Page 16

CHAPTER 16

PHARO

What in the fucking fuck?

My first day of relaxation with nothing to do in God only knows how long, and my phone is dinging like crazy, pulling me from the book in my lap. It has to be the group chat. Only the Bitches would have so much to say about absolutely nothing at eleven in the morning.

I groan and roll my eyes, knowing it’s only a matter of time before they drag me into whatever dumb thing they’re planning. I pick up the phone, half-expecting a flurry of memes and nonsensical comments.

Jax: Alright, boys. Mission "Slippery When Wet" is a go. The gates are down, and we’re inside. No turning back now.

Rhett: How’d you get past the gates?

Jax: R U serious? The gates are like a suggestion to keep out, not a hard rule.

West: My wingman and I are infiltrating the drop zone now.

I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m positive I want no part in it. The messages go on and on, and the only reason I pay them any attention at all is because Jax is participating, which is rare for him. Usually, he’d rather be sitting in front of his tech fortress, wasting away his afternoon. I can’t deny that I’m more than a little curious about what he’s up to. It must be good to drag him away from his desk.

I wonder what Jax looks like, actually relaxing for once. If he’s not buried in code or glued to his screen, what the hell does he do? Does he know how to unwind? Part of me wishes I was taking part in their shenanigans, just to see him at ease, laughing and fucking around with the guys.

You just want to see him , my subconscious goads.

Just as I’m about to write them off and return to my book, a message catches my attention. A message addressed to me. From Jax. It’s not part of the group chat. This one was sent to me directly.

Jax: Don’t know what you’re doing. Don’t care. Grab a towel and some beer, (not that nasty imported shit!) and drive around to the back of your neighborhood.

He follows up with another message that makes me crack up.

Jax: I hope you aren’t staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, stroking your ego.

I snort, shaking my head. Jax thinks I’m that conceited? He’s ridiculous.

I grab a towel from the bathroom, toss it over my shoulder, and grab a six-pack from the fridge, shaking my head. That’s Jax for you—always finding ways to get under my skin. But part of me can’t help but wonder if this little back-and-forth is his way of… I don’t know… breaking the ice ? Is he trying to hang out, or is he setting me up for an epic prank at my expense?

That seems more likely, considering it’s Jax, but I can’t ignore his request. Mostly out of curiosity, even if it did kill the cat.

The only thing at the back of my neighborhood is the pool, beside a playground. It’s odd that the pool is this packed so early in the day, but maybe people are excited about the reopening after it being closed all winter. But then…

Is that West’s Jeep?

That’s definitely Jax’s Indian.

The fuck?

I park my truck alongside Riggs’s and hop out, feeling a little thrown off. What the hell are these guys doing here? I stand there for a second, scanning the crowd. The usual suspects are scattered around the pool—West and Brandt, Rhett and Riggs, Nash, Stiles, and McCormick. It’s not packed with my neighbors, it’s packed with Bitches!

Jax presses against the black wrought-iron fence, grinning wickedly. “‘Bout time you showed. Did you bring the beer?”

I hold up the six-pack, frowning. “How’d you get into my pool?”

“Really, Pharo? Was it supposed to be hard? Your fancy-ass security is no challenge for me.”

Christ. I might as well start leaving my door unlocked as well, so I don’t inconvenience him. Why do I bother? Jax is on a first-name basis with my security guard and my neighbors, whose names I don’t even know.

Unlatching the gate, I join the guys around the pool.

“Didn’t take you long to catch up,” West grins, not even glancing up from his phone.

I shoot him a sarcastic look. “Yeah, well, the real question is, how the hell did you two get in here?”

Brandt shakes his wet head, spraying his partner with water. “You mean you didn’t invite us?” he asks, laughing.

He knows I didn’t invite them. I’m not a planner, a joiner, a participant, or a socializer. I want to be, want to enjoy myself and the easy camaraderie they share, but I always let my job isolate me. I hide behind the walls I’ve built—walls that let me do my job, but leave me standing alone when I come home.

No more.

I promised myself that I’d step out of the shadows of secrecy. Arlo said it’s time to live my damn life, not just exist. And he wasn’t wrong.

“C’mon,” Jax calls out, “don’t let the water get lonely. You’re missing out on all the fun.”

