Against the Rules

by M. E. Montgomery

  Almost as if he could read my thoughts, Jax said, "Should I add showing up this afternoon to my growing list of transgressions?"

  "I was annoyed at first. I didn't expect to see you again. But like a bad penny, you keep turning up."

  He chuckled. "I think we settled on more than a penny, but I get your meaning."

  "At least you made yourself useful. That was an unexpected, but pleasant surprise."

  "I have my moments." He hesitated, then added, "I had fun today."

  "You sound surprised."

  "I am. I had ideas of spending time with a beautiful woman alone, not with a bunch of noisy, nutty, and mopey creatures known as teenagers."

  "Now I feel like I should apologize."

  He snickered. "But you won't, will you?"

  "Yeah, no." I snorted. "The look on your face when we pulled up was priceless."

  "I liked spending time with you, even there."

  "Again, you sound surprised."

  "I guess I am. That isn't how I normally spend my time with women."

  An image of what he probably did do with them played in my mind. I felt my face flush and wondered what it would be like to feel his hands caress my skin all over followed by his lips.

  "Grace?"

  I jumped as his fingers waved in front of my face. "Um, sorry, I was thinking about something else." I was pretty sure by his smirk that he knew exactly what I'd been thinking about.

  He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and removed a small piece of paper and held it out to me. "This is for you."

  My eyes shifted to his as I tentatively accepted it, our fingers brushing during the exchange. Was it just my imagination, or did they seem to slide along mine unnecessarily?

  I unfolded the paper, still warm from his body, and found it to be a check to the tune of fifteen thousand dollars and signed by Jaxson Carter. I was stunned. After a check bearing the logo of JAC Enterprises came in my mail earlier this week, I figured that was the end of our association.

  My fingers trembled as I gaped at it. "What is this?"

  "It's a check, a piece of paper authorized by a bank and commonly used in place of cash but just as valuable."

  I rolled my eyes. "I know what a check is."

  "Then why'd you ask?"

  I waved the paper in his face. "Because this is a huge amount and the name is left blank. I don’t understand."

  "Because I promised you that I'd get you a replacement check, and I'm a man of my word. My company will pay for the dinners. I wanted to make my own donation. I wasn’t sure who to make my donation out to.” He sounded sheepish.

  "But you already sent a check. And how do you know I won't run off and take a cruise around the world with it?”

  "If you do, I recommend spending extra time in Italy. Beautiful country. Lots of history and art and great food."

  I stared at the check in my hands and pretended to ponder the suggestion. "I'll send you a postcard as a courtesy thank you."

  "Your manners are impeccable." When he smiled, I understood the old cliché; his face did light up, from the relaxing of his features to the glimmer in his eye.

  I tried to get back to the matter at hand. "Seriously though, you could've asked to sign the old one. Or handed this one to me earlier. Or with your obvious skills of tracking me down, I'm sure you could have mailed it. Why go to all this trouble? Why come here today?" I waved the check in his face, eyeing him suspiciously. "Was this just to impress me? A way to try to buy me?"

  He looked horrified. "No!"

  "Then why, Jax?"

  He playfully tugged a section of my hair that had fallen forward before tucking it behind my ear. He let the back of his fingers linger on the sensitive skin of my neck before trailing along my cheek to my jaw. I had to fight not to close my eyes and lean into his hand.

  "The first time we spoke, right after you kneed me in the balls,”—I flushed at the memory and started to look down, but he held my chin in place—"you said you wanted to make me smile. And you did. And you have each time I've talked to you." His expression grew more serious. "I had a rough start to my day. I wanted to see if you could do it again." His eyes lightened as he smiled again. "I'm starting to think it's your superpower."

  Wow. I think that's the best compliment I'd ever gotten. "I, um, I'm sorry I hit you there."

  He smirked. "Let's just say it was predestined because if I didn't deserve it then, I certainly did after the way I treated you in my office. There's no excuse for my behavior. I promise I was raised better than that."

