Page 5 of Jace

And stay alert, he’s bad news…

“Caleb,” he repeats, like he’s tasting it, claiming it. “I’m Jace. And I’m guessing you’re not here for the ambiance.”

I glance around, wrinkling my nose at the haze of smoke and the biker snoring at the next table. “Not exactly. Meeting a friend. He’s late.” I meet his eyes again, bolder now. “And you? Just here to… intimidate the furniture?”

His grin widens, and he leans closer, his voice dropping to a rough, intimate tone that makes my breath catch. “Oh, I’ve got better things to intimidate, Caleb. Like boys who read books in bars and think they can handle a place like this.”

My cheeks flame, but I hold his gaze, refusing to let him rattle me. “Maybe I can handle more than you think,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. It’s not like me to flirt like this, but there’s something about him—his confidence, his edge—that pulls it out of me.

By this point, my dick is throbbing inside my chinos. I can’t control myself, it’s like every word that Jace is saying is doing something extra special to me. I don’t want to be reacting like this, I really don’t. But...

His eyes darken, and for a second, I swear the air between us crackles. “Careful, boy’,” he says, his voice laced with something deeper, something commanding. “You keep talking like that, and I might take it as an invitation to warm that ass of yours up with a firm hand on it.”

I bite my lip, and his gaze drops to my mouth, hungry and unyielding. My pulse is a drumbeat now, and I’m hyper-aware of everything—his broad shoulders, the way his fingers curl around his glass, the heat radiating off him. I should shut this down, tell him to leave, but part of me—a reckless, buried part—wants to see how far this can go.

His phone buzzes, breaking the spell. He glances at it, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t answer. “Someone important?” I ask, teasing, but I’m curious too.

Who’s texting a guy like him in a place like this? Is it a partner? Or another boy he’s got on the side? But there’s something about Jace that tells me he’s no cheater. But that doesn’t mean he’s not trouble.

In fact, I’m pretty certain that Jace is the most trouble I’ve ever met. And it’s not even close.

“Someone who thinks they are,” he replies, his tone clipped as he shoves the phone back in his pocket. The shift in his mood is subtle, but I catch it—a flicker of something heavier, like he’s carrying a weight I can’t see.

I lean back, trying to regain my footing. “So, Jace,” I say, keeping my voice light, “What’s a guy like you doing in a shithole like this? Besides hitting on boys with books.”

He chuckles, the tension easing. “Just blowing off steam. Long day.” He doesn’t elaborate, but the way he says it, like it’s more than just a bad day at the office, makes me wonder what his world is really like.

Dangerous, probably.

Definitely not my world. The most dangerous I get is when I hand out a detention, and even then that’s a last resort that I’d really, truly, much rather do anything else than resort to.

I’m about to ask more when I overhear a snippet of conversation from the bar—two bikers, their voices low but urgent. “Vipers hit the warehouse last week,” one says. “Clay wants blood.”

My stomach twists. I don’t know what it means, but it sounds like trouble, the kind that follows men like Jace.

He notices my shift, his eyes narrowing. “You okay, Caleb?”

“Yeah,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Just… not used to places like this.”

He studies me, like he’s trying to read my thoughts. “You don’t have to be,” he says, softer now, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s offering me an out—or a challenge. “But something tells me you’re not running.”

Before I can respond, his phone buzzes again, this time a call. He curses under his breath, checking it, and I catch a flash of annoyance.

“Gotta take this,” Jace says, standing, but he leans down, so close I can feel the heat of him. “Don’t go anywhere, boy. We’re not done.”

His words send a thrill through me, half-warning, half-promise.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, matching his intensity with a spark of my own.

He chuckles, a low, dangerous sound, and heads for the door, his stride all confidence and power.

I watch him go, my heart pounding, my book forgotten. The bar feels louder now, the bikers’ voices sharper, and I’m left with a mix of exhilaration and dread.

Jace is trouble—everything about him screams it.

But as I touch my lips, still tingling from the way he looked at me, I know one thing: I’m not running.

Notyet…

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