My heart skipped realizing that his opinion of my life still mattered too much to me. I went to smooth my hair back and hated that he caught my nervous move immediately.
His expression softened. He rubbed the back of his hand over my cheek, “Never mind, Peaches.”
I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. He moved closer still and then I felt his hands slide around my hips to hoist me up onto the wall. My hands slammed into his shoulders to steady myself, and the pain from the scrapes seared as I sucked air in through my teeth.
He gripped both of my wrists and moved closer to me. Right in between my legs. “Shit, sorry.”
I didn’t feel the pain of my scrapes anymore, just the pain of him up against me. It hurt more than any scrape could, yet I relished in it. I wanted to roll in it, bask in it, and lose myself in it. His proximity was every type of pain I knew I didn’t need.
“Jax,” I breathed and it sounded like a plea. I just didn’t know if I was pleading with him to move back or lean in more.
Nothing made sense anymore and I needed time to think, to organize my thoughts and feelings. Then, I’d have more control of them.
I pushed him back but he didn’t move like he should have.
Instead, he rustled around in the bag and found the wipes. He didn’t warn me and maybe it was partially to punish me for pushing him away. He took the wipe and smeared it over my hand. When he did, I hissed and his eyes glared up at me. He was baiting me to yell at him and start the fight.
He wanted to war with me, I saw that hunger in his eyes.
I clenched my jaw, lifting my chin.
“I like you stubborn just as much as I like you fighting me, Whitfield,” he ground out, his voice low as he threw the wipes into the plastic bag.
I bit the insides of my cheeks to hold back the smile that worked out of me. If he knew how close he was to breaking me down, he’d push our friend boundaries even further.
Friends didn’t admit what he just had. Friends didn’t move in this close, and friends didn’t put their hands all over me like he did.
Mostly though, friends didn’t like all of this closeness as much as I did.
So, when he pulled the bag up to his elbow and then put his hands above my knees so he could lean in, I didn’t back away. I should have. I should have done a lot of things in that moment but I was saved when I heard a girl screaming behind him.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Are you Jax Stonewood?!”
His hands clamped down tight on my upper thighs and he shut his eyes hard as if trying to calm down. When he opened them again, he’d transformed from brooding to megawatt-smiling, lovable singer-songwriter Jax.
He turned to greet a peppy blonde girl about my age. “You caught me.”
“Oh my God!” It seemed to be the only thing she knew how to say.
“Keep my location to yourself and take a picture with me?” he offered, but more people were already turning our way.
I felt more and more eyes on us, and I wanted to disappear into the shadows. Jax must have felt it too, because after he snapped a quick photo with her, he grabbed my wrist and moved so fast, I had to jog to keep up.
He didn’t say anything.
I didn’t say anything.
We moved together.
In sync. Connected.
When the crowd started closing in, my breathing picked up.
I could feel the air getting thinner, my window of sanity getting smaller.
Would they get a photo? Would they recognize me?
I tried so hard to ignore the panic creeping in.