  I missed his hand as it dropped from my face, only to tingle as he grabbed both of my hands. "Grace, I'm sorry for many things, including abandoning you at the reception, embarrassing and harassing you in my office, as well as invading your privacy to seek you out today, although I'm less sorry about that last one than the rest." He drew my hands to his mouth, pressing his lips first to the back of one and then the other.

  Any anger I harbored for him was snuffed out. I wasn't one to linger on much anyway, but his look that accompanied his apology was genuine.

  Damn. He'd be so easy to fall for!

  "I'd still like to take you out to dinner."

  He's emotionally unavailable.

  But he seems so sincere!

  He doesn't do relationships like you deserve.

  But you're not in a relationship like that.

  My mind spun as the angel on one shoulder argued with the devil on the other.

  "You don't give up, do you? Wasn't our phone conversation answer enough?"

  Shrugging, he said, "I guess not." He lifted his eyebrows at me and leaned closer. "Go ahead and check my report cards. It always said, 'needs improvement' next to 'listening skills' and 'follows directions.'"

  "Next to ‘plays well with others’ as well, I imagine," I added dryly.

  "You'd be wrong about that," he said. "I played very nicely with others. Still do." He winked at me.

  I smacked him on the arm. "Dork."

  "So, I'm forgiven?"

  "Yes, you're forgiven. That was a pretty amazing apology, by the way."

  "So, you'll let me take you to dinner?"

  I wanted to say yes. It turned out I enjoyed his company when he wasn't behaving like a jerk. He was funny and willing to admit mistakes. But his earlier statement about how he usually spent time with women had left its mark. I was sure Jax didn't do relationships, and I didn't do casual sex. One of us would have to change to be together, but neither of us was likely to do that.

  I stared at my lap, so he couldn't see the truth in my eyes about wanting him. "I don't think that would be a good idea. I think we want different things. In fact, you don't need to accept my mother's invitation. I'll make excuses for you."

  "I think it's one of the best ideas I've had. And trust me, I've had some good ones. And, I'll be there for dinner." He bent his head, trying to get a direct look at me when I wouldn't lift mine. His action put us close enough I could feel his warmth and smell the subtle but spicy cologne he wore. Instinctively, I looked into his eyes.

  Big mistake.

  He was staring at me the way a dieter might longingly stare at cheesecake, wanting it, but knowing they shouldn't. I couldn't move, not even as his head grew larger in my vision. My eyes closed right as his mouth breathed a kiss on my cheek. Just a tiny navigation of my head was all it would take. My brain was rapidly firing 'abort' messages, but my body had other ideas. On a sigh, I turned ever so slightly.

  Only instead of the warmth I sought, I met air. I opened my eyes to discover Jax had retreated a few inches.

  Oh, my God! How had I read that so wrong?

  Embarrassed, I jerked back and yanked the keys from the ignition. "This was fun. Thanks for the check. It will do a lot of good, I promise. I'll make sure you get a good table at the dinner party."

  "Grace—"

  I tossed him a quick glance and slight smile. "I should get going. I've got to get ready for dinner tonight, and I know
you have things to do, too. Thanks for all the help and the pizza today. You were a big hit with the kids, and I know that Shane appreciated your skills. He's terrible when it comes to building things."

  It took a couple of attempts, but I found the door handle behind my back and jerked on it. Why wouldn't the damn thing open?

  Jax's hands settled on my thigh. "Grace."

  I stared at my lap.

  "Grace?"

  I hesitated, then slowly looked up. He was staring back at me with an intensity that nearly took my breath away. Neither of us moved. I was afraid to break the moment. I had no idea what he was thinking behind those dark eyes.

  My phone suddenly lit up and started playing the 'Amen' chorus from Hosier's Take Me to Church.

  "Hi, Daddy."

  Jax groaned and retreated to his side of the car, leaning against his door.

  "Yes, everything's fine...okay, I'll see you soon."

  The back of his head lolled against the window. "I swear, does he have some divine notification system?"

  I tried to smile but failed. Seconds passed while neither of us spoke. Wanting to put an end to it, I cleared my throat. "I guess I'll see you on Friday, then? Don't be late. Daddy doesn't like to be kept waiting."

