During the month of June, the sun shone bright like it always did in L.A. Only this month it seemed even brighter. The flowers bloomed with more color than ever. The birds chirped just for me, twittering away like I was Snow White and we spoke each other’s happy woodland language.

I knew what was going on, but I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want it to be so, but that didn’t change the fact that the joy welling up and threatening to burst out through my chest had everything to do with a certain man I still only saw a few times a month. But Jax and I were starting to talk much more frequently than that. The text messages between us started off slow, but the pace picked up, more and more to say to each other with each passing week.

The charge I got when my phone sounded from a new text was like taking a hit of crack. Not that I’d ever taken crack. But it was definitely an adrenaline rush, a high that made me guilty and excited and thrilled, soaring up to the clouds to know he was thinking about me and checking in, sharing something from his day and asking about mine.

We never crossed any lines. He never asked me what kind of underwear I had on. I never told him I dreamed about him at night. But we also never talked about Mike, or any women in his life.

I hated that thought, but there had to be women in his life. No man who looked like Jax could possibly be either single or celibate. He looked like he could star in an action movie, right at home in combat fatigues leading a daring rescue. Or he could be a down-on-his luck boxer who needed the faith of a good woman by his side to help him become heavyweight champion of the world.

Yes, I had an over-active imagination, but I wasn’t imaging how attentive Jax was. He remembered little things about my day, like how the bus I took to work was always either late or early. He’d send me a message right when I was supposed to be getting to work asking, “Which one was it today?” He knew I was always filling in for other people’s shifts, the sub on standby should anyone ever want time off. Jax would tell me to take care of myself, reminding me how many shifts I’d worked in the past week. Which meant he was keeping count, looking out for me.

I literally felt like I was glowing all over when I got a text from him. Like if you turned out the lights, I’d provide my own luminescence. I knew it was dangerous, but I told myself it was a harmless friendship. Nothing had happened between us, not even in words.

But I knew how much I wanted it to become more than that. The power of my attraction to him grew every day. I understood that I might be experiencing Romeo and Juliet syndrome, the thrill of the forbidden calling to me, making me want what I couldn’t have. But I’d never been prone to that before. I’d been with Mike for three and a half years. I’d never even looked at another man, and not just because I knew Mike would kill me and the guy if I did.

Now I knew I wasn’t speaking figuratively. It was literal. If Mike had cut off some guy’s finger and laughed about it, keeping the digit as a souvenir and showing it off around the bar with his friends, what would he do if he had a personal vendetta? If he thought I had cheated on him? He’d kill me. I knew it with certainty.

Each time he got rough with me now, I didn’t try to explain it away or excuse it. I let myself acknowledge how much it hurt on so many levels, and I used it to steel my resolve. I needed to get away. That was the real reason I said yes to every extra shift. I squirreled away each and every extra cent I made, withdrawing it in cash in regular intervals and hiding it in a backpack I kept balled up in the back of a closet. Mike never scrutinized our monthly spending as long as nothing caught his eye on our joint bank balance or credit cards. As long as the numbers looked about what he expected them to be, he didn’t ask any questions. I hoped that stayed the same for another few months. I figured I could have enough saved by then to put down first and last on an apartment somewhere. I hadn’t figured out where yet, or how to prevent Mike from tracing where I fled. But I’d figure that out. I had to.

And I had to do it before I did anything stupid. There was only so long a situation could heat up before it boiled over. Last month when Jax and I had folded sheets in the supply room, it had almost happened. That day, the two of us standing close, doing something so domestic and strangely intimate together, him trusting me enough to share a painful story from his past, it had taken all the willpower and self-restraint I possessed to tell him I had to go. I’d had to force myself away from him, use all my strength to walk out the door and down the hallway. All I’d wanted was to drop that sheet and throw my arms around him, lick his neck, lift up his shirt and trail my fingers down every chiseled, muscular inch.

I’d have shocked him, I was sure. He knew I was married. I wore the ring. He even knew Mike. Ace Bar wasn’t his favorite, but Mike went there from time to time. And besides that, I knew I wasn’t the type of woman Jax would go for. He was so hot I bet he turned heads when he walked around, women losing their balance and spilling their drinks as they saw him stroll by. He probably caused traffic accidents by crossing the street.

As for me? I’d never stood out in a crowd. I looked fine, but nothing special with my mousy brown hair and pale skin and a few extra pounds on my hips and thighs. Jax was probably just being nice to me, grateful that I was nice to his grandfather. Not every elderly relative got treated right. He was probably just putting in some time with me as a thank you for doing right by Ace.

