Tara
"I saw you on the back of Jax Teller's bike the other day," inquisitive David Hale said on Thursday, leaning on my lab table during Biology. My tongs paused mid air in my hand, cutting my meticulous cat dissecting short.
"And?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow at him.
He was giving me that look. To understand the look was to understand the ridiculous infamy surrounding the Sons of Anarchy, and those luster, dangerous teenage boys who were quite obviously imprinting their boots in each step thereof – like Jax, Opie, and Juice. I'd been getting the look quite a lot lately, half from my side of the fence and half from Jax's, especially from one Wendy Case – all boobs, blonde curls, and obvious snarls. I knew her from a few classes in junior high school, but she'd never looked my way before. I doubt she even knew I existed, until now.
I knew her dislike of me had to be because of Jax. We'd only been casually hanging out for a week, and the judgment had already begun.
Wendy generally had a pack of hyenas glaring as well, all wearing clothing that was barely passing the student dress code, sporting piercings and tattoos that I was sure their parents couldn't have agreed to. Or maybe they had. Jax's part of life was still foreign to me; I had to take it in strides, what was free reign and what wasn't, and what constituted as normal behavior and what was abnormal.
"You shouldn't associate with him. He's bad news, Tara," David poked the dead cat with his gloved index finger. "And dangerous."
I sighed, rolling my eyes a little bit because it felt like a joke gone horribly wrong. I pictured Jax's grinning face, his unruly golden hair, and his gentle, deep-set blue eyes. I thought of his easy, boyish laugh, and his careful way of listening to me when I prattled on about nothing important and somehow it intrigued him. How could someone like him be dangerous? Just because of his father, the club, and all the heat surrounding it didn't mean that Jax was just like all of the others. He was different, wasn't he? He was... special, no matter the reputation he had.
"What would you know about it, David?" I focused my attention back on my work, using the tongs to pry open the incision on the cat.
"My dad's the sheriff, Tara." He proudly said, as if I needed yet another reminder. "He tells me all kinds of stories about those low lives, straight from his office."
"Jax is different." I quietly defended him as I continued to concentrate on my work, inwardly begging David to leave me alone.
David and I had been something of a pair when we were younger, spawn from the friendship our mother's had as children. He was the first boy I'd ever held hands with, and the first date I'd ever been on, just last year. He was nice and sweet on me, but I never felt it the way that he obviously had. I expected fireworks, magic, and the fairytale that came with romance – like the can't eat, can't sleep, I'll die if I don't have them kind of thing, and my expectations of that dream were cut short with David. He was a good friend. An annoying one, yes, but loyal and honest enough and I respected him for that. But he wasn't for me. No one had been, yet.
When David didn't say anything for awhile, I looked up at him, still leaning there against my table. He looked affronted.
"You like this guy?" He was almost incredulous. "Jax Teller? Really?"
When I didn't say anything and went back to my work, David finally left me alone, abandoning his fight. But the question stayed with me. Was I falling for Jax Teller?
"What's your favorite color?" Jax asked me as we laid on his living room floor side by side, splitting a bag of skittles. We were on question thirteen. I'd walked over after school as we'd planned the night before, my turn to spend time at his place. This was the fifth time we'd spent time together, and I still had yet to meet his mother, Gemma, whom I'd heard so much (good and bad, mostly bad) about. She always seemed to be working at Teller-Morrow auto-motives, or somewhere with this Clay that Jax often mentioned. It was odd that I'd met none of his family, considering Jax had met my father, though I doubted my father remembered it. He was half a bottle of whiskey in, and sluggish in his hospitality. Jax was kind, and didn't say a word to me about it afterward, even though he could see the upset in my eyes.
"Hmmm. Blue. Or gray, maybe." I popped a yellow skittle in my mouth, looking over at him. He lay on his side, facing me, and I lay on my back. "What's yours?"
"Black." He took a red skittle. "If you could go anywhere, right now, where would you go?"
"New York." I responded after a beat, and then amended. "Or Chicago."
Jax chuckled softly. "You always have two answers for everything."
I laughed with him, unable to help it because his joy was contagious. And, the jerk had a point. I never could pick just one. "Maybe I just like a lot of things." I took a green skittle and flipped it on my tongue. I sucked on them before I chewed. "Where would you go?"
"Ireland, maybe. My dad loved it there."
"I hear its beautiful." I replied, shifting over to lay on my side like he was. As my eyes swept over him, I noticed for the first time the leather vest he was wearing. It was plain, black and fitted, except for the white patch over the right pocket, near his heart. It said PROSPECT. I reached out to the banner, my fingers lining each letter. "What does it mean?" I wondered aloud.
