Remember to follow, vote and comment!

[ J A X ' S P O V ]

I don't see much of Blaire during the weekend.

After the whole fiasco with the paparazzi on Saturday morning, she bolted soon after she agreed to be my bodyguard. Baxton was relieved, of course, to know that I had someone who could look after me and handle the paparazzi for me while I'm here in LA for the summer. But fuck him.

I can't believe he would do such a thing. It's like he's purposely trying to find ways to torture me-first by forcing me to share the mansion with a girl and the next, assigning said girl to be my bodyguard.

I thought LA would be my sanctuary.

But now I realize it's actually my very own personal hell.

Guess it's fitting-seeing as how I'm the motherfucking devil.

I've been called that among other nasty names over the years and I'm used to it. Dickhead. Asshole. Bitch. Demon. Jackass. Fucktard. Lucifer. I like the last one the best. I not only get called those names from girls but guys too. The ones that I beat the shit up every weekend back at Boston just for the heck of it.

I not only do underground fighting. I literally take the fighting to people who may or may not deserve it.

What? I need to release all my pent up anger somewhere. And fighting is the only way I can do that. If I kept all the hate and anger to myself, I will blow my shit up.

So I do it. I walk alone in the streets sometimes, silently calling out for trouble. And when trouble does find me, I hit back. I pounce and strike like a lion-hitting, punching, swinging, kicking. I attack, showing little to mercy. If I'm feeling a little bit less devilish, I'll let them go after I'm done with them. But most of the time, I leave them unconscious.

I like doing this. Inflicting pain on other people. I crave that and the control that comes along with it-knowing the outcome of every situation before I even walk into a fight. I'm calculative, I'm mean and I'm smart.

I don't need to pick my battles.

I win all of them.

They call me Deadbeat for a reason. I have no soul and no heart. I'm cunning, fierce, and I'm merciless.

No mercy. No second chances. Take everything and give nothing.

It's what I've been taught since young. It's all I've ever known my whole life. It's the only way I know how to survive in this fucked up world.

If Blaire knows about the fucked up shit that I've done, I don't know what she'll think of me.

Wait a minute. Wait a fucking minute.

Since when do I care about what she thought of me? I'm supposed to be hating her guts, especially after the stunt she pulled which landed the paparazzi straight to our front fucking door. She basically handed me my death on a silver platter.

And now she's going to be my bodyguard.

I laugh at just the mere thought of it. It's so stupid. I can't believe my dad would pull something off like this. He always liked games and especially liked playing them with me. A little part of me thinks that this is it. He's not stupid; he knows that setting Blaire up as my bodyguard is one of the most irrational decisions he has ever made. He knows I can protect myself better than she can protect me.

I mean... have you even seen me?

Not to brag but I have guns. Big guns. I can lift a guy up in one hand and throw him down to the ground. I can pound the shit out of a person without even breaking a sweat-and I mean that in both contexts. If the paparazzi wanted to get through me, they'll be met with my motherfucking fists first.

Blaire can't do much as my bodyguard. So I don't know why we should keep her around.

Because you like being near her, dumb fuck, my thought ring in my head, and now that she's your bodyguard, you can use it as an excuse to spend time with her.

Yeah, I snort. I want to spend time with her so I can figure out how to convince her that I'm interested in fucking her.

I make my way down the stairs in my black robe with those cute bunny slippers that I found in the closet one day. I know they're girly as fuck but they're so comfortable that I'm willing to overlook that. Fuck it. If Blaire sees me in this, I'm just going to wing it.

I make my way to the kitchen and brew myself some coffee. It doesn't take long for Blaire to saunter into the kitchen in her satin robe. She looks disoriented. Her eyes have dark circles underneath them, as if she's been tossing and turning the entire night. She hugs herself tighter underneath her chest area and like the man I am, my eyes can't help but land on her rack, accentuated by her arms-

"Quit looking at my tits and make me some damn coffee, Jackson," she snaps, breaking my thoughts. "Also, I can't take you seriously in those bunny slippers. You make me want to barf out my non-existent breakfast."

God dammit. I've been caught.

Well, it's not like I was trying to hide it anyway.

"You're cranky this morning," I shrug instead, turning to the coffee maker. "Where were you off to yesterday? And the day before?"

