With a groan, I freed my dick and slid a palm over the wet tip before closing frantic fingers around the base. I tightened my hold, pretended her fingers stroked me. More pre-cum escaped, and I swiped my thumb over the soft head, envisioning Alex on her knees, lips surrendering to my cock, her tongue lapping while her small hands encased my shaft in warm ecstasy as she sucked and bobbed. Shit, what I wouldn’t give to yank at her curls right now.

“Fuuuuck…Alex…”

I shot my load all over the ground, wishing like hell my dick was shoved down her throat for real. After my breathing settled and I’d adjusted my boxers, I returned to the bottle of vodka. A few long swigs later, I eyed the mind-numbing liquid with narrowed eyes. I didn’t know what prompted me to launch it across the room. Maybe the crushing shame of my fantasy and the equally shameful desire of wishing it was real.

The vodka collided with several wine bottles on the rack, and the shattering glass echoed in my ears with a haunting omen. For a split second, I saw an older version of Alex, naked, body shaking as she aimed the jagged edge of a broken bottleneck at me. The flash left just as suddenly, and I wished I had something else to throw. I fell into the wall, eyes squeezed shut as my fist pounded concrete. Why couldn’t I remember? Some part of me was desperate to remember, as if my life depended on it.

“Remember anything?”

I jumped at the sound of his voice. Squinting through my drunkenness and the shadowed space, I saw Jax leaning against the wall near the stairs, stocky figure hidden in darkness.

I let my hands fall to my sides. “How long have you been standing there?”

He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and stuck it between his lips. A second later, a lighter sparked. “Long enough,” he mumbled around the butt. He took a drag then exhaled with the ease of a practiced smoker. “Thought I’d come back for some stuff, but I heard a noise down here.”

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I quit months ago. Guess I’m taking up the habit again.” He lifted a finger toward me. “Guess you are too.”

“Whaddya mean?” I glanced toward the broken glass. The heavy scent of tobacco mingled with the vodka tainting my floor. “Did I hit the bottle a lot? Do I drink a lot?” I found that hard to believe. I never drank, as alcohol interfered with training. Except I wasn’t training anymore and I’d just finished off a good portion like it was nothing.

“No, beyond the occasional beer or two, you’re not a drinker.” His lips curled. “I was referring to your private moment with the ole Alex De Luca fantasy.”

I rubbed both hands down my face. “What am I doing?”