Jax hasn’t noticed me. I lay a careful hand on his shoulder and slide it up to cup his neck, my fingers tangling naturally into his hair. He closes his eyes and leans back. “That’d better be you, or I’m about to deck someone.”
“It’s me.” I bend down and kiss his cheek. Someone nearby lets out a low whistle, but I don’t follow the sound. I get it: Jax is hot. I’d whistle too if I was a complete fucking douche hound. “Whatcha working on?”
“The open-mic-night footage. The cops said I can use it now if I cut Brent Dicksplash out of it.”
Truth be told, the mic-night footage has slipped my mind. Or at least, the reason Jax was shooting it in the first place. I haven’t even paid him yet. I peer at the screen again. At my face, twisted in my natural scowl. “You must have better shit than that to work with.”
Jax grins. “I have plenty of frames with your face in. Can’t think why.”
Neither can I. I tap the screen. “What else have you got? Or am I not allowed to see it till it’s done?”
“It is done. I just need to grade it so the footage from both cameras fits together.”
“Show me?”
Jax taps a few keys, and thankfully the close-up of my face disappears. I’m replaced by Molly. Two frames split the screen, one with her Stetson-topped auburn curls dulled by the moody shadows of the bar, the other with them cast in warm glow that makes her wide smile shine bright.
I lean closer. Jax smells of the earth. “These are from different cameras?”
“Yup. I haven’t graded the static footage yet. See the difference?” He clicks through a few more frames and sticks one of his earbuds into my ear. Molly’s live performance filters out and mingles with the footage Jax has captured. It flows like goddamn honey and even my mean mug in the background doesn’t ruin it.
I do whistle this time. “Wow. That’s incredible. I don’t remember that night being like this. My bar is kicking, huh?”
“Of course it is. Where do you think you work?”
I shake my head slowly. “Not there. I must see the world in fucking grayscale half the time.”
“No one seesyoulike that.”
“How do you know how people see me?”
“Because I listen.” Jax flashes me another grin. “That’s how I know your boss wants to up the mic nights to every second Sunday, starting this weekend, and that you’re definitely gonna have to work because Rainn is off.”
I blink. “Damn. You’re good.”
“Everyone needs a skill, mate.”
I cast a pointed glance at the easy charm he’s created from the chaotic shitshow the last open-mic night turned out to be. I think about every ounce of magic he’s collected from Mother Nature in places most people see nothing but mud, trees, and a long walk home. If he thinks listening is his only skill, maybe he is as fucked up as me after all. “Harrison’s gonna wet himself when he sees this. You might have yourself a regular gig.”
Jax snorts. “I wouldn’t say no to getting paid to hang around wherever you are, but I can’t do it this weekend. I’m taking a group of environmentalists up to Lynx Point for an overnight. I won’t be back until Monday.”
“Lynx Point. That’s the official name now?”
“Sure is. Jerry’s restricting access, though. You’ll need a permit to go up that far.”
“He’s coming on the overnight with you, right?”
“Actually, no. He’s gone away for a few days. Won’t be back until Monday night, but I don’t need him to babysit me. I’ve been up those trails a thousand times by now.”
I know that. And I know Jax has his shit together. But I can’t help the lick of fear that spreads through me. Swallowing, I try hard to contain it. Fail, and straighten up instead so Jax can’t take one look at me and know exactly where my brain has gone.
“You know it’s been pretty wet these last few weeks. You gotta watch out for rockfall.”
“You told me that yesterday,” Jax says softly. “And you told me what to do if it happens. I listen, remember? I’ll be safe, I promise.”
“I need to get back to work.”
“Okay.” Jax shuts his laptop. “You mind if I steal your couch for a while? I don’t feel like hoofing it home just yet.”
