Feels Like Flying (Feels Like Falling Book 2) Read online

  Feels Like Flying

  J. S. Cooper

  Copyright © 2021 by J. S. Cooper

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  List of things that don't make sense

  Chapter 9

  Untitled

  Feels Like Flying

  Blurb

  We were two perfect strangers in the night…

  I never knew his name—and I still don’t know if I do.

  All of my secrets are coming to light, but I still don’t know any of his.

  Everything is spinning out of control, and the man I’m falling for holds the key to all the answers I need.

  If only I can learn to trust him.

  If only the scandalous secrets would stop.

  If only I didn’t feel like I was flying out of control.

  Chapter 1

  “Close your mouth, Rosie. You’re going to catch flies.” Jackson grinned at me as he lowered me to the ground. I pulled my dress down and stared at him blankly. I felt like I was floating in some alternate reality. There were too many emotions coursing through me for me to think straight.

  I’d literally been fucked senseless.

  “I can’t believe we just did that,” I panted.

  “Why not? That’s what we have, right?”

  “What do you mean, that’s what we have?”

  “Hot sex.” He shrugged as he zipped himself up. “And that was pretty hot.”

  “I guess,” I murmured, distracted. I still couldn’t get the image of James and Patrick out of my mind. Had I been hallucinating or had I actually seen them?

  “Hey, Rosie.” Jackson’s voice was hoarse. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Sorry. I just thought I saw someone I knew.” I was unnerved by the two men I’d just seen, and I was unnerved by the way Jackson was acting.

  “Oh, who?” He was trying too hard to sound too nonchalant. The hairs on my arm rose.

  “Um, I don’t think I have to tell you that.”

  “Well, if you want to ask me questions, can’t I ask you questions?”

  “You haven’t actually answered any of my questions yet,” I pointed out. I wasn’t going to play this game with him. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

  “Touché. So you want to go in and get a drink … or are you meeting someone here?” His eyes narrowed as he asked the question.

  “Not here to meet anyone. We can go in,” I muttered. I knew the coast was clear because I knew Patrick had left the bar. “Let’s go and have a drink.”

  “Okay.”

  He grabbed my hand, and I repressed a flinch of surprise. This was much more intimate than I’d expected. We weren’t the sort of people that held hands. In fact, this was the first time we’d ever gone anywhere together. Except for when we first met at the train station, this was the first time I’d seen him out of the hotel room. It felt weird knowing he existed in the big wide world.

  I tugged my hand away from his. Just because we’d been intimate didn’t mean I was going to trust him or accept his bullshit. “How did you know where I was?” I asked again, wondering if the story would change.

  “I already told you that, Rosie,” he said as we stopped outside the door. “I saw when you left your house, and I followed you here.”

  “How do you know where I live?”

  “Once I knew your name, it was very easy to find out where you live.” His lips curled. “That’s a stupid question.”

  I ignored his diss. I had a feeling he was trying to sidetrack me from my line of questioning, but my father had been telling me I was stupid since I was a kid. Jackson’s words meant nothing to me. “So how did you find out my name?”

  He took a deep sigh and shook his head. “I think you’re going to want to have a drink for that one.”

  “Okay.”

  The bar was packed. Maybe this wasn’t a good decision—this didn’t seem like the best place to have a private conversation. “Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I suggested.

  “No, we’re here now. Let’s get that drink.” Jackson pulled me towards the bar and I followed him, squeezing through the drunk, boisterous crowd. I was too sober for this shit.

  I felt a sharp pinch on my bottom and squealed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I said as spun around.

  Jackson stopped and stared at me. “Sorry, what?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you. That guy pinched my ass!” I pointed at an older man with a long grey ponytail wearing a faded black Bob Dylan t-shirt and a Red Sox cap.

  “When you got on a short skirt like that, you want your ass to be pinched,” the Willie Nelson lookalike laughed.

  Jackson let go of my hand, pushed past me, and stood in front of the guy. “Don’t pinch my girl’s ass again. Apologize.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” the old guy said, not quite realizing what he was up against. I guess alcohol will do that to you, make you braver and dumber.

  “I said, do not touch her again and you need to apologize. Do you hear me now?” Jackson grabbed the guy by the throat and lifted him up. I swallowed hard. I knew he was strong. I mean, he had muscles for days, but that strong? I was scared that he was going to break the guy’s neck or something.

  “Jackson, it’s okay.” I touched him on the shoulder. “Please.”

  “He’ll apologize to you first,” he growled in response.

  It struck me just how much brutal force he had. Jackson wasn’t a guy to be fucked with. I trembled as I thought about his muscular body on top of mine, dominating me, taking what he wanted. Shit, why was I so turned on? This was not a situation where I should be feeling horny, but as I stared at the muscles rippling beneath his shirt, I couldn’t deny the warmth that was stealing over me. Jackson was hot. Really, really hot.

