Page 82 of Axe-ing for Trouble
She waved me off. “No. It’s not that. It’s just.” With a huff, she scrunched her nose and closed her eyes. “Is it bad that I’m jealous?” She looked down into her mug, avoiding my eye.
Confusion swirled in my head. “Jealous? Of what?”
She stood and silently padded to the sink, where she rinsed out her mug and put it in the dishwasher. I followed her every move, at a loss.
Finally, she turned and leaned against the island. “You’re you,” she said, as if that explained anything, and waved her good arm, gesturing to my body. “And you’re headed out to play your guitar with your beard and your glasses and all those stupid muscles.”
A scoff escaped me. “Stupid muscles?”
Head tipped back, she groaned. “You know you’re hot, Jude. Don’t make me spell it out. I’m already humiliating myself here.”
I couldn’t hide the smile that split my face in half. She was jealous and being possessive. It sent a thrill through my body.
“I’m going to play guitar for a couple of hours, then come home. You know that, right?”
She let out a big sigh. “Yes, I know that. But there will be women everywhere, throwing themselves at you.”
Across the granite, I covered her hand with mine. “Trouble, you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not a rock star playing a sold-out stadium. It’s a dive bar in rural Maine. Most of the clientele are older than my parents or grizzled loggers blowing off steam.”
“Inaccurate,” she quipped, pulling her hand away. “The Moose is not a dive.”
“Fine,” I conceded. “A fancy dive.”
“No. It’s a restaurant and bar trying to cultivate the street cred of a dive while being too clean and welcoming.”
I bit back a laugh. “Okay, now that we have established its place in the spectrum of dining establishments, can we focus on why you’re jealous? I’m sorry I’m leaving. I know you’re going stir crazy, but I made a commitment.”
She deflated. “God, you’re so annoying. Do I really have to spell it out for you?”
It was times like these I was reminded that I had a lot to learn about women. Not one lick of this made sense to me.
“It’s not about leaving the house. It’s about you being all sexy Jude the Lumberjack Musician and having all these women lusting after you.”
Even as dread formed in my gut, a hint of a thrill zipped through me. Had she seriously admitted that she’d be jealous of any women who might come on to me? I circled the island and stood in front of her, tipping her chin up with my fingers.
“Trouble. No one will be throwing panties at me tonight.” I caressed her jawline, studying every facet of her beautiful, pouty face. “In fact, the only girl who has ever thrown panties at me was you.”
“I did not.” She went ramrod straight, poking a finger at my chest.
I chuckled and stepped closer, bringing my body flush with hers. “Okay, so you metaphorically threw your panties at me. Admit it, you eye fucked me so thoroughly, they probably incinerated before my set was over.”
Punctuating the comment, I grabbed her ass and squeezed.
She moaned slightly, her eyes darkening but staying locked on mine.
I did not have time to bend her over this counter, but goddamn, I wanted to.
I buried my face in her neck and inhaled her honey lemon scent. “You have nothing to worry about.”
With her good arm looped around my waist, she said, “I know we’re not exclusive or anything.” She sighed. “I could never ask that. We both want casual.”
My gut clenched. She was the one who wanted casual. Me? I wanted a lot of things. Things that I did not have the emotional bandwidth to even define. But it was a fuck of a lot more than casual.
I took a step back and rested my hands on her upper arms gently, putting some space between us. “Look at me.”
She complied, a mixture of defiance and vulnerability bleeding from her, making my heart seize up.
“I will not so much as look at another woman while you’re sleeping in my bed.” I was unlikely to ever look at another woman again, even after she was long gone, but I kept that information to myself.
