Here She Comes Again
Jax's always been told to fight for what he wanted - to never give up until it was his; that'd been preached to him practically since birth by both his parents (especially his mom) and later by his SAMCRO Brothers. Shit, one of the reasons his Old Man started the Sons of Anarchy with his war buddies was so that they could be free to live the lives they wanted - even if it meant fighting bloody to make it so.
However, he's pretty fucking sure no one in his close circle of family and friends would encourage him to fight for what he wants now…even though he's never wanted anything else more in his life.
Sitting at the Clubhouse bar, he glances across the room where she's sitting on Opie's lap - smiling as her head rests against his - while he plays poker with Tig, Chibs, Bobby and Otto. Jax gulps down his shot of Jameson then pours another, hoping that the whiskey's burn can snuff out the fucking ache in his gut.
It's been three months since Tara walked onto the TM lot looking for Opie - and blown Jax's world to hell…three months of expecting that this insane mindfucking attraction to her would disappear as instantly as it rocked him, three months of waiting for Opie to lose interest in her like he's done with every other girl in his life. Three months of pure fucking misery.
He's done his best to avoid her, which shouldn't have been hard since she and Opie only see each other on the weekends now that school's started - although Rio Vista's not that far away, Tara's apparently all-business when it comes to school and homework. But when she has shown up with Opie - at the Clubhouse or friends' parties or just to hang out with the guys - Jax's always made himself scarce, usually by taking off with the nearest willing pussy (and they're all willing).
But like a braindead moth to a fucking blowtorch, he can't seem to stay away from Tara entirely - lurking in the background drinking in glimpses of her, wondering how she can be so goddamn fucking perfect. He'd hoped like hell that she'd turn out to be a lunatic bitch (like one of Opie's former girlfriends) or just another pretty face that bored a guy shitless after an hour (like all the other girls Jax's ever met); no such goddamn luck - bold, witty and a total fucking smartass, Tara's lively brain's almost as sexy as her knockout body. Almost.
"Hi, Jax."
Nearly choking on his whiskey, Jax manages to force it down before unleashing a bad-tempered scowl at her. "What?" he snaps, trying to ignore the fact his whole fucking body's zipping with excitement just because she sat down next to him.
Eyes widening - yet undeterred, Tara raises her hands in surrender after his asshole greeting. "Nothing…just wanted to say hi since I haven't seen you in a while. And grab a drink." She motions to the bottle of Jameson that he's clutching in his hand like a lifeline.
"Sorry," he mutters, sliding the bottle towards her. Rising from his bar stool, Jax desperately scans the room for an available croweater, both to help in his escape and to take care of the sudden twitching inside his boxers.
"Maybe I should be the one saying that…I'm sorry."
Confused by that cryptic response, Jax turns his gaze back to her. Watching as she slowly sips her whiskey, he can't help but marvel that - in a room full of fully made-up, barely dressed croweaters - Tara Knowles, in her Nirvana t-shirt, jeans and no makeup, is the most smoking hot girl he's ever seen. "Sorry for what?" he croaks, reaching for a bottle of tequila.
Tucking a lock of glossy brown hair behind her ear, she flashes him a small smile that sends his pulse racing. "I'm sorry for whatever I did to piss you off." She must've misread the stunned look on his face as proof of his enmity towards her. "Look, I don't know why you don't like me, but I'm hoping there's something I can do to fix it…for Opie's sake. You're his best friend, and I don't want to be something that gets in the way of that."
Jesus Christ. He'd laugh his ass off over the irony of her words…except that he's completely fucking frozen. Jax swallows hard at the hopeful expression on her beautiful face; what the fuck could he possibly say? Shaking his head, he manages a bark of incredulous laughter. "Why the hell would you think that? I like you just fine." Although not a religious man, Jax waits for a bolt of lightning to strike his shitty, hypocritical ass dead.
She tilts her head, as if trying to assess his level of bullshit. "It just seems like you take off every time I show up, like you can't stand to be in the same room with me." Tossing back her shot, she sets the glass on the bar. "You wouldn't be the first," she murmurs softly.
What the hell does that mean? Lighting a cigarette, he peers at her through the smoke. "I'm here right now, darlin'. Not goin' anywhere."
"So we're good?" Her face brightens, lighting him up inside. "That's such a relief. Opie thinks the world of you, Jax. I'd really love it if we could be friends, too."
Smoke hits the back of his throat, and he nearly chokes for the second time in about five minutes. Shit. Gripping his cigarette, he nearly snaps it in half as he struggles not to cough and not to throw the tequila bottle across the room. Goddamn, he really needs to get the hell out of here before she fucking kills him. "You got it," he rasps, then nods towards Opie. "You might want to get back to your boyfriend. Looks like he's about to lose big." Opie fucking sucks at poker.
Looking over her shoulder, she smiles fondly as Opie tosses his cards to the table in disgust. "Yeah, he spends too much time studying his cards and not enough watching his opponents. And those guys have so many Tells, they may as well be playing with their cards facing front."
"Sounds like you've played a few hands of Draw." Despite himself, Jax smirks at her admiringly; what a cunning little sneak - the devoted girlfriend, steadfastly affixed to her man's side…while silently cataloguing clues for future ass-kicking. He can't fucking wait to see that. "Hey, I got an idea…"
"Where'd you learn to play like that?" Opie shakes his head in amazement as Tara tucks the thick wad of cash in her small purse.
Per Jax's plan, she'd asked the players at the table if she could try her luck - and Opie, tired of losing money, offered his seat then warned his Brothers to take it easy on her. But whatever slack the older bikers might've given her initially disappeared quickly as Tara - after a deliberately slow start - won hand after hand until she'd recouped Opie's losses and fucking then some.
