Page 25

25

JAXON

T he last few weeks have felt like a dream I don’t ever want to wake up from.

Madison is mine—not just in the way she looks at me now, softer and less guarded, but in the way she lets me be around her.

The way she folds into my space like it was made just for her.

The way she doesn’t hesitate anymore when I pull her closer.

And I pull her close every chance I get.

We’ve fallen into this easy rhythm—late-night study sessions where I spend half the time staring at her instead of actually helping, cooking dinner together in my kitchen, where she complains about chopping onions, stealing kisses between bites of pasta like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She comes over, kicks her shoes off at my door like she’s done it a million times, tucks her feet under herself on my couch, and settles into my side without a second thought.

And I’m gone for it.

We’ve fallen asleep together more times than I can count, sometimes on her couch, other times on mine—her curled into my chest, my arm around her, the TV playing something neither of us is paying attention to .

Waking up with her still there?

With the scent of her shampoo in my hoodie and the weight of her pressed against me?

Yeah. That’s the kind of shit I could get used to.

Hell, I am used to it.

I don’t ever want it to end.

Now, as I walk across campus to meet her at the coffee shop, I already know exactly where she’ll be—standing in line, probably scrolling through her phone, bopping along to the never ending jukebox in her head.

I spot her the second I step inside.

She’s got her hair in a braid, her sleeves pushed over her hands, her weight shifted onto one foot, like she’s trying to decide what to order, even though she always gets the same thing.

She doesn’t see me yet.

So, I do what I always do.

I claim her.

Sliding up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into my chest, letting her feel all of me against her.

She tenses for half a second before sighing, her body melting against mine, knowing it’s me instantly.

I dip my head, my lips brushing just near her ear, my voice low and easy.

"Morning, beautiful."

Madison leans into me, her body relaxing like she’s done it a hundred times before.

And maybe she has—maybe we’ve always been this close, always been skirting around each other, waiting for something to snap into place.

Only now? Now, it finally has.

She tilts her head up slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Morning, hotshot.”

I smirk, not letting go of her waist. “No new name for me yet?”

She shrugs, but I catch the way her cheeks flush just slightly.

The line moves forward, and I unwrap my arms from around her just long enough to let her order.

“Medium peppermint mocha please with an extra shot,” she tells the barista, barely looking up from her phone as she pulls up her student discount.

“And a large black coffee,” I add, handing over my card before she can even think about paying.

She glares at me, crossing her arms. “Jax?—”

I smirk, taking my receipt and ignoring her protest. “What kind of man lets his girl pay for her own coffee?”

Her lips part slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that word, but she doesn’t argue.

She just shakes her head, lips curling into something soft, something fond.

We step off to the side, waiting for our drinks, and I reach for her hand, linking my fingers with hers.

“So, Thanksgiving is next week,” I say, keeping my tone easy.

“You got plans?”

She hesitates, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I don’t know… Probably just a quiet day at the apartment.”

I frown.

“Not going with Lyla to family dinner?”

She shakes her head.

“Her and her dad are using the long weekend to go drive up to see her grandma. It’s no big deal. I’ll just relax.”

I tighten my grip on her fingers, my chest tightening slightly at the idea of her spending Thanksgiving alone.

“Come home with me.”

Her brows lift.

“Jax?—”

“Mads, come on.” I tilt my head, studying her.

“You know my mom is already expecting you. She probably set a place at the table before I even mentioned it.”

She exhales, looking down at our joined hands.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“Intrude? Mads, you grew up at my house. My mom is gonna have a meltdown if you don’t come.”

She hesitates, like she’s still trying to find an excuse.

So, I step a little closer, squeezing her fingers lightly.

“Come with me,” I say again, softer this time.

“We can eat too much food, watch football, and argue over who gets the last piece of pie. Just like old times.”

She lets out a small, breathy laugh.

“You always get the last piece of pie.”

I smirk.

“Exactly. Nothing’s changed.”

She looks up at me, something unreadable in her gaze before finally sighing.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good,” I murmur, grinning.

“Because you really didn’t have a choice.”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way she smiles just before our names are called.

I grab our drinks, handing hers over before grabbing her hand and tugging her toward the door.

Sitting through another math lecture is about as exciting as watching paint dry, but Madison makes it bearable.

She taps her pen against her notebook, occasionally scowling at her notes like they personally offended her.

I nudge her foot with mine, smirking when she glares at me.

When she gets her quiz back with a C+, she groans dramatically, slumping in her chair.

“I hate math.”

I lean over, bumping my shoulder against hers.

“Hey, that’s an improvement.”

She scowls.

I chuckle under my breath before scribbling something on the corner of her paper.

She glances down, eyes narrowing as she reads: Proud of you, Mads.

Even if you still suck.

She rolls her eyes, shoving my arm.

“You’re the worst.”

I just smirk.

A second later, she rips a corner off her notebook page and scribbles something down before sliding it across my desk.

I unfold it.

If I ever have to use the quadratic formula in real life, I quit.

I shake my head, biting back a grin as I jot down my response.

Guess you’ll just have to marry rich.

I slide it back. She reads it, rolls her eyes, then writes something else and flicks it toward me.

Nah. Maybe I’ll just find a smart, super hot football player to tutor me for the rest of my life.

I arch a brow, tapping my pen against the desk before scrawling back:

Sounds exhausting.

Is he at least getting paid in kisses?

She snorts, scribbling something down.

Please. You’d do it for free.

My lips twitch. She’s not wrong.

I write back quickly.

Damn right. Best unpaid job I’ve ever had.

She presses her lips together, trying not to smile, but I see it.

I love that look on her.

I love it more when I’m the reason for it.

When class lets out, I sling my backpack over my shoulder, walking behind her as we head towards the hallway.

Gotta say, I do not mind this view at all.

Those leggings make her ass look out of this world.

“You headed to watch film now?” she asks, finally turning to look back at me.

She instantly notices where my eyes are and hits me with a glare.

“Eyes up here, Montgomery.”

I can’t help myself, bringing my fist to my mouth and biting on it a bit.

“You can’t blame a guy for looking. My gentleman’s card only stretches so far, baby.”

She rolls her eyes but keeps moving, her grin slipping.

I catch up, throwing my arm around her shoulders while leading her through the crowd of students.

When we finally reach her building, I stop outside the door, turning to face her.

I don’t want to let her go.

So I don’t, not quite yet.

Instead, I step in close—close enough that her breath hitches, that she tilts her chin just slightly to look up at me.

Then, I press my lips right to her forehead, lingering there for a couple beats.

She exhales softly, her fingers tightening around mine before I finally step back.

“See you later, beautiful,” I murmur.

She blinks up at me, her cheeks pink, before shaking her head with a small smile.

“Bye, Jax.”

I grin, shoving my hands into my pockets as I head toward the athletic building, already looking forward to whatever excuse I can come up with to see her later.