Grimm Little Obsession

Chapter One- Part 2 Jax

~

“Donte, you have precisely ten seconds to give me that pudding cup, or I'm going to stab you in the eye with this plastic spoon,” Jax seethed, leaning forward across the cafeteria table and fixing the enormous man opposite her with a look of absolute murderous intent.

Donte glanced down at the unopened chocolate pudding cup resting in his palm, then back at Jax who was threatening him with a utensil that would probably snap in half if she tried to spread peanut butter with it. At six-foot-four and built like someone who'd spent his formative years wrestling refrigerators for sport, Donte had never been particularly intimidated by Jacqueline Hayes. That didn't mean he was foolish enough to underestimate her commitment to being a pain in his ass.

“Come on, Hayes. It was the last one.”

“You know the rules in here.” Jacqueline pointed the spoon at him for emphasis, her pale blue eyes narrowing beneath a strand of blonde hair that stood out against her dark waves. “I have dibs on the last pudding cup. That's how it's been for the last eight years, and that's how it'll stay until I leave next week. After that, you motherfuckers can establish whatever pathetic, puddingless society you want.”

Donte stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head.

“You really gonna threaten me over some damn pudding?”

“Chocolate pudding,” she corrected, as though he'd just committed an unforgivable offense by omitting the most important detail. “And I'm not threatening you, Donte. I'm explaining the consequences of your poor decision-making. There's a difference.”

He let out a deep laugh, earning him a disapproving glance from one of the orderlies stationed near the cafeteria doors.

“Girl, you need help.”

Jacqueline spread her arms, gesturing toward the institutional beige walls, the bolted-down furniture, and the patients eating their lunches under the staff's watchful eyes.

“Where the f**k do you think we are?”

Donte laughed harder, his broad shoulders shaking as he finally slid the pudding cup across the table. Jacqueline snatched it up with the triumphant satisfaction of a woman reclaiming a stolen family heirloom, then peeled back the foil lid and inspected the contents.

“See?” she said, dipping her spoon into the chocolate. “Conflict resolution. Dr. Wilson would be so proud.”

“Didn't you just have your evaluation with him?”

“Sure did.”

“And?”

Jacqueline took a generous bite of pudding, savored it for a moment, then gave Donte a smile so sweet it bordered on suspicious.

“Apparently, I'm a shining example of emotional stability, personal growth, and the miraculous healing power of modern psychiatric medicine.”

Donte raised an eyebrow.

“You told him all that?”

“More or less. There may have been some creative interpretation involved.”

“Uh-huh.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “And how long you been out of that office?”

Jacqueline glanced toward the clock mounted above the cafeteria doors.

“Twenty-three minutes.”

“So, twenty-three minutes after convincing that man you're not violent, you threaten to put a spoon through my eyeball?”

She considered that for a moment, then shrugged.

“Personal growth isn't linear, Donte.”

“Yeah, well, neither is your damn thought process,” Donte muttered, shaking his head as Jacqueline scraped another generous spoonful of chocolate pudding from the little plastic cup.

She offered him her middle finger without looking up, too busy enjoying the sweet, artificial taste of victory to bother coming up with a proper insult. There were few pleasures to be found within Westbridge's walls, and Jacqueline had spent nine years learning to appreciate every single one of them. Hot showers, clean sheets, uninterrupted sleep, and chocolate pudding were sacred privileges as far as she was concerned, and anyone foolish enough to interfere with them deserved whatever consequences followed.

Unfortunately, someone was about to test that philosophy.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Jacqueline ignored the unfamiliar voice coming from beside their table, assuming whoever it belonged to had mistaken her for someone who gave a s**t.

“I'm talking to you.”

“Congratulations,” she replied around another mouthful of pudding. “That's a wonderful first step toward developing conversational skills.”

Donte's eyes shifted toward the newcomer, and something in his expression changed. He sat up a little straighter, his amusement fading as a broad-shouldered man in a gray hospital-issued shirt stepped closer to Jacqueline's side of the table.

The man was new. Jacqueline knew because she hadn't yet memorized his particular brand of stupid, and after nearly a decade at Westbridge, she'd become something of a connoisseur.

“I heard you've been running your mouth around here,” he said, planting one hand on the table. “Thought somebody ought to teach you some manners.”

Jacqueline finally looked up.

He was tall, heavily built, and wearing the smug expression of a man who had mistaken size for authority. A fading bruise marked his jaw, and the way he glanced toward the surrounding tables told her he was far more interested in collecting an audience than having an actual conversation.

Oh, lovely. A peacock with anger issues.

“Donte,” she said pleasantly, turning back to her friend, “did somebody forget to explain to the new guy that I don't accept unsolicited feedback?”

“Hayes,” Donte warned.

“What? I'm being welcoming.”

The newcomer snorted. “You think you're funny?”

“Frequently. My reviews are excellent.”

Before she could take another bite, he reached down and snatched the pudding cup straight out of her hand.

Jacqueline went still.

Donte closed his eyes.

“Aw, shit.”

The man grinned, apparently pleased with the sudden silence he'd managed to produce. He held the pudding above her head, just out of reach, and looked around at the nearby tables as if expecting applause.

“What's the matter, sweetheart? You gonna cry?”

