I guessed I would never know unless I found the courage to give myself to him. But first I would have to tell him my secrets. But to do that, I would have to know once and for all that I could really trust him.

Sitting on my bed in the moonlight that crept in through my open curtains, I emailed myself the pictures and video footage I had of my date with Jax. I would print the pictures out tomorrow before class and add them to the many others of him hidden behind the picture of London. With the last of them emailed to myself, I switched off the bedside lamp. Clutching my phone in my hand, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the pillow. As sleep took me, I had an idea of how I could prove once and for all that I could trust Jax with my heart and my secrets.

I was up early the next morning. After showering and sharing a brief breakfast with my uncle and aunt, I printed off the best pictures of Jax and tacked them to the wall with the others. The last of them I tucked into the pocket of my jeans and set off for college. It didn't take me long to find Heather Findley. She wasn't one of my closet friends, but we had hung out one or twice since my move to the States. Heather was one of those girls who was always up for anything and always in search of some fun. One reason why I had kept her at arm’s length – she was far too wild for me. I had left those days behind me back in the UK. When I caught up with Heather, she was staring into the restroom mirror, covering her pouting lips in bright red lipstick.

"What do you think?" she asked, turning to face me with a smile.

I couldn’t help but notice her bleached white teeth had some of the lipstick smeared on them. I didn't want to point this out.

"Very nice, Heather," I smiled.

She was a real pretty girl and I never understood why she felt the need to cover her natural good looks underneath a ton of makeup. Maybe I would take a photograph of her one day and find out.

"Aw, you're such a sweetie, Mina," she beamed, turning back to the mirror where she continued to preen herself.

I stood and watched her empty half a can of hairspray into her white-blonde hair. She backcombed her wild mane with a brush. Sensing that I was watching her, Heather turned to look at me again.

"Are you okay, Mina?" she asked with another bright red smile.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favour, Heather?" I asked.

"If you want to copy my English paper then you're out of luck, I'm six papers behind already this year," she started to explain. "I should be asking to copy yours."

"No, it's nothing like that," I said, then explained how I had met this guy who I was kinda hung up on. At the mention of a guy, I had Heather’s full attention. I explained how I had been told by my own friends that Jax would use me like he had so many other girls. I told her how I hoped it would be different between me and Jax but I needed to know for sure. I confided in her how I was scared of making a fool of myself and getting hurt.

"So how can I help?" she asked, plucking a bottle of nail polish from her bag and working on the tips of her fingers.

"Jax works in that little auto repair shop on the other side of campus," I explained. I fished the picture I had taken of him from my pocket and handed it to her.

Heather eyed it briefly, then handed it back to me.

"I was wondering if you would go to the auto shop, make out you have a problem with your car. Flirt with him a bit... offer him your phone number... see if he takes it... if he calls..."

"Set a honey trap you mean?" she said, glancing up from her fingernails at me.

"Yes," I said flatly. There was no point in denying it.

Heather looked at me, then said, "Why me? Why not ask one of your other friends?"

"He knows them, or at least he has seen me with them in the coffee bar," I said. "If he was to recognise one of them, he might suspect a trap."

"And what if I do flirt with this guy, give him my number, and he takes it... he calls me?" Heather asked, sounding more serious than I had ever heard her sound before.

"Then you would have saved me from a world of pain," I said.

Heather just stood and looked at me, hands on hips.

"I just need to know that I can trust him," I almost pleaded with her, and hated the desperation in my voice.

"What did you say this dude’s name was?" she sighed, throwing the bottle of nail polish back into her bag.

"Jax," I whispered.

"What kind of name is that?" she smirked, heading for the door.

"Hey, Heather," I called after her.

"Huh?" she said, looking back.

"Thank you," I said.

"I should be thanking you," she smiled.

"What for?" I asked.

"For letting me copy your English papers," she said. "I’ll call you." Then she was gone.

Alone in the restroom, I went into one of the cubicles. Swinging the door shut, I sat down. Had I done the right thing setting a honey trap for Jax? I guessed I wouldn't know until Heather called me.