  The old guy was sputtering as he came back down to the ground. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I was just joking around.” He gave me his toothless smile and I repressed a shudder. “I was just appreciating you and your little short ...” He paused as Jackson glared at him. “Sorry.” He stepped back. “Won’t happen again. Promise.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Jackson said. He grabbed my hand and we continued walking to the bar. The people in front of us moved to the side to let us through as if they were nervous Jackson would lift them up as well.

  I can’t lie; I loved how people reacted to him.

  I should let you know that I don’t think violence is the answer to anything. And yes, I am the girl that had her ex-boyfriend beaten up after he cheated. But I don’t really think violence is the answer to most problems. I had Joey beaten up because I was devastated and heartbroken, but it’s not how I live my life. I’m not into boxing or wrestling, and I’d never really been attracted to men with big muscles, but what Jackson had just done had been hot.

  I’d never had a guy stick up for me like that. Jackson was the ultimate alpha male. I felt protected and safe around him, and for a few seconds, I felt loved, which was stupid because there was no part of Jackson that loved any part of me. I was just his booty call.

  And to be fair, he was my booty call as well. My very hot and very well hung
booty call. I didn’t need more than that. There was no such thing as true love and happily ever after anyway, and at least we were honest with each other about what we had and what we wanted. We didn’t need to pretend it was anything more.

  “What do you want to drink?” Jackson asked as we got to the bar.

  Of course, he had no idea what I’d liked. We’d never had a drink together before. We’d never gone to restaurants. We’d never gone to a bar. We’d never even gone on a date. This man who knew me so intimately, this man who’d had his tongue in my ass, didn’t even know what I liked to drink.

  I smiled to myself.

  “What do you think I like to drink?” I said playfully. “Let’s see if you can guess.”

  “We’re not going to play that game.” He frowned, his face dark. “Just tell me.”

  He looked so serious that I wondered if I could make him break. Would he get angry at me if I pushed him? I decided to test him. I didn’t mind dangerous men—well, if they were Jackson—but I couldn’t have him being crazy with me. Then I would walk—no, run away.

  “Play what game?” I blinked innocently at him. “I’m just curious if you can guess what sort of drink you think I like. Or are you scared?”

  “Scared of what?” His lips twitched with amusement. “Really, Rosie?”

  “Really what? I bet I can guess what you’re going to order. I bet you are going to get a wheat stout.”

  “A wheat stout?” He made an expression of comic disbelief and shook his head.

  I could feel my shoulders relaxing now that he wasn’t so serious. It suddenly hit me that maybe I had some sort of PTSD around men that were too serious and upset with me. Thanks for that, Dad.

  “Do I look like the sort of guy that drinks a wheat stout?” Jackson asked.

  “What are you getting, then?” I tilted my head to the side and gave him my best seductive smile as I looked up at him through lowered lashes.

  “Whiskey, baby. Whiskey all the way.” He leaned toward me with a slow smile.

  “Why do you guys love whiskey so much?” I licked my lips slowly and smiled to myself as I saw his eyes darken. Seeing how much he wanted me was a heady feeling.

  “I like vodka as well.” His lips were closer to mine now.

  “So you are Russian?” I raised an eyebrow as I lifted my head up, our lips now mere inches from each other.

  One side of his lip curled up slightly. “Only Russians like vodka? Tell that to all the college girls sipping on their sex on the beaches. Are they all Russian?”

  “Hey, I used to love sex on the beach as well.” I moved my lips closer to him.

  “Exactly my point,” he said. His lips brushed against mine. “Did you stop loving it because too much sand got into your asscrack?”

  I laughed and pulled away from him. Fuck, I had totally forgotten we were in a bar. The way we’d been going, I’d have let him lift up my dress and finger me right there without even noticing we were surrounded by people. Jackson totally made me lose my mind.

  ”So what do you want?” he asked again.

  “You didn’t guess yet?”

  “Fine. Let me guess. You’d like a White Russian,” he chuckled.

  “Ha ha. Is that meant to be funny? Maybe I like a Black Russian.”

  “Maybe you do,” he nodded. “Maybe you just like Russians.”

  “So you are admitting you’re Russian?”

  “I’m not saying any such thing. What do you want?”

  “You didn’t guess.”

  “This is my last guess, Rosie. I’m going to guess you like something fruity. I don’t know. Martini? Cosmopolitan?”

  “Martinis aren’t fruity unless you get a particular type of martini. And yes, I do like martinis, but you don’t get them here. I’ll have a Guinness.”

  “A Guinness?” He looked surprised.

  “What? A girl can’t drink a Guinness?”

  “A girl can drink anything she wants. I just never met a girl that liked to drink Guinness.”

  “And you’ve known so many women?” I paused. “Actually don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

  “Why?” He grinned. “Would it make you jealous?”