Jacqueline stared at the empty space between her fingers, where her pudding had been approximately three seconds earlier. Then she slowly raised her eyes to the man's face.

“Donte.”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me that didn't just happen.”

Donte sighed. “Jax, don't.”

“Because I'm trying very hard to be a better person.”

“I know.”

“And I had a very productive meeting with my psychiatrist this morning.”

“I heard.”

“And I would hate for all that personal growth to go straight down the f*****g toilet because some overgrown testicle decided to steal my dessert.”

A few people at the neighboring table began laughing. The newcomer didn't seem to appreciate being the punchline.

“Watch your mouth, bitch.”

Jacqueline smiled.

It wasn't her usual smile, the bright, mischievous one she used when she was deliberately trying to get under someone's skin. This one came slowly, without reaching her eyes, and Donte immediately pushed his chair back from the table.

“Last chance,” she said softly. “Put it down.”

The man leaned closer, his grin widening. “Make me.”

He tipped the cup upside down.

A thick dollop of chocolate pudding landed on the floor between them.

For one extraordinary second, Jacqueline simply watched it spread across the tile.

Then she looked up at him.

“Oh,” she whispered. “You really shouldn't have done that.”

She moved so suddenly that Donte barely had time to stand. Jacqueline sprang from her chair, launched herself at the newcomer, and caught him completely off guard. The two of them crashed against the edge of the table, sending plastic trays skidding across the floor as startled patients scrambled out of their seats.

“You pudding-stealing son of a b***h!”

The man shouted as Jacqueline grabbed a fistful of his shirt, her feet barely touching the floor while she fought to drag him down to her level. He was much stronger than she was, but that didn't seem to concern her in the slightest. She was too busy unleashing a spectacular stream of profanity that would have made a sailor reconsider his career choices.

“Hayes!” Donte roared, lunging toward them. “Get your crazy ass off him!”

“He murdered my pudding, Donte!”

“IT'S f*****g PUDDING!”

“IT WAS THE LAST ONE!”

By the time two orderlies rushed to the table, Jacqueline had yanked the man's shirt halfway over his head as he stumbled backward, swearing and trying to shake her loose. She was laughing now, a wild, delighted sound entirely at odds with the fury blazing in her pale eyes.

“YOU OWE ME A f*****g PUDDING, KEVIN!”

“My name's not Kevin!”

“I DON'T GIVE A s**t WHAT YOUR NAME IS!”

“Hayes! That's enough!” one of the orderlies barked, tightening his grip around Jacqueline's waist as she made another determined attempt to get her hands on the oversized jackass responsible for the untimely demise of her dessert.

“Enough?” she repeated incredulously, twisting around to glare at him. “Stanley, that man committed a crime against humanity, and you're standing here protecting him like he's some kind of endangered species!”

“It's a pudding cup, Jax!”

“IT WAS MY PUDDING CUP!”

A burst of laughter came from somewhere near the cafeteria entrance.

Not the nervous, half-suppressed laughter of the patients who knew better than to draw attention to themselves when Jacqueline was in one of her moods, but a deep, thoroughly entertained laugh that sounded entirely too pleased with her current predicament.

Jacqueline's head snapped toward the sound.

Standing just inside the cafeteria doors was a man she had never seen before, and after nine years of memorizing practically every face that passed through Westbridge, she was reasonably certain she'd remember this one.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in dark clothing that looked expensive enough to cover the hospital's monthly budget for shitty desserts. Tattoos disappeared beneath his shirt sleeves, and a few pieces of silver jewelry caught the overhead lights as he shifted. But it was his hair that immediately drew her attention: a striking silver shade, cropped close at the sides and styled with an amount of deliberate care that seemed excessive for someone visiting a psychiatric hospital.

Well, look at that. Somebody let a Christmas decoration wander in off the street.

His green eyes were fixed on her, and the infuriating bastard was smiling.

Not politely. Not sympathetically.

He looked like he was having the time of his f*****g life.

Jacqueline narrowed her eyes at him, thoroughly offended by the fact that this complete stranger seemed to find her suffering so goddamn entertaining. For one brief moment, she considered telling him exactly where he could shove that smug little smile of his. Then a much more interesting idea occurred to her.

Without a word of warning, she twisted out of Stanley's loosened grip and took off across the cafeteria at a dead run.

Someone shouted her name. A chair scraped against the floor. Donte let out a booming laugh that followed her all the way across the room, but Jacqueline paid none of them the slightest attention. Her eyes remained fixed on the silver-haired stranger, who had barely enough time to register the small, rapidly approaching menace before she launched herself straight at him.

To his credit, he caught her.

And not in the awkward, stumbling manner she'd half expected, either. His hands caught her securely as she wrapped her legs around his waist and looped both arms around his neck, settling against him with such effortless familiarity that anyone watching might have mistaken them for old friends rather than two complete strangers who had never exchanged a single word.

For a heartbeat, Jacqueline simply studied him.

Up close, his eyes were an even more striking shade of green, and she could make out the faint details of the tattoos disappearing beneath his collar. He smelled expensive, too, which was deeply unfair considering she'd spent the better part of nine years surrounded by industrial disinfectant and men who apparently believed deodorant was a government conspiracy.

She blinked up at him, her expression wide-eyed innocence, at odds with the havoc she'd just caused.

“The f**k are you laughing at, Tinsel?”