Chapter Nineteen

Jax

I thought about Mina all week at work. I could hardly keep things straight as I repaired car after car. Thankfully the work week was easy and I had just a bunch of tune-ups and general maintenance to do to these pain-in-the-ass Swedish cars. My dad would shake his head at me if he knew I was working on foreign cars and not good ol’ American cars without computers for engines, I thought to myself and smiled.

My father.

Where in the hell was he? The thought that he was dead somewhere was one I didn’t want to entertain. But what was the alternative? That he had abandoned me and took off to Canada or something and started a new life? James “Trick” McElvoy, despite his catchy nickname – earned in the boxing ring in high school by fighting dirty – was not that crafty. No, he worked, he came home, he drank ‘til he passed out, and then got up the next day and did the same thing. I don’t think he even knew how to log in to a computer or use the Internet. He eked out a meager, simple existence and me and that bottle of Jack Daniels were at the center of it.

So where in the hell was he?

“Jax, customer up front,” I heard Jennifer’s voice announce through the garage’s loudspeaker.

I banged my head on the hood of the SUV I was working on and swore. I released the latch and let the hood fall down hard with a satisfying slam.

I rubbed the top of my head and turned the greasy doorknob. I looked at Jennifer in her skin-tight frayed jean shorts and orange Harley Davidson tank top and smiled.

“Customer,” she smiled through her gum and pointed. She flicked her long dark hair behind her and went back to playing on her phone.

I looked over to see a very pretty blonde standing in the lobby. Her hair was so blonde, it was almost white, like one of those Playboy chicks from that TV show. She looked tall in a miniscule white skirt and her tanned legs were poured into a pair of very high-heeled silver sandals. She was showing more cleavage than should be legal, and she was smiling at me with perfect, white teeth.

“Are you Jax?” she asked, flicking her eyes to the stupid nametag patch on my greasy-ass uniform shirt.

“Yeah?” I answered, trying to play it cool.

She pointed behind her. “My car is making a noise, and I was told to ask for you.”

“Really? By who?” I asked.

“This guy Trent in my History class,” she replied.

I looked behind her to see a small gold Lexus sports car. We normally only work on Volvos here, but hey, I wasn’t going to be judgmental. The girl seemed like she really needed help.

I laughed to myself. “Pull it around to the bay and let’s take a look.”

She nodded and gave me the once-over, her eyes lingering a little too long on the tattoos on my arms, then turned on her heel and walked out.

I quickly grabbed a rag and scrubbed it over my dirty face and knew there was nothing I could do about the ripe smell I’m sure I was emitting.

She got out of the car and walked to where I was waiting. “So I’m Heather, by the way,” she said.

I nodded and swallowed. “Well, let’s take a look at your car, Heather. Pop the hood.”

It took longer than it should have for her to locate the hood switch, but she eventually did as ordered, then stepped out of the car.

I lifted the hood and looked into her lime-green colored eyes and asked, “What kind of noise is it making?”

She shrugged and looked at her nails. “I don’t know, it sounds like a clunk-grind-screech.”

“When the car is on or off?” I asked.

She looked up at the ceiling as if the answer was there somewhere. “On. When I press on the brake.”

“Every time?”

“Yes.”

I closed the hood and slid on my back under the car and laughed at what I saw. After sliding back out, I stood up. I looked at her and tried not to smile. “Sweetie, you need new brakes. You’re metal on metal there.” I pointed at her tires.

“Oh.” She didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. What an airhead. I was gonna kill Trent. He probably thought I needed to get laid or something.

As if, I scoffed to myself.

She stared at me a couple more minutes. “Well, do you do that here?”

“No,” I said curtly. “I’ll be right back.”

I pulled a business card from the stack on the desk in the office and handed it to her. “This place does great brakes, especially on luxury cars.” I dipped my head toward the gold Lexus.

“I see.”

She pinched the card between her thumb and forefinger as if it might get her dirty and dropped it into her tiny purse.

Then she pulled out a card of her own. “Well, after I get my brakes done, maybe you could call me to see how it went?”

I looked down at the card, which read: Heather Findley and a local phone number. On it was also a small photo of her in a hot pink bikini wearing high heels and I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

I ignored her comment and said, “Gus over at that brakes place will take good care of you.”