But sometimes I admitted to myself that it didn’t feel that way. It felt like we liked each other, in that charged, special way when you knew the attraction was mutual. When Jax looked at me, it was like his mouth watered at the sight. He made me feel like I was gorgeous and desirable and everything I’d pretty much never felt with another man.

Sure, Mike had been into me at first. But he’d never ravished me the way men did in romance novels. He’d never made me feel like he couldn’t get enough of me. Occasionally, at first, he’d told me I looked hot in my jeans, so I should take them off. Sex with Mike was always quick and to the point. And sex with Mike was all the sex I’d had.

The truth was, I’d never had an orgasm with a man. I’d become fairly skilled at giving them to myself, but my couple of boyfriends during my teen years hadn’t done the deed. And Mike? Even when we’d had sex, it was a one-and-done type of deal. That one was always him, never me.

What would it be like with Jax? His hands were so big. The way he looked at me, I could imagine him down between my legs, doing all sorts of things that made me drunk with pleasure. When it was just me, late at night, alone in bed, I could lose myself to fantasies. Mike was never around anymore. I didn’t know where he was spending his nights, and I didn’t care. I knew he was probably with another woman. From my perspective, that was perfect. It kept him distracted, buying me time to save up money so I could leave. And it gave me the space I wanted to dream about Jax.

I did it every night, twisting up the sheets as I touched myself. Sometimes with my fingers, sometimes with my vibrator, I lost myself in fantasy, imagining all the ways he and I could find ourselves alone. What if the bus ran late and he happened to be driving by? Or what if he happened to leave Ace’s apartment at the same time as my shift ended? He’d offer me a ride, and there we’d be, just the two of us, surrounded by the growing darkness outside as we shared the cab of his truck. Sitting that close, with him so huge, we’d brush against each other, his arm against my breast, my knee against his thigh. I could smell him, watch the Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, lean over and give him a hug to thank him and say goodbye. Only once I was pressed against him, maybe we wouldn’t say goodbye after all.

But I had to try to tamp all that down when I actually saw him in person. It wasn’t easy. I was sure I gave away all the telltale signs of intense attraction, blushing, flushing, practically blooming whenever I saw him. One time he’d slid his hand along my lower back, guiding me along in the hallway. I’d had to close my eyes it felt so good. My nipples had stiffened, with a shiver down my spine and a throb right between my legs. He had to know the effect he had on me.

As much as I hoped that he never found out, I fantasized that he did. By myself, in the bath, I’d slip a finger down and imagine it was his. What if he cornered me somewhere no one could see? In the empty staff room, a back stairwell, a supply closet, I could picture him wrapping me in his arms, kissing me, telling me he couldn’t hold back anymore.

I might try to do the right thing and tell him I didn’t want him. But what if he listened to the signals of my body instead? What if he slid his large, powerful hand down where he shouldn’t? Imagining one of his thick, rough fingers sliding along my pussy, discovering how wet he made me, I’d moan, almost hearing the groan he’d make in his throat, the hiss of his breath as he found out, without a doubt, what he did to me. Then I’d have no choice. I’d have to surrender to the floodtide of arousal building inside me, growing more impossible to fight each day. No more pretending, no more hiding, he’d know I wanted him so much it kept me awake at night. That moment of discovery, when it all came tumbling down around us, always made me cum. And as I shuddered and trembled and cried out his name it was always his fingers that I fantasized were deep inside of me.

But that couldn’t happen. So when I caught a glimpse of Jax walking in to visit Ace one afternoon in late June, I forced myself to do all my other rounds first before I checked in on Ace. That way, I could at least feel like I hadn’t run straight to Jax. Even if I wanted to do exactly that.

When I finally walked in, Jax was fastening a button on Ace’s shirt. Ace batted him away as I arrived, probably a little embarrassed that he was getting help. But my heart melted for them both, Ace for the difficulties of aging, struggling with shaking hands. And with Jax, it honestly killed me to see him standing there looking like such a muscled badass, but having the patience and gentleness to button up his grandfather’s shirt.

I’d promised myself I’d play it cool next time I saw him. That plan failed instantly.

“It’s so good to see you both!” I gushed, walking over, barely restraining myself from giving them both big hugs.

“Just who we wanted to see!” Ace announced. “We’re going for a walk. Join us.”

