Page 34 of Wicked Believer

Jax waves a hand. “It’s fine. It’shisproblem.” She shrugs, but the way her hands flutter over the food anxiously like she’s now completely lost track of what she’s doing says it’s anything but.

“You don’t owe any man your attention, Charlotte.” Evie frowns at Jax, seemingly annoyed by her disappointment. “Not even the nice ones.”

Evie is model-level gorgeous—not that Jax isn’t also ridiculously pretty—but Evie comes from money and has the looks to prove it. She likely knows a thing or two about thwarting unwanted attention, maleor otherwise. She wouldn’t understand the kind of swipe-left dating scene Jax is facing.

I nod, searching for a change in subject.

Anything that’ll make this visit feel more normal.

But as I dish up my plate, I can’t help but feel that Jax is just ... yet another person I’ve disappointed lately.

Chapter Eleven

Charlotte

The three of us settle into an easy conversation after that, the warmth of the Chinese food and Jax and Evie’s laughter making me feel truly at home for the first time in weeks. It isn’t until Jax and I are boxing up the last of the leftover containers and trying to make space for them in the too-tiny fridge that the conversation finally turns to Lucifer and me.

“So, what’s going on between you two?” Jax asks. “These days you’re only ever here when something’s wrong.”

“That’s not true,” I mumble, shoving a bit of half-eaten wonton into my mouth, but the yeah-right look Jax gives me coupled with Evie’s sly grin in agreement let me know in no uncertain terms that I’ve been a shitty friend lately.

A familiar pang of guilt races through me.

I haven’t found the right moment to confess everything that happened between Lucifer and me after the Met Gala just yet. Sure, Jax knows some of the details, the sort of things anyone on social media knows, but how do you explain to your bestie that you died, but it’s okay, because your literal devil of a boyfriend remade you with God’s redemption and you’re immortal now? No biggie.

Yeah, not the easiest of conversation openers.

And that doesn’t even cover the whole “we’re barreling toward apocalyptic doom” part.

Jax takes one of the containers from my hand, her fingers accidentally brushing my palm as I start to apologize, but at my touch, her whole body goes rigid.

She drops the container, the lo mein noodles splattering all over the floor.

“Jax? Jax?” I rush around the counter toward her as her eyes go distant and hazy, almost like she’s about to pass out, or ... like she’s in some kind of trance.

I grip her shoulders, giving her a little shake to try and snap her out of it and get her to look at me, but she isn’t budging. Beside us, Evie freezes, like she isn’t certain what to do, but a violent shudder runs through Jax from head to toe and then she blinks, coming back to herself only a moment later.

Evie and I exchange confused glances.

“Are ... you okay?” I ask her, concern furrowing my brow.

But Evie is already staring at Jax as if she’s her latest party novelty. Her eyes flash with interest. “Oh my God! Was that like a vision or something?” She claps her hands together excitedly.

Like she truly believes this whole psychic thing.

Who knows, maybe she does? Celebrity influencers have believed stranger things.

Honestly, I’ve never really given Jax’s psychic work much thought. She’s a performer, whether onstage or at a card table, or so I figured.

Until now, actually.

And who amIto judge, considering who I’m dating?

“What did you see?” Evie squeals as I mutter a low, “You okay?”

“It’s nothing,” Jax says, waving us off. “It was nothing.”

But I don’t miss the wary glance she casts toward me.