Page 185 of The Last Good Man

When I opened my eyes, it was Saturday afternoon, and the bedroom was washed in a blinding light.

I powered my phone on and noticed several missed calls anda ton ofmessages, but I ignored them because I was hungry.

I craved savory food, so I ordered subs with meatballs at a place down the road, and I ate cross-legged on the bed, staining my expensive sheets.

When I finally rolled off the mattress and walked into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, my legs almost folded under me from how rough he had fucked me.

With my hair full of knots and a trace of sauce at the corner of my lips, I waited for the shiny coffee grinder to spread the aroma of French roast coffee around the kitchen and give me a nice boost.

The last thing I needed at that point was someone knocking on my door.

I took a second sip of coffee when I heard the noise.

I stopped and swallowed hard.

What the fuck?

Irate, I put the cup down and limped out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, where I collected my robe and hair tie.

I pulled my hair into a bun, put the robe on, and tied the belt before running my fingers below my eyes.

Squaring my shoulders, I walked to the door, checked the peephole, and noticed a silhouette.

As if he knew I was there, peeking at him, the guy barked that he was delivering something.

Something I’d never ordered.

It was the middle of the day, and someone buzzed him in––again, it wasn’t me. What’s the point of having to buzz people in if someone else is doing it for you, anyway?

He wore a blue company T-shirt and had a huge bouquet of irises and roses and a gift for me.

No signature was required, so he handed everything to me and left.I closed the door, smelled the flowers, and shifted my eyes to the gift box.

Gifts have lost their magic throughout the years, as they have always been sent by my friends and family, but I was curious about that box.

I suspected the flowers were from Jax despite the fact that they did not come with a card, although you never know with these men.

Emile returned to New York to see me. Why wouldn’t someone else from the past want to reconnect with me?

I knew the box was the key to the riddle, so using a box cutter, I tore it open.

Whatever was inside was beautifully wrapped in swishy silver paper.

A dress.

A sexy, clingy dress with spaghetti straps and no closure. The kind ofsartorial marvel that flatters your body, slides smoothly over your curves, reveals the top of your chest, and rolls on like a chemise.

Small rhinestones had been hand-sewn on the straps, and despite the lack of labels, I knew it was a custom-made couture piece.

And then I knew it.

It was him.

Jax.

No one had put so much thought into a gift before.

And I liked that he’d thought about me and wanted to give me something special. I liked his gift as much as I liked the pain between my legs, and I knew he wanted to see me in that dress.

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