Who was I to say no? It was a gorgeous day, sunny and cheerful. The rays felt glorious on my skin and we wove our way slowly around the courtyard. I didn’t know if Ace was doing it on purpose, but he kept leaving Jax and me alone together as he chatted with other residents. It felt like he was purposely giving us time to spend on our own. Something about it felt like an old-fashioned courtship, strolling along the manor as our chaperone discretely engaged in conversation while keeping a watchful eye. Yes, I’d read some regency romances. And not just to the residents at Cavallo Canyon Retirement Community.

I had to admit, there was something to old-fashioned courtships. Without the opportunity to jump each other like wild, sweaty beasts, Jax and I were forced to get to know each other. Over the last few weeks, between texts and a few visits, I’d been learning about his daily life, including all the challenges of running a bar that catered to a pretty rough crowd.

“How was your night last night?” I asked.

“Lots of beards.”

“Excuse me?”

“They’re popular now, you know? Practically every guy in the bar had one.” He glanced at me, stroking his chin. “What do you think about beards?

“Not the hugest fan,” I admitted. Personally, I figured Jax could pull off anything he wanted. But in general, beards were a no for me.

“It’s funny to see some skinny college hipster wearing boots, a flannel and a beard sitting next to a Skull in the exact same thing.”

I laughed, picturing it. He looked at me like he was memorizing my face, my smile. “How about you?” he asked. “How’s your day going so far?”

“I sang ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ three times. I may never be able to listen to that song again.” I told him a little more about my rounds. But then, in the sunshine, feeling playful, I turned to him. “So tell me. If you could pick any place in the world, where would you open up a bar?”

“Hmm, anywhere in the world…” He ran a hand over his head as he contemplated my question. I’d noticed he had a habit of doing that, especially when he’d shaved it. I loved it when he did that. It made him look so impossibly badass. Then again, I also loved it when he let his hair grow short and cropped like a military man. I had a feeling he’d look hot as hell no matter what he did. I didn’t really care what he did with his hair, what I wanted was to get the chance to run my hands all over it the way he got to do. That was how bad I had it. I was jealous of his hands.

“On an island,” he decided, giving me a grin. “Somewhere people are on vacation. So they’re in a good mood, not looking to get in a fight.”

“Sounds great to me.” I could picture myself enjoying something fruity and fun at his bar, letting the island breeze blow through my hair.

“How about you?” He elbowed me, and even that made me all weak in the knees. “Do you want to open your pie shop next to my bar?”

I smiled and blushed. That was the thing about Jax. I didn’t even need to tell him about my dream of owning and operating my own pie shop, because I didn’t have to. He talked about it like he knew that was what I should do, that clearly I was good enough and it would be a huge success.

“You should put a picture of yourself on the box,” he teased. Only he didn’t sound like he was entirely joking.

“That’s a terrible idea.” I had to laugh, running a self-conscious hand along my ponytail. Strands had come loose. I was barely wearing any make up. A photo of me on the pie box would probably frighten people away.

“It’s a great idea,” he insisted. “But that’s not your style, is it? We could get someone to draw up a graphic of you instead. In that apron I saw in the photo you sent, with the lace around the edge.”

I knew I was blushing again. He was so full of compliments, and so freaking attentive. How did he remember a detail of my apron from a text I’d sent him over a month ago? It was almost as if he’d looked at it more than once.

I noticed a bit of something on his sleeve. Without thinking, I reached over and dusted it off, my hand brushing slowly over his bicep. I could feel him flex as I touched him, and I drew my hand back as if I’d been bitten.

Heart racing, senses on overload, guilt and arousal all mixing into a heady cocktail, I stammered, “You had something on you.”

“Yeah?” His voice sounded husky and low.

I just nodded, afraid mine would come out sounding the same. He’d felt even better than I’d imagined, all hot and hard. I swallowed and bit my lip. I devoted a lot of energy to not touching him, not letting my emotions show, but one second with my guard down and I’d basically copped a feel.

Those pecs. He didn’t show off wearing muscle Ts, but I could tell he was cut. His shoulders were huge. I knew I shouldn’t compare the two, but Mike was like a gorilla, all big and thick but no definition. He was starting to get a belly. I didn’t care about the belly, not really. I figured if you were in a relationship for the long haul you couldn’t get attached to eight-pack abs. They wouldn’t stay around forever. But somehow Mike’s gut seemed symbolic. It reminded me of how drunk he got every night, not caring for himself, never mind caring for me.

