Page 30 of Capitally Engaged

Preston

I’m just outside, I can wait.

Jax

Someone waiting on me makes it worse. You’ve been away for almost a week. Just go, I’ll be fine.

I let out a frustrated huff. This woman. One minute I was kissing her under a staircase in a library, the next she shut me out.

Preston

Can I get you anything?

I waited for a few minutes to no response. I guess that meant no. I started to walk home, sending one more message.

Preston

Promise me you’ll call a car at least?

Jax

Okay.

I jammed my phone in my jacket pocket, my hands following against the cold bite in the air, my breath visible in front of me.Crossing the street, I hurried my steps toward my apartment. I turned on Pennsylvania and saw a convenience store ahead. With my mind made up, I entered the store. I had no idea what I would grab, but I would not return to my apartment empty handed.

Jax somehow managed to beat me home, between my stop for supplies and relying on my feet to get me there. I took that to mean she listened to me and took a car home.

“How are you?” I called through the closed bathroom door, heading to the kitchen to unload my supplies.

A groan answered me. “Can you turn the TV on or something? Please?”

As an only child, Jax didn’t understand growing up with four brothers made you immune to sound effects, but it was a reasonable request, so I didn’t argue.

I asked Alexa to play my Daylist on Spotify. Cottage rock acoustic rainy nighttime music, or something with an equally ridiculous theme, started to play. My suitcase sat tucked next to the dresser, where I dropped it earlier before meeting Jax and Laurel at the office. I picked it up, intending to set it on the bed, like I usually did to unpack after a trip. I paused with the suitcase in the air, realizing the bed belonged to Jax now. Should I use it as a resting spot for my dirty luggage?

“Even if you were living here alone, you’re asking to bring bed bugs home with that habit,” Jax said, correctly reading my intentions from across the room. She walked to the couch and threw herself down. Clearly, she had no trouble making herself comfortable in the space while I was gone.

I set the suitcase back on the floor. She had a point.

“I, uh, got you some stuff,” I said, abandoning the idea of unpacking in favor of grabbing a Gatorade and sleeve of Saltines from the kitchen area. Jax looked at me speculatively as I walked over, offering them to her.

“I don’t have the flu, you know.”

I set the bottle and crackers down on the table harder than necessary before bringing my hands to my hips.

“Well, I didn’t know what to do. One second you were kissing the crap out of me, and the next you were just gone. I couldn’t just donothing. I don’t do helpless well.”

Jax crossed her arms, leaning back into the couch cushions, her face set in defiance.

“Well, I don’t do damsel in distress well.”

“Seriously? The day this”—I gestured between us—“all started, you were very much in dist?—”

“Okay, okay. That’s fair. I suppose I should say I don’t do vulnerable well. You’ve already helped me in this type of situation once. I knew we were coming back to the same place, and as you said, I was kissing the crap out of you. Nice choice of words, by the way.” She raised her eyebrow as my phrasing hit me.

Jax’s eyes crinkled at the corners and she started to laugh. I joined her, in part at my unintentional joke and another to let out the joy that bubbled in my gut at seeing her laugh.

I plopped myself onto the other edge of the sofa. “So, you’re okay?”

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