Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) by Stevie J. Cole

breathe. What the hell had I just done? I just couldn’t stop myself.
    Jag made me angry. He was so arrogant, such an entitled little prick, but I think more than anything else I was being a complete ass-hat to him because I, against my will, found him attractive, and I didn’t want to find him attractive at all, but my morals and hormones were in a fight on this matter.
    My heart was pounding, my adrenaline surging through me, making my skin all tingly and buzzy. I had just been a complete bitch to the Jag Steele . I had met each of his ridiculous and insulting comments with one of my own, and if Carlos ever found out he would probably fire my ass.
    It was my defense. I pretended I was unaffected. That guy made me a nervous fucking wreck, but I did not want him to know that. I wanted to stay away from him, but something about him intrigued me, and I couldn’t take a chance on being eaten alive by someone like him. I needed Jag to believe that I was a lost cause, that I was completely uninterested in him, because I knew he was dangerous, he was a predator. I needed him to find more vulnerable prey before he broke me, and I gave in.
    I was pissed because being attracted to him meant that I was inadvertently attracted to everything I hated: arrogance, addiction, a complete Messiah Complex. He made me question myself, and I couldn’t handle that.
    I didn’t want to handle it.
    I didn’t need to question anything. I didn’t need him. I wanted him, but I in no damn way needed him.
    Fate thought otherwise…

Chapter 8
    After the night of filthy-sex shot orders from Jag, my life was uninterrupted, completely normal for an entire month. I figured he’d moved on, and I was thankful to go back to my mundane routine of just existing.
    *****
    We were slammed. People were crowded around the bar, yelling for drinks.
    “I’m about to piss on myself. Can you cover me for three minutes, please?” Tess asked, standing with crossed legs and holding herself between her legs.
    “Yeah, go ahead.”
    Just as Tess walked off, I saw Jag pushing his way through the crowd, sunglasses over his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets. I went ahead and sighed, rolling my eyes.
    The fact that I had laid into him a few weeks ago must have really not set well with him. I felt like he just needed me to wink at him, blow a kiss at him, something to make him feel that there wasn’t one woman on the face of this planet whose pussy didn’t drip at the mere mention of his name.
    I bent down to look for another bottle of Smirnoff Vanilla, hoping that he’d go to another bartender, but as soon as I surfaced I was pretty much face to face with the fucker.
    “Let me guess,” I stared at him without expression, “a cum shot, a rim job, or a fucking death wish?” I quickly lifted the shaker and mixed up the red velvet martini that had been ordered, terrified that the fact I remembered he liked to order sexual innuendos would tip him off that I was hiding an unwanted attraction to him.
    He blinked a few times, his lip twitching, I guess from trying to maintain his composure and not cuss me out. “Nah. Just a shot of bourbon.”
    I poured the martini out and slid it across to the girl who’d ordered it, then grabbed a bottle of top-shelf bourbon and carelessly dumped it into a shot glass.
    I shoved it toward him, the amber liquid sloshing over the edge. He dug in his back pocket, and I watched as some of his hair fall down in his face. He handed his card to me and I shook my head. “If I let you open a tab, I’ll get bitched out.”
    He shrugged and took the shot glass from me, then walked off.
    That’s it? No smart-ass comeback? No calling me princess? I was stunned. He looked distracted and kind of sad.
    “Hey! Bitch! I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes.”
    That call got my attention. I looked to my right and saw the asshole that had ordered a mojito on a night the club was short a bartender and beyond slammed. I’d had to send one of the other