Page 23

23

JAXON

" C ome on," I say, my voice low but firm.

She frowns, still not turning.

"Come on where?"

"Dance with me."

She tenses, her fingers digging into her own arms. "Jax..."

"Don't think." My fingers brush against hers—light, teasing, a promise of what could be. "Just dance with me."

She hesitates for just a second too long, and I can almost see the war happening inside her head—the part that wants to give in battling with the part that's scared to death.

So, I take my shot.

I don't give her the chance to make up an excuse. I slide my fingers around hers, pulling her toward the crowd. She resists slightly—like she wants to fight this, fight me—but she follows. Her hand is warm in mine, fingers curling almost instinctively around my own.

Because she wants this, just like I do. She just needs permission to admit it.

We push into the mass of people, deep bass vibrating through my chest as I pull her against me. My hands settle at her waist, fingers brushing the warm, bare skin just above the waistband of her jeans. She stiffens for half a second before exhaling, her hands pressing lightly against my chest. I can feel her heartbeat, quick and steady, through the thin material of her tank top.

The tension between us is thick—so thick, I can feel it in every breath, every shift of her body against mine. It's always been there, this pull between us, but tonight, it feels like a living thing, crackling in the small space we've left between our bodies.

She tilts her chin, her gaze flicking up to meet mine, and fuck, the uncertainty in her eyes is enough to knock the air straight from my lungs. It's not that she doesn't want this—it's that she's terrified of wanting it too much.

She wants to run, but she's fighting herself. She knows she wants me too. I tighten my grip on her waist, guiding her into the rhythm, keeping her close—closer than I probably should, but I can't help myself. The feel of her against me, finally in my arms, is intoxicating.

She sways with me, her fingers curling into my shirt, her breath coming just a little bit faster, her body giving in, melting into mine. The stubborn resistance from moments ago begins to fade, replaced by something softer, something that feels a lot like surrender.

And damn, if it doesn't wreck me.

I dip my head slightly, my lips brushing just below her ear as I murmur, "Still thinking, Mads?"

She shivers. I feel it everywhere—the slight tremor that runs through her, the way her fingers tighten reflexively in my shirt, the almost imperceptible tilt of her head, giving me better access to the curve of her neck.

Then, before I can stop her, she turns in my arms.

Slow. Deliberate.

Suddenly, she's right there.

Her chest brushes mine, her hands slipping up my sides before looping around my neck, her fingers threading into my hair. The gesture is bold, intimate in a way we've never allowed ourselves to be .

I groan at the contact, my grip on her hips flexing, pulling her impossibly closer.

She looks up at me, eyes dark, lips parted slightly—like she's warring with herself, like she's fighting the exact same battle I've been losing for years. The string lights overhead reflect in her eyes, turning them to liquid gold.

And then, she whispers, voice barely audible over the music, "What do you want from me, Jaxon?"

I exhale, fingers tightening on her waist, my forehead dipping to rest against hers. Everything narrows to this moment, to the feel of her in my arms, to the words I've held back for too long.

"Everything."

She stills. I watch her throat work, her breath coming uneven, her fingers trembling slightly in my hair. She looks almost afraid of the answer, like she knew what I would say but wasn't prepared for the weight of it.

I smirk, just barely, trying to ease the tension. "But a date would be a good start."

Madison's breath stutters, her fingers tightening in my hair, her chest rising and falling against mine as the music pulses around us. The space between us is nothing now—just heat, just tension, just the electricity that's been crackling under my skin for weeks. For years, if I'm being honest.

She swallows hard. "A date?"

I nod, my forehead still pressed against hers. "Yeah, Mads. A date."

Her lips part like she's about to say something, but then she hesitates, tilting her head slightly, searching my face. "Why doesn't this count?"

I huff out a low laugh, my hands flexing on her waist, fingers brushing against the bare skin beneath her tank top.

The question is so typically Madison—practical, direct, cutting straight to the heart of things.

"Because I'm not interested in being just another guy you get drunk with at a party. "

She blinks, lips pressing together. There's a flash of something in her eyes—understanding, maybe, or recognition of what I'm really saying.

I dip my head, voice low, just for her. "I want more than just one night, Mads. I want you."

Her eyes flicker with something I can't quite name—something hesitant, something like she wants to believe me but doesn't trust herself to. It breaks my heart a little, seeing her doubt what's so clear to everyone else.

I exhale, my grip gentle but firm as I pull her even closer, eliminating any space that might have been left between us.

"Come on, let me take you out. A real date. No running, no excuses."

She exhales sharply, looking everywhere but at me, her fingers still tangled in my hair like she's forgotten she put them there. I can almost see the walls she's trying to build crumbling before they're even up.

Then, she swallows and murmurs, "I don't know how."

I frown.

"What?"

Her voice is softer now, more vulnerable than I think I've ever heard it. "I don't know how to do this with you, how to...cross that line and not ruin everything."

Something in my chest tightens, understanding washing over me. She's not afraid of me, or even of us. She's afraid of losing what we already have, afraid that if we take this step and it doesn't work, she'll lose the one person who's always been there.

