Page 89 of The Last Good Man

I can’t make out their words, but I can tell it’s a man.

Jax is suddenly broody, and I like that side of him. Perhaps too much.

He’s a walking contrast, wild and stableat the same time, like a rock in a whirlpool of dark water.

“When?” he asks, and it seems like he’s agreed to something. “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

He ends the call and puts his cell phone on his jacket.

“Problems?” I murmur.

“No.”

He brushes a hand over his eyes, which doesn’t look like there aren’t any problems.

“Why do you have a burner?” I ask after a moment.

He looks at me through his parted fingers before dragging his hand down. “You looked me up?”

A grin shines across his lips.

I say nothing.

“Why did you look me up?”

He seems flattered.

“I wanted to know who you were.”

“That was before I told you who I was.”

“Yes.”

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“What else did you want to know?”

I ponder for a second.

“How old you were. I brought it up in the conversation, but you never told me."

He laughs, his mood shifting.

“If I remember correctly, I did it on purpose because you freaked out.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you still freaked out?”

“Are you younger than me?”

“Obviously.”

“How much younger?”

He laughs again, a shred of nervousness threading through his voice.

“How much of an age difference would make youhave a meltdown?”

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