“What have you been doing? Does Emmett need you to hold the blood bags for him?”
He shoves his last bite in his mouth, then walks his plate to the sink.
“Wolf got your tongue?”
“Knox,” Callum reprimands.
“What?” he defends. “I’m tired of his constant pissy attitude.”
Jax locks eyes with me again, then walks out of the room.
What was that? Was he going to say that it’s my fault he’s in a pissy mood? That if I wasn’t here, then everything would be fine?
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing away from the table and walk upstairs. I’m tired of the glances and the scowls. I’m tired of his little snide comments to me. I want to know what I’ve done that is so bad.
“Everlee,” Emmett warns, clearly picking up on my frustrations.
“I’m fine,” I answer back without turning around.
“Should we go after her?”Knox asks Callum from downstairs.
Block it out. Block out their conversation. Focus on Jax and what I’m going to say to him.
When I get to his door, I stand outside of it for a second to calm my breathing, then I knock.
The door cracks open, but no one answers, so I let myself in.
Did he leave it open because he heard me coming or did it just not latch?
Does it matter?
“Hello?” I call out, pushing the door closed behind me.
The light in the bathroom is on with the door open, so I walk towards it. When I get about two steps away, I realize I may walk in on something I don’t want to and stop.
Fuck. I didn’t really think this through.
Do you ever?My subconscious chimes.
Slowly panicking, my heartbeat races as I look around like a caged animal. Do I cower and leave, or do I stay and face him?
“I can hear you,” he says quietly, like he was expecting me.
Pulling in a deep breath, I stomp towards his bathroom door and push it the rest of the way open, nearly choking on air.
He’s standing in front of the sink with only a pair of tight black boxers on, which are sitting low on his hips. The muscles in his back flex as he stands upright from slightly bent over, washing his hands. He has a set of tattoos, of stars with different phases of the moon going up his spine. Rather down. From the top of his neck down beneath the elastic of his boxers. My legs twist together and I can’t ignore the satisfied smirk on his lips I see in the mirror's reflection.
Frustrated, both emotionally and sexually, I stomp up to him and grab him by the shoulders and spin him around. “What the fuck is your problem?”
He looks down at my hands still pressing on his chest, then back up to me. “You barged into my room, then came into my bathroom.”
“One I did not barge in. The door was open. And two, you all but invited me in here.”
“I didn’t know my acknowledgement of your heady pants was an invitation to come in here and assault me.” His words are slow and calculated, cool, but hot as fire.
My eyebrows nearly jump off my face. “Assault? Are you so delicate that me spinning you is assault?”
That did something. His eyes flash with fire and he steps forward, closing the already non-existent space between us, pushing me back against the wall, chest pressed to mine. “I’m not delicate.” His hands wrap around my wrist and pin them above my head.