  He sighed. "Dinner's going to be awkward, isn't it? Should I be ready for a lightning bolt or plague or something worse?"

  With his exaggerated comment, he'd managed to lighten things between us once again. "Coward," I teased. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

  He laughed and opened his door, then whirled back around and pressed a kiss to my lips. By the time I thought to react, he was out of the car. "I'll see you later," he mouthed before getting into his car. I was still in the same spot with my fingers to my mouth when he pulled away.

  I might have made a promise to protect Jax, but now I was starting to wonder, who was going to protect me from him?

  13

  Jax

  Where the hell is it?

  I was already in a pissy mood after another long day at work, and now I'd spent the last five minutes in a grocery store searching for the required oil that my mom had asked me to pick up along with a few other items on my way to her house after work.

  "Excuse me." I tapped an older woman on the shoulder and asked if she was familiar with the product I was looking for.

  A minute later, I was hurrying to the end of the aisle red-faced with the woman's laughter still ringing in my ears. Who knew Oil of Olay was a beauty item? Would it have been that hard for my mom to have mentioned that little tidbit before I searched for it among the olive, peanut, vegetable, and canola non-relations?

  As I rounded the corner at the end of the aisle, I was nearly run over by three small hellions who were laughing and running down the main aisle. Their mom huffed after them seconds later pushing an overloaded cart without offering an apology.

  Why did I volunteer to run this errand for my mom again? Right. Because she called you at work saying she twisted her ankle while out with Aunt Julie, and she wanted to rest it before her trip in a few days. My mom almost never asked anything from me, so I immediately had answered, "Yes."

  Another kid whizzed past me, bumping me hard in the side and almost knocking me into a display of toilet paper. Fitting. My day had definitely gone to shit.

  "Sorry," he muttered, dark eyes stealing a glance at me as he continued his sprint toward the exit, running into more customers. I had no idea grocery shopping was a contact sport. If this is what it was like for my housekeeper to shop for me, I owed her a raise.

  Seconds later, I heard the same voice cry, "Let me go!" I looked over my shoulder to see a scuffle near the exit. An older teen wearing a store apron was holding on to the arm of the same boy who'd just raced past me.

  In a flash, the voice and eyes matched a memory. The sullen, lonely boy from the youth center, Micah, was now jerking this way and that as the clerk awkwardly held on.

  What the hell was up with him now?

  Resisting my better judgment to ignore him, I strode to the front in time to witness Micah's sweatshirt relieve itself of a small jar of peanut butter, a sleeve of crackers, a bag of beef jerky, and a couple of candy bars.

  "Call the police," the aproned guy said to a co-worker, another gangly teen.

  Despite halfway thinking that some time spent with the police might make this a more memorable lesson, I knew I'd kick myself later. Even if Micah deserved the trouble, his mom didn't.

  I moved toward them and held up my hand. "Stop. Don't make that call. Just get your manager, please."

  "But he was shoplifting!" the pimple-faced clerk squeaked. He looked at me like I was the one who was committing a felony.

  Using the look that intimidated men more than twice his age, I repeated, "Get your manager." I nodded toward the second teen who looked grateful to get away.

  I shot my arm out and caught Micah by the elbow as he tried to sneak away while the clerk was distracted. He scowled at me, and only the reddened tips of his ears indicated he was more than just angry.

  "I'm not saying he shouldn't be held accountable. But look at him. He's a little kid." I tightened my grip on the arm when he tried to wrench it away, seemingly more perturbed by my “kid” comment than his predicament.

  A harried-looking man hurried over to us. "What's going on here?"

  "Well"—I paused and looked at his name tag—“George, it appears that this young man almost forgot to pay for his food."

  George took in the boy's scowl and defensive posture. "You mean he was trying to steal from me." He crossed his arms and gave me a grumpy stare.

  "Given that he didn't walk through the doors with the items, you don't know that was his intention. Maybe he forgot to grab a cart and was on his way to get one." That sounded lame even to me; my lawyer friend would be so proud.

  "You his dad?" George asked.

  The little ingrate snorted. "Yeah, right."