Jax had remained at the bar and watched her - alternately smiling affectionately at the methodological elegance at which she took down his Brothers, and bristling with white-knuckled fury every time Opie leaned in to kiss her. A few times between hands, she'd glanced his way and winked at him - causing his fucking heart to skip a beat every goddamn time. Jax'd decided then and there that he couldn't stay away any more; despite how much it might kill him to see her with Opie, he wants her to be happy…and if there's anything he can do to make her laugh and smile like tonight, he'll fucking do it.
"My grandma was a dealer in Reno for years." Tara grins as they join Jax at the bar. "She taught me how to sew a mean stitch and always stay in the money."
Jax hands them both a beer. "Well here's to grandma." He taps his bottle to hers, then to Opie's. "I have to admit, I'm impressed, Knowles. Thought Tiggy was going to have a melt-down after that last hand…He may never be the same again. That shit was definitely worth watching."
"Hey, we're going out for late night burgers…got to feed my girl." Opie takes a swig of his beer then nods at Jax. "You should come with us."
Glancing at Tara, Jax feels warmth spread through him at her eager smile. I'd really love it if we could be friends. Shit, he's pretty fucking sure there's nothing he wouldn't do for her. "Sure, that'll be great."
And so after that night, Jax's become the constant third wheel to his best friend and his best friend's girl; sometimes he'd bring a date or even Lowell, but most times he'd go with them solo - especially after one seemingly brainless blonde had complained about how he paid more attention to Tara than her. Christ, he'd fucking lose his shit if anyone found out how bad he's got it for Tara…it'd be the end of his friendship with Opie, and he wouldn't risk that for anything. Not even her.
"Hey, Teller." Jax looks up from working on a car's engine, only to have his breath catch in his throat. Goddamn it. It's been six months, and he's still fucking crazy about her - if not more so, now that he's gotten to really know her; he'd at least hoped that by this time, the intensity of his reactions to her would subside even a fraction. Apparently not fucking likely.
He hasn't seen her for a week, and his eyes can't seem to soak in enough - especially when she's rocking a wispy halter top that hints at her truly world-class rack. Shit, he fucking dreamed about fondling and kissing those puppies just last night (and pretty much every night since meeting her).
Feeling his dick swell under his coveralls, Jax inhales sharply and drags his gaze from that enticing cleavage to her beautiful face - which does nothing to ease the tingling in his balls. Gritting his teeth, he wipes his hands on a rag but remains behind the car; he's not playing fucking show and tell with the tented proof of what she does to him. "Ope's on a repo run. He'll be back any minute."
"Oh, I know." Smiling, she strides towards him. "Actually, I came by to see you, too."
His Brothers would fucking asses off if they knew how easily she could reduce him into a big, goddamn pile of stupid. Unable to stop the shit-eating grin from spreading across his face or the slow pounding of his heart, Jax ignores his hard-on and steps out from behind the car. "Yeah? Well here I am."
She looks away for a second, which he's come to learn is her way of gathering her thoughts. "I've noticed that when you're alone…you're always writing something down in a little notebook." She lifts her hand, and waves a small shopping bag at him. "You know I just started my new job at a bookstore…well, we just got these in, and I thought of you."
Accepting the bag from her, Jax's not sure whether he's more horrified that she's noticed his compulsion to write down his thoughts or ecstatic as hell that she'd thought about him. He looks into the bag and then back up to meet her expectant gaze…and just fucking melts. Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a small, pocket-sized black leather notebook with a motorcycle engraved on the cover and a stack of blank journal refills of premium paper stock.
"Do you like it?" She bites her lip, as if nervous over his reaction. "You can still fit it in your pocket, and the paper won't bend so much and smear your writing…and when you run out of refills, I can always get you more…But if you don't like, I…"
He'd give fucking everything to wrap his arms around her and never let go; instead, he settles for squeezing her shoulder. "Tara, it's perfect. Thank you." He's received some pretty fantastic gifts in his day, but other than his Harley, he's never loved anything more than this.
She beams him a smile so bright that his brain just fucking scrambles in his head; dazed, Jax barely hears her tell him that she's going inside to look for Piney. Transfixed by that lusciously perfect ass walking away from him, he doesn't notice his mom slipping into the garage until she's standing in front of his face.
"You and Opie have been best friends since you boys were babies…" She tells him as if he didn't know, as if he didn't remind himself every goddamn day. "You're practically brothers…I'd hate to see anything - or anyone - ruin that."
Jax tries to mask his horror that she's discovered his secret by scowling darkly at her. "What the hell are you talking about, Mom?" Maybe there's a tiny chance she's not about to bitch him out for falling hard for his best friend's girlfriend.
No chance. Her eyes narrow in annoyance. "Don't play stupid with me, Jackson. I've been watching you drool over that girl for weeks. It stops now. Do you understand me? Opie's crazy about her, and - from what I've seen - she's all his. Don't fuck with that or you'll just wind up hurting yourself and the two of them. And the Club, since you and Opie are SAMCRO's future."
She must've sensed the pain he's been trying to keep buried for months because her expression softens. Lighting a cigarette, she takes a drag then hands it to him. "Baby, you know I want nothing more than you to be happy. But she isn't it…You got to let this go. Stay away from her."
Inhaling deeply, he closes his eyes; his mom's right…he needs to get over her, needs to stay away. But clutching the leather journal, he brushes his fingers against the smooth surface and remembers the glowing smile on her gorgeous face. I can't.