But Jax? The man clearly took good care of himself. I bet he worked out a lot, ate right. He couldn’t get drunk every night and still be the successful owner of a bar, could he? Maybe I was romanticizing him. I was too mixed up to know anymore. My pheromones were wreaking havoc with my capacity for rational thought, yanking my brain around like a hyperactive kid dragging his parents from ride to ride at an amusement park.

Ace joined us again, walking slowly. Sometimes he used a cane, but I’d noticed he preferred not to. Today he didn’t have one, and I watched as Jax kept watch over him, offering a subtle hand to Ace’s elbow when he looked unsteady. Jax never did so much as to embarrass Ace, just enough to keep him going strong.

I held back a sigh. He was so good with his grandpa. I bet he’d be an amazing father. Did he want a family some day? I knew he didn’t have kids. He probably had women in his life, but if he had kids that would have come up.

The question was on the tip of my tongue, “Do you want kids?” But I managed to stop myself from asking it. I was pretty sure the longing in my voice would communicate my silent hope, “With me?”

After another minute or so, I tore myself away to get back to all of my other work obligations. But I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt so high from our time together it was as if I were drifting on a cloud.

When I waltzed into the staff room and saw Maria, I nearly sang my hello, filled to the brim with happiness. Then I checked my phone.

Mike: Meet me at the club after work.

Oh shit. I remembered what I saw the last time I’d met him at the club after work. I needed to come up with an excuse so I didn’t have to set foot in there again.

“Who died?” Maria asked.

“What?” I looked up, confused.

“You look like you just got bad news. You walked in all happy and now you look like you’re going to cry.”

“No.” I wiped my eye, definitely not about to cry. That would be ridiculous. “Mike wants me to meet him after work.”

“So, let me get this straight.” Maria crossed her arms against her chest, looking me in the eye. It was just her and me in the staff room, and I could tell she was about to say something blunt. “You hear from your husband and you look like you’ve just gotten a message from the grim reaper. But when you’re out walking around the courtyard with that smoking hot guy I’ve seen you with a few times, you glow like a 1000-watt bulb.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Unable to meet her eye, I tucked my phone back into my purse. Damn, was I that obvious?

“Yeah, you’re that obvious,” she answered my unspoken question. I closed my eyes, now decidedly very close to crying. Maria was nice, though. She rubbed my back a couple times and said kind-of quiet, “You know, not all marriages are meant to last.”

I couldn’t speak, too overwhelmed with emotion to say a word.

“What were you, 20 when you got married?”

“21,” I whispered.

“A baby.” Maria rubbed my back, the way you would do to a child. I felt as helpless as one. “One choice you make when you’re so young shouldn’t have to ruin your whole life.”

Maria’s words stayed with me over the next few weeks. From an objective sense, I could see her point. To her, I was just a kid with all kinds of opportunities and choices, my whole life ahead of me.

To me? I felt trapped. The money wasn’t exactly piling in, but if I left Mike I needed enough cash to stay off the radar for a while. He’d go looking for me. I knew he would. I’d never lived outside of California, but I’d visited my mother when she’d liven in Phoenix for a couple years. I figured if I saved up enough I could go there and live quiet, off the grid, using cash for a few months until he stopped hunting me down.

Because he would hunt me down. Not even because he wanted me around. Because he thought he owned me.

With such a grim reality, Jax became my escape, even more than before. Our texting stayed firmly in the friend zone, checking in on each other’s days, sending snapshots of a pretty sunset (me) or a ridiculous bumper sticker (Jax), but the connection started meaning more and more to me with every passing day.

One night, I felt a mild tremor. Growing up in California, I’d experienced a bunch of earthquakes. But did anyone ever really get used to the feeling of the earth moving? It didn’t cause me to panic, but, still, it felt good to get a text asking how I was doing. Not from my husband, of course.

Jax: You OK? Did you feel the quake?

Sky: Yeah, I’m OK. You?

Jax. Good. Where are you, your apartment?

Sky: Yes. All tucked into bed.

Jax: In your jammies?

Sky: If you call an old T-shirt jammies.

I looked down at myself and giggled. I definitely was not dressed like any man’s fantasy. The shirt had to be at least six years old. I’d been given it as a freebie from a place where I used to work. It had a hole in the armpit and a stain on the back.

Jax: I bet you look cute.

I burst out laughing.

Sky: Shows what you know. I definitely do not.

Jax: Text me a photo and I’ll be the judge.

My heart beat rapidly in my chest. These were definitely the most flirtatious texts we’d exchanged, drawing closer than ever to crossing a line. I bit my lip, trying to figure out what to do.