  I squeezed his elbow again. He glared at me but wisely didn't say anything more.

  "No, I'm not his dad." I bent down and picked up the peanut butter. "But what kid do you know steals healthy stuff?" I stared hard at the manager, hoping he would reach the same conclusion I had.

  George rubbed his chin, his eyes moving between Micah and the food items that the clerk had cradled in his apron. I could see awareness dawn in his eyes. "Well, now. I suppose no harm was done." He held Micah's eyes with his own. "But I don't tolerate no stealing, ya hear? I won't call the cops this time, but if it happens again, I will. You understand?"

  Micah gave a quick nod of his head. I gave him a hard nudge. "Come on, kid. You can do better than that."

  If only looks could kill, I'd be out of my current misery.

  "Thanks," he finally said, although it was more of a grunt.

  The manager shook my hand and went back to his business.

  I took the items from the clerk who frowned as if he was disappointed that he wasn't going to get to watch something more dramatic happen. Dick.

  "Where's your mom?" I asked Micah.

  "Work."

  "Did she send you here?"

  He shook his head and stared at the floor.

  "Do you have any money to pay for these items?"

  Shrug.

  "Come on, Micah. Don't give me the silent treatment. I just saved your butt."

  He let out a very dramatic sigh. "I've got about five bucks."

  I held out my hand. "Good. Hand it over."

  His head jerked up so fast I'm surprised he didn't give himself whiplash. "What? No way! That's mine."

  "And the food is someone else's until you pay for it."

  "But I was supposed to use it to go see a movie. I had to work an hour at ole Mr. Pott's house to get that. He's mean. Real tightwad, too. He shoulda' paid me more for all the stuff I did."

  I crossed my arms over my chest and pinned him with my eyes. It was like watching a plant wither in the hot sun. I almost felt sorry for him.

  "Fine." He sighed
and reached into his jean's pocket and held out a crumpled up five-dollar bill. He watched me tuck it in my pocket it with wistful eyes.

  "Trust me, you'll enjoy it more now. Stolen food leaves a bad taste that you won't like. Now, what else do you need?"

  "That's all the money I've got."

  "Have. That's all the money I have." Didn't they teach grammar in school anymore? "And that's fine. I'll spot you, and you can pay me back." I ignored his mumble about me being part of the grammar police.

  "No thanks. I'm not gonna work for Mr. Potts again. And before you ask, my mom ain't—doesn’t have—no money neither."

  I bit my tongue. At least he tried. His answer, however, confirmed my suspicions. I ran a hand through my hair. I could buy the food for him, but what was he learning if I did that?

  "How about this? You can work for me to earn it."

  He cocked his head. "Doing what?"

  "I'll work it out with your mom. Maybe you could come to my office on Saturday and spend some time doing some small chores."

  "On a Saturday?"

  Damn, this kid was getting on my nerves. "Yeah, on a Saturday. As in, you don't have school, so it works. Take it or leave it."

  "Do you have to tell my mom?"

  Yeah. That was a sticky point. I didn't believe in lying to her, but I knew what it was like to have a mom who was barely making ends meet. She didn't need more stress.

  "We have to tell her something. It's up to you whether we tell her about what happened today, or you tell her you're working for me to help out. Either way, I'm your ride home."

  "But that's like my only day off!"

  I checked my watch. "Offer's up in ten seconds."

  "But how long do I have to work?" He looked at the cart of groceries.

  "Four seconds."

  "Fiiinne."

  I had to give him credit. He held out longer than some grown men I'd negotiated with in the past.

  "Good decision. Welcome to manhood." I bit my tongue when he rolled his eyes again. I should have known better than to expect gratitude, I supposed.

  We spent the next fifteen minutes walking up and down aisles. Micah surprised me. I expected him to go right for the chips and candy, but he thoughtfully selected items like pasta, rice, and spaghetti sauce. It was obvious the kid was picking out things that not only could he cook, but that would stretch a dollar. Nor was he greedy. I wasn't sure if he was trying to work fewer hours or if he was self-conscious of his situation. While he ran ahead of me, I threw in extras of everything he picked, plus a few he didn't.