Page 5 of Pucking Daddy

“Maybe’s not very convincing,” I murmur.

His fingers tap once against the bar, like he’s holding himself back from something.

“Then let me be clearer.”

The air between us shifts again. Tightens.

I swallow. “Please do.”

For a second, he just looks at me. Really looks. Like he’s weighing something. Deciding.

Then his gaze flicks past me, toward the hallway by the bathrooms. Dimmer there. Quieter.

When his eyes come back to mine, there’s a decision in them now.

“Walk with me.”

Not a question.

My heart kicks, and I don’t think I’m capable of rational thought, because I slide off the barstool like I’ve been waiting for him to ask.

“Lead the way, Jax-just-Jax.”

His hand finds the small of my back as we move through the crowd.

The contact sends a jolt straight through me.

God.

The hallway is narrow, dim, a little quieter than the bar. The muffled bass of the music pulses through the walls, steady and low, like a heartbeat.

There’s no one else here.

I turn to face him, leaning back lightly against the wall, crossing my arms just enough to keep myself from doing something stupid.

Like grabbing his shirt and pulling him in.

“So,” I say, tilting my head. “This is where you bring all your mysterious bar conversations?”

His lips twitch. “First time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Believe me or don’t.”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He steps closer.

I can hear my own breathing. Feel my pulse everywhere. And I mean everywhere.

He takes another step, closing the distance until there’s barely any space left between us.

His hand lifts, slow enough that I could stop him if I wanted to.

I don’t.

His knuckles brush lightly along my jaw, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.