Page 13 of Kiss Marry Kill
Richard was only with her because he needed her parents’ support to make partner.
“Stop thinking,” he said, as he opened the door of the café for her. “He’s not here. It’s just us right now. Let that shit go, at least for now.”
He was so easy. Surely, there was more to this man. But right now, all he’d shown her was simple fun. And she needed that. Hell, that’s what today was supposed to be about. One thing that she noted almost immediately was that Jax had not taken out his phone once—he was completely present, which was refreshing and unexpected.
This wasn’t the kind of place that had a hostess, so they just found a booth by a window and sat down. And being born and raised in Miami, she knew what she wanted; menus weren’t needed when there was a Cuban café on every corner in Miami, all serving the same thing. She wondered if he was also from Miami and if he spoke Spanish.
He was looking at her, his hands folded on the table, waiting patiently for the server. “Are you from Miami?” she asked him.
“Yep. Born and raised. You?”
“Yes. My parents were both born in Cuba. My dad moved here when he was fourteen and my mom when she was only four years old. So my Spanish isn’t great because they spoke mostly English around the house. My grandfather used to get so mad about that.” She smiled, but she knew it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She missed her grandfather, the only grandparent she’d had the opportunity to get to know. He was down to earth and hardworking, and he’d taught her all about baseball. “Do you speak Spanish?”
“Un poquito.” He held his index finger and thumb a few inches apart. “I took some Spanish in high school, and living here, things tend to stick. I can’t hold a conversation, though.”
“But you like the food, right? I mean who doesn’t like all the bread and fried goodness.”
“Damn straight I do.” He smiled from across the booth just as the waitress came by holding two menus in her hand.
“Do you need menus, or are you ready to order?” The waitress asked.
“I know what I want. How about you, Megan?” He said it in a soft, almost sultry voice, while looking straight into her eyes. Definitely, there was innuendo in the way he asked it that made her have to look away from him and to the waitress.
“Yes, let me have a pan con bistec and a coke, please.”
“I’ll have the same,” Jax said, and when the waitress left he continued. “So before we walked in you were telling me how Dick wants a job at your parents’ firm?”
“He has a job there already. He’s been there for a few years. He’s just working very hard to make partner.”
“And you? What do you do?”
“I start law school on Monday.” Groaning, she covered her eyes with her hands and slumped her shoulders as she said it. Why did I do that, she wondered. It was as if she could relax with this stranger, which made all her real feelings pour out. Walking out on Richard was the catalyst. So many things in her life were tied to Richard and the law firm, that if he wasn’t in the picture everything would be different. She needed to get so much off her chest, and if the poor man sitting across from her kept asking questions, he was about to get an earful. It was easy to open up when the person wasn’t there to judge or even to give an opinion—and she’d never see him again after today.
“Wow, you look so excited about that. I don’t think I’d do anything that made me feel the way you just looked.”
Sighing loudly, she began. “It’s a means to an end. In three years I’ll be an attorney and school will be behind me. It’s not exactly exciting, but it is what it is, and anyway, it’s too late to change things now.” The busser came to the table to drop off their drinks, and she busied herself opening up the soda can and pouring it in the glass. “And you? What exciting thing do you do, Jax Irons?”
“You mean aside from sweeping women off their feet at baseball games?” He smiled, and she couldn’t help but giggle. Giggle! She never ever giggled. “I’m in the Marines. I deploy on Monday.”
Her mouth hung open and all humor vanished instantly “Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Where?”
“Can’t say.”
“You don’t look like a Marine.”
Now it was his turn to laugh as he ran his fingers through his hair “What does a Marine look like?”
She pointed to his shaggy blonde hair, part of it falling down his eyes. “I don’t know . . . serious. Maybe shorter hair. Don’t they make you shave it or something?”
“They’ll shave it. Probably chop off an ear too.” He shrugged, surprisingly not caring. God, the man was ultra-relaxed; it was disconcerting. She didn’t know anyone like that.
“So why don’t you just get a haircut before you leave?”
“Lots of other things to do. Not a priority.”
