Page 6 of Jace

Chapter 3

Jace

I’m not a patient man.

Never have been. And I don’t suppose I’m going to start now either…

Life in the Wolf Rider MC doesn’t leave room for waiting around, not when you’re dodging bullets or brokering deals that could end in blood.

But for three days, Caleb’s been stuck in my head, a goddamn siren I can’t shake. Those hazel eyes, that sharp wit, the way he bit his lip like he was daring me to make a move—it’s got me twisted up in a way no boy ever has.

But there’s the thing, I don’t do feelings.

I do desire, control, the rush of claiming what I want.

And I want him. Want himbad.

The Rusty Spur was a chance encounter, but I’m not leaving it to fate to see the boy again.

I’ve got his name—Caleb—and a hunch about where a bookworm like him might spend his days. Willow Creek High.

A quick ask around town confirmed it: new English teacher, young, glasses, too sweet for a place like this. Sounds like my boy.

So here I am, parked across the street from the school, my Harley’s engine still warm under me, the late afternoon sun glinting off the chrome.

The bell rang ten minutes ago, and the last of the kids are spilling out, laughing and shoving each other. I feel totally out of place, like I definitely shouldn’t be here. But I’m not here to hurt the boy. I just need to see him again, to know if that spark was real or just whiskey-fueled back and forth bullshit.

The school’s a squat brick building, all faded paint and cracked sidewalks, nothing like the chaos of my world. The truth is the building could do with a lick of paint, maybe some extra funding. Hell, that ain’t my problem though. Far from it. I never liked school, so I’ll be damned if I’m gonna step up to the plate now.

I light a cigarette, leaning against my bike, the leather of my jacket creaking. My tattoos itch under my sleeves, a reminder of the life I’ve chosen—wolves, skulls, the club’s motto inked into my skin.

Caleb’s the opposite of that life, all soft edges and quiet strength, but that’s what pulls me in. The boy’s a puzzle, and I’m itching to solve him.

I spot him through the classroom window on the first floor, his silhouette moving as he stacks papers. My pulse kicks up. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt tucked into some fawn chinos.

So cute.

So God damned cute.

I toss the cigarette, grinding it under my boot, and cross the street. The school’s quiet now, the parking lot nearly empty. Perfect.

I slip through the front door, the halls smelling like chalk dust and teenage angst, and find his room easy enough. The door’s half-open, and I lean against the frame, watching him for a second before he notices me.

He’s humming softly, oblivious, his glasses slipping down his nose as he sorts through a pile of essays.

The room’s all books and posters about Shakespeare and shit, a world so far from mine it’s laughable. But seeing Caleb here, in his element, does something to me.

He’s not just hot—he’s real, grounded, like he’s got a purpose I’ve never bothered to find. It might be too late for me to find that so-called purpose, but I can’t deny how good it must be to have one, certainly if what I’m picking up from this charming scene is any way accurate.

I knock lightly on the doorframe, and his head snaps up, eyes wide.

“Jace?” Caleb’s voice is a mix of shock and something else—curiosity, maybe. He pushes his glasses up, stepping around his desk. “What are you doing here?”

I grin, stepping inside, letting the door swing shut behind me.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I say. “Figured I’d see what the good boy’s life looks like.”

His cheeks flush, but he crosses his arms, holding his ground. “This is my workplace, Jace. You can’t just… show up.”

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