I hesitate, glancing at the pool. I’m not a fun guy. Not the one who just dives in, no questions asked. But today? Today I’m gonna try it. One step at a time.

With a chuckle, I toss my shirt to the side and stretch out on a lounger beside West. Jax is splashing around, trying to wrestle a giant inflated unicorn from McCormick. The absurdity of it all doesn’t escape me.

“Careful,” McCormick cries, “you need to treat Josh with kid gloves. He’s delicate.”

Josh? Is he referring to the unicorn? With McCormick, there’s no telling.

I glance at West, who’s lounging back in his chair, grinning at the spectacle. He’s always the quiet one, but right now, his amusement is written all over his face. He’s shirtless, in just his black swim trunks, his colorful tattoos on full display, along with his prosthetic leg.

“Josh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” West chuckles, “You’ve never met Josh?”

I glance back at the absurd scene—Jax practically wrestling the inflatable unicorn like it’s some kind of prize. “Guess I missed that get-together,” I mutter, trying not to laugh.

“McCormick’s got this weird attachment to him. Don’t ask why.”

“McCormick’s attachment to weird things is a mystery to us all,” I remark, settling back in my lounger and trying to relax.

Jax climbs out of the pool, water dripping off his lean body. His dark nipples are hard points from the cold water, and his navy blue shorts are plastered to his skin, outlining… well, everything. My gaze involuntarily follows the droplets sliding down his torso, and I can’t help but feel heat rise to my face.

A playful smirk tugs at my lips, more to mask the uncomfortable stir in my stomach than anything else. “The water must be really cold,” I comment, my voice a little rougher than I intended.

Jax follows my gaze, eyes flicking downward to his wet shorts, before meeting my gaze with a wicked grin. “Freezing,” he insists, flicking his middle finger at me before reaching for a towel. His laugh is low and knowing, like he’s well aware of exactly what he’s doing.

It’s a little unfair how effortlessly he toes the line between playful and provocative. Every move, every look, seems designed to mess with my head. Just the other day, he insisted I had no chance of sleeping with him, yet here is, teasing me about his dick.

But I keep my cool. I have to. Jax is the kind of guy who enjoys watching people squirm, and I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affecting me.

How much I want him.

Hell, he knows. He just doesn’t want to face it, because he’d have to admit that he wants me too. I know he does. I can see it in the way his eyes linger, the teasing grin that never quite reaches his eyes. It’s like a game to him—testing the boundaries, seeing how far he can push before I snap.

And maybe, just maybe, a part of me wants to snap. Wants to see how far he’ll push before he does something about it. But then, there’s the voice in my head—cold, logical, and clear—that reminds me how messy this could get.

I can’t afford to mess this up. Not with him.

“Enjoying the view?” Jax’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, laced with that familiar cocky edge.

I force a smirk, pushing away the thoughts of him and how much I really want to throw caution to the wind. There isn’t much I can say with West listening. Jax knows it, too. His grin widens, the challenge in his eyes making my pulse race.

The silence between us stretches, thick with unspoken tension. His eyes hold mine a moment longer than necessary, and for a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. I could almost swear he’s thinking the same thing. The same need is pulling us together.

But then he laughs—softly, as though he’s amused by something only he understands—and it breaks the moment.

I should be relieved, but part of me is disappointed.

Rhett comes up behind Jax and snags his towel. He looks me over, and I swear the kid is checking me out. I almost laugh when he asks, “What happened?” Rhett points to my side, to where I was stabbed. Where Jax stitched me up.

“I uh,” I start, but Jax intervenes.

“That’s what happens when you run your mouth one too many times. Bitches get Stitches,” he scoffs, planting his fist in my thigh.

The guys laugh it off, used to our bickering by now. If they knew our relationship had shifted recently, their world might threaten to stop spinning on its axis. They’d never see it coming.

I grit my teeth, trying to hold back the grin that threatens to break free. He knows how to push my buttons, how to provoke me, and even now, his touch sends a jolt of heat straight through me. That damn fist on my thigh—it's harmless, it's playful, and yet... It's not. Not anymore.

“Keep it up,” I warn, voice steady, but I know the undertone is there—thick, unspoken. “You might find yourself with more than a bruise to nurse.”

Jax takes a seat on the end of my lounger, looking at me with that infuriating, knowing smile. The kind that makes me want to throw him in the pool just to wipe it off his face.