Jax watched my hand for a beat before responding. "It means I have to prove myself to SamCro."
I withdrew my hand from his vest, looking at his face. His expression was so austere then, strong jawline tense and eyes averted from mine. He looked so much older than sixteen in that moment, wise and worn down with responsibility. It frightened me.
"It's started already?"
Jax nodded, heaving a sigh. "Yeah. It's time for me. With my dad gone..." He trailed off, not saying anything else. I knew not to press him on it, just like I knew not to press him on the death of his brother, Thomas, even though Jax had been so young when it happened. I tried not to worry that he lived with the same heart defect that Thomas regretfully didn't survive, as I also tried not to worry about him joining the club at a mere sixteen years old. Wasn't that too young? Didn't he need a few more years, just being a teenager and free, preparing to take that on when he was a man? It felt wrong. And if the rumors were true, it felt life changing.
"Are you scared?" I couldn't help but ask, struggling to hide the deep concern that twisted in my stomach. I could almost picture his grave in the Charming graveyard, small and unforgiving of his unfair death, brought on by guns, drugs, gang feuds, and whatever else corruption the Sons of Anarchy held behind its club doors.
"No. I'm not scared." The corners of his lips rose very slightly as he brushed a strand of tawny hair out of my face, grazing my cheekbone. His fingertips left a trail of fire on my porcelain skin, my heartbeat rising in tempo in its wake. What was that? "You shouldn't be scared, either, Tara."
"Can't help it," I breathlessly responded, feeling embarrassed at the heat I felt filling my cheeks. I knew I was blushing, and he was smirking at me now because of it.
We looked at each other for a long moment then, searching each others' eyes while I tried to understand what was happening between us. There was an energy pulsing, demanding to be felt, looming between the small space between my body and his. He had me ridiculously breathless and flustered, all because his fingers had skimmed my cheek in his affectionate way of tucking my hair back, and all of it had me deep into myself and my thoughts. I'd felt an attraction between us before, the very first night he'd saved my life and taken me home on the back of his bike. But this wasn't innocent or platonic anymore, it was changing with each laugh, each stolen conversation, each game of twenty questions. It was changing with his mischievous grins, the fullness of his bottom lip, the ocean swirls of his irises, the mess of his hair. His kindness, his softness, his edginess, his rage like a beautiful thunderstorm on a summer night. His life, so dangerous, so unexpected and almost magical in a way, like a story I couldn't put down. It was more. It was bigger.
It was infatuation now. I knew it for sure.
I am falling for Jax Teller.
My heart was beating so hard I thought that he could hear it. I watched as his eyes slowly drifted from mine, down to my lips, parted and nearly gasping for air. Was he going to kiss me?
"Tara..." He breathed, and I felt him lean closer.
"Jax?! You home?!" We both heard the front door swing open, and both of us sprung away from each other, snapped out of our almost moment. As the front door slammed shut, both Jax and I got to our feet, shifting awkwardly like we'd been caught with our hands in the cookie jar.
"In here, Op," Jax called out, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.
Opie came through the threshold then, wearing a leather cut that matched Jax's, prospect patch and all. "Clay wants us at the clubhouse. Got some shit going down with the feds, looking at some time..." He trailed off, finally realizing my presence. "Tara?"
We knew each other from the English class he barely attended, and meeting again the night of Jax's party. He obviously hadn't expected me to be around him now, in the privacy of Jax's home. "Hey, Opie."
"Hey." He smiled slightly, a tiny look of suspicion about it before he turned back to Jax. "Ready, bro?"
Jax turned to me, as if looking for my permission. It felt extremely intimate, like I had some kind of say in his release.
"You should go. I can walk home, it's just a few blocks." I smiled at him reassuringly.
The three of us began walking out of the house, Jax locking the door behind him. On the porch, he stopped, letting Opie go ahead to his bike and stopping me by putting a hand on the small of my back. I looked up at him, caught in his closeness. I felt the fire, the butterflies in my stomach again.
"I'll call you. Be safe walking home." Jax clutched onto the hem of my shirt for a millisecond, and then let his hand drop.
Opie gave me a nod as a goodbye from his roaring bike and I nodded back, watching as the two of them road off down the road. I stood on the porch for a second, regaining my composure after Jax's small displays of affection.
Something was happening between us, and I was thrilled and terrified at the same time.