Page 88 of Switch

I fake a yawn. “Too obvious.”

His gaze flicks over me, reading me like an open book. Then his expression shifts slightly, and he lifts a brow. “Gummies.”

I blink. “What kind?”

His smirk returns. “Gummy bears, gummy worms—whatever. You like ‘em all.”

I scoff. “That is not—”

His grin stretches wider. “Youlovethem.”

I cross my arms, my lips pressing together.

Jax laughs, reaching up to trace his fingers lightly down my arm. “Guess that means I’m invited, huh?”

I roll my eyes but don’t argue.

He dips his head, his lips ghosting near my ear. “You want me to come over, baby?”

A shiver runs through me, and I hate that heknowsit.

I clear my throat, keeping my voice steady. “You just wanna steal my snacks.”

His grin is pure sin. “Damn right I do.”

I narrow my eyes, pretending to think about it. “Fine. But if you eat all the chocolate-covered pretzels, I willend you.”

Jax laughs, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes warm, something softer hiding behind the amusement.

“Deal.”

Jax leads us out the front, the same way we came and locks up the office, tucking his keys into his pocket before turning to me. “Let’s go.”

I climb onto the bike behind him, slipping my arms around his waist, and lean my head against his back. This spot, right here, is my favorite.

The engine rumbles beneath us as we weave through the streets, and instead of heading straight to my place, Jax pulls into a gas station. “Snack run,” he says, throwing a smirk over his shoulder.

We head inside, and it’s a miracle we don’t walk out with half the store. We grab everything—chocolate-covered pretzels, gummies, popcorn, chips, ice cream. Jax throws in some beef jerky, calling it “a necessary protein source,” which makes me roll my eyes.

By the time we get back to my place, we’re fully stocked for a night in.

Jax kicks off his boots near the door, shrugs off his cut, and tosses it over the arm of the couch. Now it’s just him in jeans and a black t-shirt, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders in a way that shouldn’t be distracting—but is.

I grab a blanket and throw it over us as I put on a new crime drama I’ve been dying to watch. Jax doesn’t argue, just leans back, stretching his arm over the couch behind me. We both getwaytoo invested, yelling at the screen when a character makes a stupid decision and tossing popcorn at each other when we disagree about who the killer is.

By the end of the second episode, I’m curled up against his side, his fingers tracing slow circles on my knee.

Then his phone rings.

I tense, expecting him to get up and take it outside like he always does when it’s club business. But he doesn’t. Instead, he stays put and answers it right there, his other hand still resting on my leg.

His face darkens almost instantly. “Is she okay?”

I sit up, watching as his jaw tightens.

“That motherfucker,” he growls. “We need to do something now before this goes any further. I won’t let anyone else get hurt because of him.”

He nods as he listens, then glances at me. His expression softens just slightly, and he reaches for my hand, pulling it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against my knuckles before speaking again.

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