Chapter 5
Jason
Wednesday evening. I've changed shirts too many times.
The first one was too nice—a button-down that screamed "I'm trying to impress you." I looked like I was going on a first date, which I guess technically I might be, but I didn't want to look like I thought that. The second was too casual, a ratty t-shirt with a hole near the hem that I should have thrown out months ago. Made me look like I didn't care, which is the opposite of the problem. The third was somewhere in between—a dark green henley that Robin once said "you look like you're going to a job interview at a motorcycle shop" and I went back upstairs.
Now I'm in a plain black t-shirt and jeans. Simple. Casual. Like I'm not dying inside.
"You look fine," Vaughn says from the doorway of my room. He's leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching me with that steady gaze that always makes me feel like he can see right through me. "Stop fidgeting."
"I'm not fidgeting."
"You've checked your hair in the mirror four times in the last two minutes."
"Maybe I have a lot of hair."
Vaughn snorts. "Just go. The longer you stand here, the worse it's going to get."
He's right. I know he's right. But my hands are shaking slightly and my heart is pounding and I'm about to go to Ash's house, alone, where there will be no one to interrupt us if things go—
If things go.
My lion is practically vibrating under my skin, eager and restless. He knows what we want. He's known since the momentAsh walked into the bar. But the rest of me is terrified of wanting something this badly and not getting it.
"Robin told me to be careful," I say.
"Robin's right."
"He said Ash is a hurricane."
"Also right."
"He said I'm going to get destroyed."
Vaughn doesn't answer that one. Just looks at me with those steady eyes that see too much. He's Knox's second for a reason—he notices things, files them away, only speaks when he has something worth saying.
"Do you think I'm making a mistake?"
"I think you're going to do whatever you're going to do, and I'll be here when you need to talk about it after." He steps aside to let me pass, one hand briefly squeezing my shoulder. "Go. Have fun. Try not to fall completely in love with him before midnight."
"It's only six o'clock."
"I know what I said."
---
Ash's house is on Maple Street, a quiet residential block with mature trees and well-kept lawns. The kind of street where people have lived for decades, where kids ride bikes in the summer and neighbors wave at each other.
The house itself is exactly what I expected—neat, minimal, functional. Dark gray siding, white trim, nothing remarkable about it. Could be any house on any suburban street. Nothing that says anything about the person who lives there.
Except for the detached garage. That's bigger than my entire apartment above the bar, a proper three-bay setup with clean white siding and what looks like a brand new roof. That'sthe real house, I realize. The building where people sleep is just an afterthought.
I park my bike in the driveway and sit there for a minute, trying to calm down. My lion is pacing, restless, eager to get inside and see him. Every instinct I have is screaminggo, go, go, he's right there, claim him, keep him.
The rest of me is terrified.
The front door opens before I can decide whether to knock.