  “No, it wouldn’t make me jealous. I don’t care,” I lied.

  Of course it would make me jealous. I didn’t want to hear that I was one of a billion different women, which I had to be. He obviously wasn’t a virgin. No man met a woman in the train station and fucked her that didn’t get around. Though I suppose he could say the same thing about me.

  “I don’t have many women. I know you might not believe that,” he shrugged. “But it’s true.”

  Maybe “many” to him meant a million. I knew he must have gotten around based on his prowess in the bedroom. The things he did to me. The things he knew I’d like. Things I didn’t even know I’d like. This was a man who’d had experience with many women. “Okay,” I said, keeping my tone casual.

  “Do you have many men?”

  “Well, you thought I was coming to the bar tonight to pick up a man. So what’s your best guess?” I twirled a lock of hair around one finger and smiled.

  “Very funny.” He looked like he thought my comment was anything but funny. “So you were coming here to pick someone up tonight?”

  “Well, I was feeling horny, so...” I licked my lips slowly.

  “Excuse me.” He leaned closer to me, his eyes staring directly into mine. “So you were coming to meet someone to fuck, yes or no?”

  There was a veiled hint of jealousy in his tone. He really didn’t like to hear about me and other men.

  Interesting.

  “No, of course not. I’m not that sort of girl.” I rolled my eyes. “Well, I mean, I guess I’m kind of that sort of girl, given how we started. But no, I don’t sleep with multiple men at the same time. That’s not me.”

  “Okay.” He nodded like he wasn’t surprised. “I had a feeling.”

  “Well, what about you? Are you sleeping with other women?” I asked, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

  “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  “I guess you did.”

  “So are you going to tell me?”

  “I don’t know if I should.”

  “Oh my God. What does that mean?”

  “It means,” he paused for a few seconds, “no, I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said quickly. There was no way he was only sleeping with me. Not a virile hunk of a man like him.

  Annoyance flickered across his face. “What do you mean, you don’t believe me?”

  “I mean, you’re just saying that to make me feel better. There’s no way I’m the only one that you’re sleeping with right now.”

  “Rosie, you’re the only one that I’m currently fucking. Believe it or not.”

  “Okay …” I wanted more than anything to believe it, but I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like we had a relationship. Anyway, if an Iowa boy like Joey couldn’t be faithful, there was no way a hunk like Jackson could be.

  “I have no reason to lie to you, Rosie,” he insisted.

  “Yeah, but it’s not like you’ve been telling me the truth about a bunch of other stuff.”

  “What have I lied to you about?”

  “Your name. Let’s be real, your name is not Jackson.”

  He paused for a few seconds, studying me. “Fine. My parents named me Alexei. They call me Alex. But all my friends, they call me Jackson.”

  “What? Why would your friends call you Jackson? That’s so different from Alexei and Alex.”

  “Because when I was young, I used to love Michael Jackson, and I used to try to do the moonwalk.” He looked faintly embarrassed.

  “Are you friggin’ joking?” I stared into his eyes and that’s when I realized he was telling the truth. “Oh my gosh, you used to try and do the moonwalk?” I couldn’t even imagine it. “Can you do it? You
have to show me. Show me now.” I giggled, picturing hunky Jackson dancing.

  “I’m not showing you anything,” he shook his head. “I’m much older and much wiser. I can’t dance, and I definitely cannot dance like Michael Jackson.”

  “But why not? I know you’re bad.” I winked at him.

  “What?” And then it clicked that I was referring to the song “Bad.” “Ha ha, Rosie. Very funny. Very smart.”

  “You know, I try my best.”

  “So you really want a Guinness?”

  “Yeah, I want a Guinness.”

  “Okay.” He turned to the bartender, who was waiting impatiently. “Two Guinnesses, please.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s it.” He looked back at me and smiled. “Unless you’re hungry?”

  “It’s 10:30. I’m okay. Thanks, though.”

  “Okay.” He got the two Guinnesses, paid, and then we looked around for somewhere to sit.

  “It’s crowded tonight,” I shook my head. “I guess we’ll stand?”

  “No, I’ll get us a seat.” He looked around and spied a booth in the corner that was packed with about five different guys. “Come on.”

  “But they’re not just going to give us their seats.”

  “Come,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Okay.” I followed behind him, hoping that he wasn’t going to beat up the guys in the booth. I mean, what he’d done to the old guy who’d pinched me on the ass, that was cool. But it wouldn’t be cool if he beat up these randos just to get us a booth.

  “Hey, guys,” he said as we stopped at the table.

  “What’s up?” a tall Asian guy replied.

  “How much for me to get this booth?”

  “What?” His friend looked up then as well. The bottle in his hand was tilted so far to the side that I was sure the beer would end up on his lap. “What did you say?” His pupils were super dilated and I was pretty sure that he was higher than a kite.