“Promises, promises,” he says, dragging his eyes over me in that way that has always gotten under my skin.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens. This whole dynamic is changing, and I’m ready as hell. But Jax? He seems like he’s struggling with the idea, like he’s fighting with himself.

Should I just give in to what I want and let Pharo fuck me? Or should I keep playing with him, drawing out the inevitable and pretending like I still hold a grudge against him?

The guys are still laughing, oblivious to what’s building in the silence between us. If they could see what I’m seeing now—the tension that’s laced in every word, every glance—they’d stop laughing, too. But for now, I’m keeping it buried, right where it’s been since the first time we locked eyes.

This isn’t a game anymore. Not for me. And if it is, it’s a game I plan to win.

Just when I thought the party was starting to wind down, Mandy pulls up, and he’s not driving his old beater of a truck. All heads turn in his direction as he struggles to vacate his large body from the tiny-ass car.

West lowers his sunglasses to get a better look and then pops off his lounger, hurrying through the gate to the lot.

“What’s this?” he asks, circling the car. “A rental? Couldn’t they have given you something bigger?”

“This,” Mandy gushes with pride, running his hand over the glossy roof, which comes to about his shoulder, “is my new ride. Sweet, ain’t he? Meet Coop.”

Jeez, how original. He named his Mini Cooper, Coop. Though no one can see my eye roll because of my aviators.

“Coop?” West repeats. “Are you pranking me?”

“No, why?” Mandy’s brows furrow. “Check out the way that blue metallic paint shines in the sun. He’s smokin’ hot.”

“He?” West asks, his voice laced with confusion. “More like mildly cute—if you were a sixteen-year-old girl who just got her license. Or a flaming twink who works at Starbucks! No offense to your man, by the way,” West jokes, referring to Tex, Mandy’s unrequited crush, who does not work at Starbucks, but I get his reference nonetheless. As does Mandy, whose expression darkens, as it always does when someone teases him about Tex.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Mandy warns.

“But seriously,” West continues, raising his voice, “my nutter buddy can’t drive a Mini! I can’t be seen in this. Hell, I can’t even fit in this! How the hell can you?”

“It’s good on gas, low monthly payments, and he’s… zippy.”

“Zippy? That’s your justification? A scooter is fucking zippy, dude, but I’m not riding around on one, am I?”

They continue to bicker back and forth as the guys file out of the gate, snapping pictures of Mandy’s new ride, completely oblivious to the strange energy crackling between Jax and me.

I roll my eyes as Riggs argues with West about the best angle for the shot. Typical.

But Jax? He’s still hogging the foot of my lounger like it’s his personal throne, even though there’s an entire row of empty chairs beside me. I can feel the heat of his gaze roaming my face before settling on my lips.

The proximity is unsettling in a way that has my mind drifting off into dangerous territory. Then, he leans over my chest—too close, his breath warm against my skin, and I instinctively hold my breath. His voice drops to a whisper, sending a shiver straight down my spine despite the heat of the sun.

“Would be a shame if you came home from your next deployment to find a pink Mini parked in your driveway where your truck used to be.”

A smirk curls at the corner of his lips, and I feel his gaze linger a second too long before he straightens up, eyes sparkling with mischief. The bastard knows exactly how to fuck with me. He knows I would go feral if anyone so much as breathed on my truck wrong, much less confiscated it.

I’m reminded of just how easily Jax can fuck my life up with the stroke of a key. An IRS audit, identity theft, shutting off my utilities, or God only knows what else his evil little master mind concocts for his sick pleasure.

I glance up at him, my pulse hammering in my ears. “You’re really trying to get a rise out of me today, huh?”

He just shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s just a thought, but I’m guessing that truck of yours means a lot to you. I’d never do that... unless I knew you’d miss it,” he adds with a smirk.

He knows I’d miss it. I don’t want to admit it—especially not to him—but he’s right. I’d miss that damn truck more than I care to admit.

But the worst part is... I might just miss him more. Because I surely would, right after I buried him six feet under the ground.

“Don’t start,” I warn, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not in the mood for your shit today.”

Jax winks at me as he slides off my lounger, peeling his wet shorts away from his body. “Relax. I wasn’t planning on it.” His voice is too smooth for comfort. “But your bike…”

And just like that, the game continues.