Page 9 of Jax
“How long have you been in Crossbend?”
It was such an ordinary question, but I’d learned to avoid small talk whenever I could over the past two years.
I cleared my throat and forced a shrug. “A couple of months. Just long enough to find my footing.”
He nodded slowly, like he was tucking the information away in a mental file.
“And before that?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, pressing my palm against the cool plastic bottle. “I moved around a bit, wasn’t sure where I wanted to settle.”
His eyes lingered on me too long, like he could see the strain beneath my easy tone. “Any family nearby?”
I dropped my gaze to the floor, then lifted it again with a tight smile. “No. It’s just me.”
My voice stayed steady only because I’d practiced this question a hundred times. Still, my pulse pounded so hard I worried it showed in my face.
Jax leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. The motion pulled the fabric of his T-shirt taut over his muscular chest, but it was his unrelenting stare that made me tuck a strand of hair behind my ear just to have something to do with my hands.
The silence stretched. He didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t offer another question right away. Just watched me, gaze dark and too astute, like he was dissecting me piece by piece.
I took another sip of water to cover my nerves, the swallow loud in the quiet room. “Do you, um, do this for all new employees?”
His mouth twitched in an almost smile, but not quite. “Only when I need to.”
His answer didn’t ease my nerves. If anything, it heightened them. I shifted again, and the walls of the apartment suddenly became too close. My fingers tightened on the bottle until thecap dug into my palm. I wanted to look away, but every time I did, my eyes darted back to him, drawn by a magnetic pull I couldn’t explain.
I wasn’t even sure Jax blinked as he stood there with a quiet, simmering intensity that made me wonder if he already knew the answers to every question he asked and was just waiting for me to make a mistake.
The silence stretched so long I thought he might be done. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “Call me Jaxton.”
For a second, I wondered if I’d misheard him. “Sorry—what?”
“Jaxton.” His voice was low, even, but there was no mistaking the command underneath.
I blinked, confusion pulling a nervous laugh out of me. “I thought everyone else called you Jax.”
“You’re not everyone.”
The words landed heavily between us, holding more weight than they had any right to.
Too aware of the silence again, I wet my lips. “You really want me to call you Jaxton?”
His gaze held mine, gray and unrelenting. “Yes.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. It was a ridiculous response to a simple request, but my body reacted before my brain could catch up. Something I didn’t want to admit to, not even to myself.
I forced out a shaky, “Okay. Jaxton.”
His eyes softened the tiniest bit, just enough that I noticed. And to make me feel like I’d passed some kind of test I hadn’t realized I was taking.
The silence that followed was different from before. Charged, like saying his name had connected us somehow.
I stood there clutching the bottle, unsettled and undeniably affected, wondering if I’d just agreed to more than I understood.
I didn’t realize I’d leaned forward until Jaxton shifted.
One step. That was all it took for the air to crackle between us.