"I'm not really in the mood to answer that." She sighs, taking her seat, pressing her face on the cool marble counter top, her hands outstretched like she's begging me to give her the coffee right now.

"Which one? The first question or the second one?"

"Both." She rolls her eyes. "And I told you, Jackson, not to ask me about my business-"

"And I also told you not to call me Jackson." I snap back at her, cutting her off. "Guess we hate following the rules, don't we?"

Her eyes are fixated on me for a while, holding my gaze. In the end, she gives up and shrugs. "Fair enough."

"So you're going to stop calling me Jackson?" I ask her.

"Nope." She smiles a little. "I like that it annoys you. So I'm going to keep calling you that."

"Then, I'm going to keep pestering you about your business," I say in finality.

"Sure. But I'm still not going to tell you," she wriggles her eyebrows, clearly taunting me. "I don't trust you enough to tell you."

"Ouch. That brutal honesty," I place my hand on my chest area and wince, as if I had been wounded by her words. She merely bats her eyelashes at me.

"Don't be so melodramatic," she says, trying to show that she's irritated but it backfires. Because I can see a hint of a smile grace her face. That small gesture makes my heart quicken.

What the fuck.

"Speaking of drama..." She grabs her phone from the pocket of her robe and shows the screen to me just when I'm handing her the cup of coffee. "Look at this. You're famous."

"What?" I take her phone and my eyes widen at the slur of articles that she screen-shotted in her phone gallery. "Whoa."

"Already ten articles. And counting," she says, taking a sip of her coffee. "You can't escape from this now."

"And whose fault is that?" I look up to glare at Blaire. She glares right back. I turn my attention back to the phone and nod. "Jax Deneris Spotted in La. Jax Deneris, son of Baxton Deneris, Here To Stay? Deneris's Hotshot Son Makes An Appearance. Jax Deneris: What A Total Babe!"

She laughs at the last article title. "Whoever wrote that is so blind."

"That person's just preaching the truth," I snicker. "And don't get jealous, darling. I know you hate it that people actually think I'm hella good-looking and handsome and undeniably gorgeous-"

"Gahhh! Stop! My ears!" She quickly covers them. "They're bleeding!"

I place a finger on her chin to tilt her face up. Her grey eyes meet mine and I swear I can hear her breath hitch up. I lean forward so my face is barely touching hers, then whisper, "One day, Blaire, I'm going to make you admit it. That I'm all of the above. One day, you'll see what those articles see in me."

"You're as ugly as it can get, Jackson," she teases. "And it's not like those articles see what I see anyway."

"And what do you see?" I fold my arms across my chest, my interest piqued.

"I see that you are a douchebag," she tells me. "And a fuckboy. And an asshole. And a pervert."

"Wow," I whistle lowly. "We've only been living with each other for four days and you already know that much about me."

She grins, circling her coffee in her mug. "Wait till those reporters get a glimpse of the real you."

God, I hope not.

"Darling, your job is to get the reporters off my back. Not let them dig information about me."

"No." She shifts a little in her seat. "My job is to make sure you don't get your ass handed to you while they're chasing you down the streets. I am not responsible for what they say about you in the tabloids and magazines."

Dammit.

"So are we going to lounge all day in the house?" She asks, her eyes pleading. I can tell she wants some rest today, especially after the stuff she did during the weekend that made her look this exhausted.

"Hah, you fucking wish, darling," I grin. "I have a thousand and one things to do today. Ever since everyone found out I was in LA, I already have several interviews and photoshoots lined up for me throughout the whole weeks."

"And you're gonna go?" She quirks an eyebrow.

"Well, no shit I have to go. First off, I get money. A fuck load of money," I tell her. "And also, my dad sort of told me I had no choice. He hates that I'm just doing nothing around the house and apparently, if I don't do something soon, he's sending me back to Boston."

"So he basically told you not to live off his money anymore and start finding your own income?" She snorts.

"Pretty much."

"I thought you earn a lot from those underground fights that you do," she prods.

"I do, but those fights are only seasonal," I tell her. "It's not a real profession. It's not my main income. Money has to come from other sources."

"Then what do you do in Boston when you're not fighting?" She asks, her eyes glimmering with sudden interest for me.