But I don't let her pull away. I keep her there, pulling her even closer, because I know she feels it too. I know this is worth the risk.

"We don't have to figure it all out tonight." I run my thumb along the small strip of exposed skin at her waist, and she shivers. "Just say yes."

She closes her eyes for a second, breathing me in, her body softening in my hold. Then—slowly, hesitantly—she looks up, her eyes locking onto mine.

She exhales softly, and then—"Okay. "

It's quiet, barely a whisper, but fuck, if it isn't like someone just shocked me back to life. The single word courses through me, igniting something I've kept carefully banked for years.

Because this is it. She's saying yes. To me. To us. To trying.

A slow smirk pulls at the corner of my mouth, my hands tightening on her waist. "Yeah?"

She bites her lip like she already regrets giving in, but she nods. "Yeah."

"Tomorrow night," I say, my voice low, rough around the edges. "I'll pick you up at six."

She hesitates. "Where are we going?"

I grin. "Not telling."

She narrows her eyes. "Jaxon."

"Madison," I mock, smirking as I dip my head just enough that our noses brush, just enough to make her breath hitch. "You trust me?"

She studies me, chewing on her bottom lip, but she doesn't pull away. If anything, she leans in the slightest bit, like gravity's working against her, like she doesn't want to leave this space we've created between us.

Then, finally, she exhales. "Fine. You can pick me up at six."

I grin, my fingers trailing just barely along her waist as I lean in, voice dropping to a murmur. "I knew you couldn't resist me, Mads."

She huffs, rolling her eyes, but the pink in her cheeks betrays her. "You're so annoying."

"And yet, you just agreed to go on a date with me."

She groans, shoving my shoulder lightly, but she's smiling. The song ends, leading into another more up-tempo tune, but we just stand there, my arms still wrapped around her while I grin like a fool.

And I don't let her go, not when she's finally where she belongs.

I pull a plain hoodie over my head, adjusting the hem before grabbing my watch off my dresser. Just as I'm slipping it on, Carter strolls into my room uninvited, flopping down on my bed like he owns the place.

He eyes me up and down before letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Seriously, man? That's what you're wearing on your first date with Madison?"

I shake my head, grabbing my keys off the nightstand. "We don't need to be dressed up for where we're going."

He lifts a brow. "You're taking her bowling, aren't you?"

I throw a sock at his head. "Shut up."

He catches it mid-air, grinning. "I just figured if you were finally getting her on a date, you'd at least try to impress her."

I roll my eyes. "First of all, I always impress her. Second, if I show up in a button-down and slacks, she'll panic. She needs to feel comfortable, not like I'm forcing her into something serious right off the bat."

Carter snorts. "Yeah, 'cause nothing says romance like sweatpants and bumper lanes."

I shake my head, not bothering to correct him as I grab my wallet and slip it into my pocket. "We aren't going fucking bowling, dude. She's wearing comfy clothes. I told her to dress casual, because that's when she's the most relaxed, and that's what I want tonight. For her to be herself, not overthinking every second."

Carter smirks. "Damn. You're down bad, huh?"

I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

It's the truth. I've been crazy about her since high school, watching her date other guys, waiting for her to see what's been right in front of her all along. And now that she's finally giving us a chance, I'm not about to mess it up by coming on too strong.

Carter whistles low. "Well, if she dumps your ass, I tried to warn you."

I chuck my sock right at his face.

I pull up in front of Madison's building, leaving my truck idling as I reach for my phone to text her—but before I can, I see her slipping out the front door, hoodie sleeves pushed over her hands, her hair in one of those loose, messy styles that somehow makes her look even better.

She's already walking toward me at a fast pace, and I smirk, knowing exactly why.

Lyla.

Right on cue, Madison's front door swings open again, and Lyla leans over the second-story balcony, grinning down at us. "Hey, Montgomery!"

I glance up just as she cups her hands around her mouth and yells, "USE PROTECTION!"

Madison gasps, whirling around. " Lyla !"

Lyla cackles, practically doubling over before disappearing back inside.

I shake my head, laughing as I rub the back of my neck. "Gotta admit, I respect her commitment to the bit."

Madison groans, pressing her fingers to her temples. "I should've gone down the fire escape."

I grin, tilting my head slightly. "You look great, Mads."

She exhales, some of the tension slipping from her shoulders, and she offers me a small smile. "You too."

I nod towards my truck, opening the passenger door for her. She slides in, and I jog to my side to join her. Without pushing too far, I pat the bench seat right next to me, inviting her to slide closer.

Her brows lift slightly. "Really?"

I smirk. "Humor me."

She sighs, shaking her head—but she smiles as she slides across the bench seat until her thigh brushes mine.

I grin, letting the moment linger for half a second longer, her warmth against my side feeling so right, so natural. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach for her hand, to intertwine our fingers .

But instead, I just shift into drive, my smirk deepening as I glance over at her. "Ready?"

"Yeah. I'm ready."

The way she says it—the weight behind the words—has my grip tightening on the steering wheel.

Because I don't think she's just talking about the drive.

She's ready to try, for whatever comes next, and so am I.