“Am I that transparent?”
“Is anyone? Probably not, but take the key anyway.”
I leave it on the bar next to his beer, and go back to serving wine to the hordes of drinkers who’ve descended on V and V for happy hour. It’s a while before I glance up and take a breath, and by then, Jax is gone.
And so is the key.
It’s the early hours of the morning when I crawl upstairs. Jax is asleep, so I barely glance at him. I go straight to my room and pretend he’s not there. I’m tired enough that it works for a few hours, then it’s five a.m., and I’m wide awake, pacing, and my room feels like a prison cell.
I work out on the floor, ignoring the cut of the hardwood against my bones. The exertion is the only therapy I’m getting right now. Endorphins fight the black clouds hanging over me, and for as long as I punish my body, they win.
But there’s only so many pushups a man can take, and eventually, a soul-deep craving for coffee wins out.
I slip out of my room and pad into the living space of the apartment with every intention of tiptoeing past the couch. But Jax is awake. He’s wearing my old sweatpants and a T-shirt that hugs every ripple of muscle just right.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him without his hoodie obscuring his body, and for a split second I’m caught in matching how strong he is with the chiseled good looks I’ve been distracted by for the last two nights.
I lose the power of speech.
He gives me a nervous grin. “Morning. You look like you forgot I was here.”
I don’t forget things. If I did, my life, and anyone’s who’s unfortunate enough to give a shit about me, would be a hell of a lot easier. “I didn’t forget you. I just, uh, woke up.”
There goes my streak of not lying to him, but there’s zero chance of me telling him about the possessive growl building in my chest at the sight of him wearing my clothes. Gabriel gets like this when Eve wears his shirts, and they’ve been pretending they’re not soulmates since they were fifteen years old. I’ve known Jax thirty-six hours.
Damn.
I back up and continue to the kitchen. The coffeemaker calls my name. I make a pot big enough for two and open the refrigerator for milk. But my mind goes blank, and I stare at the shelves until Jax comes up behind me. “Want a hand?”
“Hmm?”
He reaches around me and grabs the milk carton. “I spent an hour looking for my spare socks yesterday and you know where they were?”
“Where?”
“On my fucking feet.”
He hands me the milk carton and steps back with a slight wince.
My frown is instant. “What’s the matter?”
Jax frowns back. “What do you mean?”
“You’re moving weird. Is the couch no good for you?”
My nosiness earns me another twitch of his fair eyebrows, but he doesn’t seem offended. He shakes his head. “The couch is fine. I’ve got an old injury that takes a while to warm up in the mornings. Or if I get super cold.”
“Was it serious?”
“As a shark attack.” His epic grin returns and he steps away entirely, returning to the couch to fold the blanket and stack the pillow on the coffee table.
I watch him move, noting the stiffness in his lower back and left side. It eases with every stretch of his strong body, but I don’t look away until I’m in danger of being caught, and the coffee machine beeps loud enough to snap me back to reality.
Two mugs find their way to the counter. I pour coffee and add milk to both on autopilot without asking Jax what he wants.
I offer it to him anyway. “Sorry. I forgot to ask how you take it.”
“I’m not fussed.”
