I’m leaning against the bar, glass in hand, when a beat I like comes through the speakers. My foot starts tapping, then my hips.
Jax watches from behind the bar, arms folded, like he’s trying not to smile.
“What?” I say, spinning once. “You opened a bar. There should be dancing.”
“This isn’t even open yet.”
“Practice night,” I purr, taking another sip and sliding out into the middle of the floor, letting the music take over. It’s sloppy at first—too much alcohol—but muscle memory kicks in and soon I’m turning, stepping, stretching my arms overhead.
The room spins a little with me. When I stop, Jax is still staring.
I squint at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
I wander closer, peering at his face in the dim light. “Wait.” I move toward him, grabbing his chin before he can move. “Jax,” I whisper. “Your eyes.”
They’re glowing again, that faint, otherworldly red.
“Full moon’s close,” he mutters. “It happens.”
I lean even closer, fascinated. “That is so cool.”
“It’s not cool.”
“You’re literally glowing.”
“Rabbit—”
The room tilts suddenly. My balance goes with it.
“Whoa—”
Jax catches me, his hands firm on my waist to steady me, and suddenly we’re too close, my hands flat on his chest, his grip tight around me as he looks down, then away.
“I’m about one second away from doing something I shouldn’t,” he says quietly.
My heart jumps. “Kissing me?”
Jax laughs under his breath, a dark, humorless sound. “That wasn’t the first thing on my list.”
I blink at him. “What was?”
He lets go of me so fast I almost stumble again. I recover with as much dignity as someone half-drunk can manage. “Fine,” I say, stepping back. “Your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“To dance.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh come on.”
“I don’t dance.”
“You did at The Formal, remember?”