He wanted a photo? Part of me wanted to change into a sexy little camisole, do my hair and makeup and strike an alluring pose. But then he could tell I was trying. And I shouldn’t be trying. I didn’t feel married to Mike anymore. We’d barely exchanged two words in the past week. But the fact remained that I was still married to him. I could excuse all of Jax and my texting when it stayed between friends. But once we got into sending each other sexy photos? That was different.

And maybe it would be better if I sent him a selfie of the real me, my freshly-washed face all blotchy and shiny, my hair in a messy tumble as I wore a legitimately ugly, old T-shirt. Maybe that would scare him off. As much as I hated the thought, I knew it would make things simpler.

I clicked, forced myself not to stress over how I looked in the photo, and sent it. Soon after, my phone lit up.

Jax: You’re so beautiful, Sky.

Tears filled my eyes, my hand up to my mouth. What was this man doing to me? All he saw me in were scrubs, and now I sent him a photo of me in my most dis-assembled, unvarnished state and he thought I was beautiful? It almost felt like too much.

Sky: Goodnight

I had to end it. I felt too raw, too vulnerable. He couldn’t have any idea how much his brief messages affected me. But inside, I felt like something was changing. As if nothing would ever be the same again.

A week later, I was waiting for the bus to head home. I’d gotten there late, or it had left early. Either way, I had a good half hour on my hands. It was already dark. I’d filled in for another aide, letting her go home early while I stayed until nine.

Jax sent me a text and I let him know what I was up to, so exciting, ha ha. I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised when he pulled up in his truck. But I felt shocked.

“Let me give you a ride home.” He got out and walked around to open the passenger side door for me. Holy hell.

I thanked him. We didn’t say much as we drove through the city streets. I gave him directions and he followed them as we sat so close in the darkness of the cab. I felt too hyper-aware of him to talk, all my fantasies blending with reality. I could feel the heat radiating from his massive body and I breathed him in, like leather and mint and something uniquely male. Being that close to him made me feel drunk.

I’d changed into a skirt after work, nothing too short but it rode up on my legs as I sat. I knew I should pull it down. But I left it there, the hem hitting me high up on my thighs. His eyes darted over to my legs, noticing, his gaze roving over my skin. I crossed my legs, shifting in my seat. He watched me move.

As we pulled onto my street, he asked, “Which one’s yours?” His voice had a low, gravelly pitch that made my stomach flip.

“The gray one.” I pointed to it. “There on the second floor, that’s my bedroom.” I didn’t say our bedroom, as in me and Mike’s. It was my bedroom, where I slept alone and longed for him.

He parked and turned toward me, stretching a powerful arm along the back of my seat. “All right, then.” He looked into my eyes. I did not want to get out of that truck. I wanted to reach my hand to his strong jaw, lean up, press my lips to his and find out how he tasted. I wanted him to start driving and not stop until we were far, far away and we’d never look back.

But that was the sort of thing that happened in movies, not real life. And even in movies, that kind of dramatic escape didn’t usually work out too well. The lovers always ended up in a car wreck or a shootout. So I gave him a quick “thanks” and scooted away, flashing a brief wave and a smile as I unlocked the door and hurried inside.

Up in my bedroom, though, I wasn’t such a good girl. Mike was out again, as usual. I was alone, the bed all to myself.

I stripped down, a fever running through my body. I needed some sweet relief to the tension I felt building, more and more each day. Sheets pulled aside, I lay down, sliding my fingers along my bare skin. Jax made me so aware of my body, like I was charged through with an electric pulse. My head turned to the side, I closed my eyes so I could see him.

I pictured his masculine profile as he drove me home, his bicep flexing as he palmed the wheel. Dipping my fingers down where I ached, I stroked my pussy, already so slick with arousal. The way he’d watched my thighs, his gaze returning over and over to my skin. What if he’d dropped his hand, slowly grazed it up my legs, brought it right where I had my fingers now?

I’d love crying out his name, letting him know how wet he made me, how crazy I felt around him. I wanted him to pull over in his truck, somewhere dark and private so I could straddle him. He’d fill me so deep, thrusting up strong and rough, making me scream and sweat and beg for more. The thought of him cumming inside me, hot and hard and full, sent me over the edge. I convulsed, grabbing a fistful of sheets, crying out into my pillows as I came on my fingers. I could almost hear his voice, him calling out as he came inside me, my name on his breath just like his was on mine.