“Well, good evening, Navarre.”
His voice rasps, the sensation akin to a nail sliding down my back. My whole body shivers.
Is this normal?
Jess’s face pops up in front of me, breaking my one-way stare-off with my future alpha.
“What did I say?” she laughs. “Bitch, I can see you eating those words.”
I can’t even respond as I duck around her, moving closer to the stage as Jax’s fingers strum effortlessly over a stunning, ebony guitar, his other hand pulling the mic stand closer.
There’s a slight breeze behind me as more people push through the door, and his fingers still as a frown plays over his perfect face. Glancing up, he shades his face to look out across the room, and girls everywhere scream with their hands outstretched.
He pauses as his eyes scan over us and my body locks into place, straining for something I don’t understand. He’s too far away to possibly be able to see us properly amongst the crowd.
Shaking his shoulders back, he strums again before the band launches into one of my favorite songs.
Jess begins to dance. People around me move, some of them bumping into me with their enthusiasm, but my feet are locked to the floor. All I can do is watch Jax Cohen – and listen.
A lock of hair falls over his forehead as he leans forward, his espresso-colored hair gleaming under the lights as he sings, his mouth brushing the mic as his eyes close with the strength of his voice.
And what a freaking voice.
In the shadows we dance
Two souls longing for their chance
Bound by chains of circumstance
We're caught in this romance
But the fire within us burns so bright
Igniting desires we cannot fight
Touch
Our hearts collide, we can't deny
In a world that's tearing us apart…
I remain staring at the stage for the rest of the first song. The second. The third. Each just as good, each getting underneath my skin as I watch Jax Cohen curl the crowd around his little finger.
Jess is smug as only a best friend can be, and I nudge her when the band finally takes a break, raising my voice so she can hear me. “Stop gloating.”
“Gloating? Me? Never.” She smirks. “I’m going to the bathroom. You wanna come?”
Shaking my head, I motion to my drink. “I’ll wait here.”
I’m not ready to exchange this feeling for the bright, pushing constraints of dozens of girls competing for a very small amount of bathroom space just yet.
Leaning against the bar, I’m lost in my own world when there’s a bump from behind me, the last of my lemonade spilling out down my silver satin top and making me jump back, hitting a hard body.
“Oh, I’m sor—”
My words break off as textured hands gently grasp the top of my arms. A warm huff of breath lands on my head. A choked sound follows.
My feet root to the floor even as I lean into the heat of a total stranger. What is wrong with me tonight?
