Tex (Hell's Ankhor Book 5) by Aiden Bates & Ali Lyda

Author:Aiden Bates & Ali Lyda [Bates, Aiden]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-22T16:00:00+00:00

12

Tex

The sun streaming in through the window of Jazz’s room woke me before the alarm did.

I’d slept better last night than I’d slept in three years. Jazz and I hadn’t moved much in our sleep—if anything we’d scooted a little closer together, still facing each other on the narrow mattress. Jazz slept on his side, with his hands curled into his chest in a way that made him look ten years younger. The sunlight brought out the hint of red in his dark hair, and in sleep the worry was smoothed from his brow.

He looked young. He looked—

Beautiful.

I shook the thought aside as soon as it popped into my mind. That wasn’t a word I’d ever used to describe Jazz—or any man, for that matter. I wasn’t gay. I’d never been attracted to a man before—and Jazz was my brother more than anything else. Even if that hadn’t felt quite right since he’d been back…

And so what, I’d always had trouble landing a relationship that lasted longer than a few weeks? That didn’t mean anything. I still liked women, liked their bodies, I just… I just couldn’t connect with anyone.

Anyone besides Jazz, really.

He was the foundation of my life, in a way. From childhood until now—I didn’t need anyone else. And when he was locked up, I wasn’t interested in dating seriously. Why would I want to start a relationship with a woman Jazz hadn’t vetted first?

But now that he was back, I still didn’t have any interest in trying to pick up or meet women. It just seemed like a waste of effort. The possibility of a quick fuck wasn’t better than spending time with Jazz after so much time apart… But what did that mean?

Watching him sleep made my stomach flip; it made my chest feel tight like I couldn’t quite catch my breath.

I needed space. A shower, my own clothes instead of Jazz’s sweatpants, a cup of coffee, some fresh air. Once I cleared my head, I’d be able to sort all this out. I’d be able to think about last night, and right now, without feeling like I was about to take my bike around a corner too fast.

I started to sit up, moving to climb out of the bed. But before I could, Jazz shifted. He reached for me, catching my forearm in his hand. “Clint,” he muttered, breathy and low with sleep, his eyes still closed. “Five more minutes.”

Maybe it was hearing my real name, instead of my club tag, or maybe it was how open and soft he sounded, but something kept me from pulling out of his grasp. I settled back down onto the mattress next to him. Jazz, satisfied, fell easily back into sleep with his fingers still loosely curled around my arm.

Siren and Maverick had been right—Jazz was a different man now. He wasn’t the anxious kid brother I’d had all those years, always seeking direction and inclusion to the detriment of anything else. I’d worried that San Quentin would break him.

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