking idea.

"Hey," I say, sounding out of breath when Jackson appears in my doorway. Broken in jeans and a black tee have never looked so good on anyone. I try to judge his results from his expression. He looks a lot like the angry volcano I met that first day.

Oh God, he failed.

"Nice flowers," he says sarcastically as he eyes the vase from Elliot on my desk.

"Ah, yeah," I respond, annoyed he's talking about freaking flowers when he knows I want to hear the results.

Finally, Jax pulls out papers from his back pocket and throws them down in front of me. I quickly grab them up and open them to start reading.

On the polygrapher's letterhead, it begins with a narrative of what Jax has been charged with, followed by the three questions and his answers of “no” to each. I'm holding my breath when I get to the results. The polygraph shows with ninety-nine point nine percent certainty that Jackson has
not
shown any deception on any of the questions.

Holy shit, he passed!

"Don't look so fucking surprised," he snaps.

I'm not so much surprised as I am relieved. The man in front of me really is the good and decent person I've gotten to know this week. It would've crushed and disappointed me if he'd failed.

"What can I say? I'm a cynical person. I wouldn't have believed my own father if he had been in your place until I saw this," I assure him, holding up the report.

"So what now?" he asks while he remains standing. I guess that means he isn't staying long.

"Actually, it looks like we'll be heading back to Atlantic City. I just got off the phone with the prosecutor. The Grand Jury's indicted you-"

"What the hell does that mean?" he interrupts.

"It's nothing to worry about, it just came sooner than I expected. Felony cases have to be presented to the grand jury to determine if the State has enough evidence for indictment to Superior Court. That's where all felonies have to be tried. The grand jury almost always indicts since it's such a low threshold for probable cause. The defendant and his counsel are not allowed in the grand jury, so there's no one to say to them that all the evidence is bologna."

"So what does this all mean?"

"Monday morning you have your first appearance in Superior Court. You have to be there to waive the court appointed attorney, and I'll make a general appearance on your behalf. Mostly you'll just be proving that you haven't skipped town and are not a danger to the community. There's a chance the prosecutor might try to make you put up another bond, but I doubt it."

"That's all that will happen Monday?"

"Pretty much. But get ready for the cameras. As soon as the court calendar hits the media’s desk they're going to be like vultures trying to talk to you and get pictures of you arriving and leaving the courthouse."

"You're going to be there, too, right?" Jackson asks.

"Of course. We probably should go on up Sunday afternoon and spend the night to be there by nine a.m. Monday. Unless you want to leave at like four-thirty Monday morning?"

"Let's go Sunday."

"Yeah, probably safer since you never know with traffic, and all those dang toll booths take forever to get through. I'm going to draft a letter to give to the prosecutor on Monday and include the polygraph, Jude's statement, a copy of the hotel video, still photos from the video, and the bitch's Facebook pictures in a packet. Basically, I'll be informing  him of all the reasons why he shouldn't proceed with prosecuting this case."

"Okay. Do I need to suit up and shit for this thing?" he asks, making me smile. Jackson Malone in a suit? This I can't wait to see.