I'm about to open my mouth when I realize what she's doing. She's asking me questions. About my life.

"Since when do you care?" I suddenly snap and she flinches. "I thought you were all about 'don't ask about my business' and all that bullshit."

"Uh, yeah?" Blaire says. "I said you can't ask about my business."

"But you can ask about mine?" I finish the unspoken sentence for her. "That's not fair."

Blaire shrugs. "Eh, it was worth a shot."

"If you want to ask me questions about my life, I get to answer questions about yours." I lean forward again and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. I feel her entire body stiffen and I'm glad that simple gesture has such an effect on her. It means she notices my touch. It's not much, but it's something.

Soon, she'll not only notice my touch, but she'll want it. She'll want it just like she'll want my hands and my lips and my tongue and my cock.

"No," she breathes, shaking her head.

"You're my bodyguard, you know," I say. "We're going to be spending a shit load of time together. It will only make sense if we know about each other more."

"Nice try, Jackson," she gets up from her chair and places the empty cup in the sink. "You're not getting anything out of me."

I clench my fist, frustration getting the better of me.

I wonder if this is how Sienna felt when Kayden couldn't open up to her.

When she's done, she turns and comes face-to-face with me. I guess she hadn't expected for me to be this close to her. Her chest is barely inches away from mine and the way her eyes slowly travel from my body, taking in the features of my face like she hates to love the sight of me  and the makes me want to make sweet fucking love to her.

Right now.

On the kitchen counter. With her legs wrapped around my hips. My cock plunging in and out of her. Her screaming my fucking name until we get arrested for noise disturbance.

Hell yeah. That's the dream.

"What?" She says, clearing her throat. Her eyes are hooded by her eyelashes and even though she is far from being a good girl, there is this certain air of innocence when she stares at me, as if trying to figure me out.

"My father sent this for you." I have to drag my eyes away from Blaire and it takes me a lot of willpower to do so. I grab the package from the counter and hand it to her.

"What is it?" She asks, staring at the package with curiosity.

"Open it," I say, grinning. I know what it is and I highly doubt she'll like it.

That just makes it all the more fun.

Blaire rips the package with her hands and when she peers inside to see it, she groans. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I wish I was, darling," I can't stop grinning. I find her misery humorous. "Actually, no. I don't wish I was. I actually want you to wear this shit."

She takes out the bodyguard uniform from the package and her next groan is even louder when she holds it up with both hands and forces herself to look at it. "It's hideous."

"It's your uniform."

"I don't want to wear a uniform," she spits. "I did not discuss this with Baxton yesterday."

"That's why he asked me to tell you," I say. "Come on, Blaire. Wear it."

"Absolutely not!" She roars.

"What is your problem with this? It looks... decent." Ah, fuck it. It looks horrible. I wouldn't even be caught dead wearing this.

"Please don't make me do this, Jackson." She frowns. "Can't I just wear my own thing? After all, I'm not exact your permanent bodyguard anyway."

"If you're not going to wear it, the paparazzi don't know who you even are," I cross my arms over my chest and say, "They might think you're my girlfriend or something."

"Oh my god, you're right. Having them call me your girlfriend in the tabloids is a fate worse than death," she says, her mouth gaping open in exaggeration. I'm not sure if she's faking it, or she's genuinely appalled at the prospect of her being seen as my girlfriend. "I'll change into this right away."

She turns away from me, but not before I see the tiny smirk on her face.

I want to fuck that smirk off her face.

Damn her. Damn her for getting under my skin like this.

"Well... I don't want to be seen as your boyfriend anyway!" I say, irritated. "You and me? Never going to happen!"

I tell myself lies.

☸☸☸☸☸☸

A/N: YAY FOR UPDATE! And YAY FOR THIS LITTLE JAIRE MOMENT! I love the sexual tension in this chapter. Says a lot about how much Jax wants Blaire.

Also, if you haven't already supported Perfect Addiction to become a movie or a TV series, do it now!

Here's the link: http://www.iflist.com/stories/perfectaddiction#

If you can't excess the link, it's on my bio!

Anyways, my next update for Perfect Redemption is on Friday! See you guys then!

Love, Claudia.