Page 7 of The Quit List
Standing above us is a man I can only describe as a tall drink of water. Said in one of those old-fashioned western voices while tipping my imaginary hat and chewing on a blade of grass. Because this man is broad-shouldered and black-bearded and he’s staring down at us with these intense slate-gray eyes that make my insides feel wobbly. He’s dressed in all black: black jeans, black boots, black t-shirt.
He doesn’t have the same obvious, pretty-boy good looks that Keith does, but he’s handsome in a piercing eyes and rugged manly-man way that is infinitely more attractive in every single sense of the word.
This guy looks like he belongs in an ad for power tools. Or really big barbecues. Or… wolves. If there were such a thing as ads for wolves.
Keith pushes a stray lock of hair off his forehead and glares at the Wolf Man. “Who the hell are you?”
Not brawn backup, then.
“Jaxon.” The guy says this like it’s obvious. “And who might you be?”
Keith ignores his question. “Look, bro, we’re kinda in the middle of?—”
Jaxon—who I’m now realizing looks vaguely familiar—puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder. Firmly. His expression remains mild, but his grip appears powerful. Commanding. In fact, I swear I see Keith wince a little.
“First off, I’m not your bro. Secondly, you were in the middle of nothing. In fact, your time was very much up. And as you have already caused enough of a scene this evening, I’m going to give you until the count of three to get the hell out of here and never bother this woman again.” He gives Keith the full force of those mesmerizing eyes. “Understood?”
This Jaxon character makes for a rather imposing form, and not only is he at least four inches taller than Keith, he’s buff in a way that makes him look like he’d come out on top in any street fight. There’s a bit of a West Side Story vibe to him, without the random breaking out into song. Or gang membership. One would hope.
Keith, on the other hand, has the kind of muscular bulkiness that suggests he’s seen the inside of too many gyms. The kind with smoothie bars and free tanning. And good ol’ Keith seems to come to this realization as well, because he takes a step back.
“I have to get going, anyway,” he says, sounding all business-like, but I don’t miss the flicker of fear in his eyes. He recovers enough to smirk at Jaxon in this maddening, wink-wink-nudge-nudge, boys club kinda way. “She’s all yours, buddy. But fair warning, she’s not worth it.”
Jaxon’s mouth sets in a grim line for a moment that makes me somewhat fear for Keith’s wretched life. Then, out of nowhere, he smiles, moves behind me, and sets a big hand on my upper back almost possessively. He smells as woodsy and manly and delicious as I thought he might.
“Not your buddy,” Jaxon says, and then surprises me by giving Keith a conspiratorial wink. “And believe me, she’s definitely worth it. In fact, I should be thanking you.”
Keith blinks again like the idiot he is. “Why?”
“Your date with Holly was so terrible that it made me look good in comparison,” Jaxon says smoothly. “I’ve been begging her to go out with me for weeks. And one dinner with you—just one single pasta course—made her decide to take a chance on me.”
I tilt my head to look at the man in black, wondering for a moment if he’s clinically insane, or if he has mistaken me for a different, much luckier Holly. And that’s when I see the twinkle in those pretty eyes.
He’s messing with him.
Suddenly eager to join in on the fun, I flash my own smile at Keith. “I texted Jaxon the second you left. Thank you for helping me find my soulmate.” I say the word all breathy and reverentially, fluttering my eyelashes.
Beside me, I feel the vibration of Jaxon’s deep, quiet chuckle.
Keith looks a little ill.
“There’s a word for this,” I continue, unable to help myself. “People who stand in for the actors before they come onstage. In fact, I think that’s what they’re called. Stand-ins.”
“Or fluffers,” Jaxon supplies with amusement.
I startle at Jaxon’s unexpected input, then grin at him in thanks before turning to Keith solemnly. “Thank you for being my emotional fluffer, Keith. I’ll be forever indebted to you.”
“I’m not… I…. I’m not a FLUFFER!” Keith yells a bit too loudly before remembering that he’s in a fancy restaurant and people can hear him. It’s all I can do to keep a straight face.
Inside, I’m dying.
Dead.
Deceased.
Because this is too freaking good.
And then, Keith drops his voice a fraction. “I’m the main character.”
