Page 33 of Jax

She returns to her dance partner but I’m certainly not through with this yet. Maybe I didn’t fight for me and Jax back then but I’ll certainly do it now. At least he’ll know why I’m still here. Still standing in the middle of his club even though it seems like he wants me anywhere else but here. “Yeah, I’m not going to do that,” I deadpan, bringing her attention back to me. I place my hands on my hips. “This big guy and I go way back. He may not know it yet, but I’m under his skin and I’m staying there. So, the answer to your question asking if I’m with him... It might be a no now but it’ll be yes later. It’s bestyoufuck off before you get your heart broken.”

Jax’s jaw ticks, and I swear he’s grinding his teeth together inside that beautiful mouth of his. The girl chuckles. “This is far too much work for a girl who just wants a little action. Have fun you two.”

She turns and walks away, her tight dress clinging to her. Despite that, Jax doesn’t look her way once. He’s too busy eyeing me. “You’re under my skin like a rash.”

I blink at him. “Huh?”

“You told her you were under my skin, making it sound all romantic and shit. It’s not. You’re under my skin like an itch that won’t go away.”

“Get used to it,” I tell him as I work my hands up his chest and around his neck. He doesn’t push me away, so I take that as a cue to keep going. I settle my thumbs on the veins popping out of his neck. “I hear rashes are hard to get rid of.”

“You’re not going back to the delinquent then?”

“I’ve been forced to do a lot of things,” I tell him, trying to open up. Trying to give him everything he wants so he can see me. The real me. “I want to take control for once.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is if you’re looking for it.”

He shakes his head as the song changes. I start to move with him, hoping beyond hope that he’ll give in to the magnetism between us. We fall into an easy rhythm like the old days, except now, I fit into him like a butterfly in a cocoon.

“What if I don’t want you under my skin?” he asks, his chest vibrating.

I shrug, moving up to my tiptoes so we can continue our conversation without yelling over the music. “Sometimes we don’t have a choice.”

“That always seems to be the case with us.” Jax works his fingers into the back of my head, pulling my hair just slightly so I know he’s in charge as we move together. My scalp burns from my injuries but I don’t care. He grinds against me, hips moving with ease. “I hate the way I want you.”

Blood boils in my core. Hate and love are two sides of a coin. In order for him to hate me this much, he must have loved me even more once. In my mind, that only brings me hope that I can get him back. “Do you think you’re punishing yourself? Or me?”

“Both, I hope.”

I work my fingers into the short hairs of his neck. “What if I want it? What if I crave it?”

“Then I’d say the world fucked you up when you left.”

“You have no idea,” I grind out as I lick a trail down his corded neck.

He stills momentarily before regaining his senses. “Fuck, Sadie. Sometimes it’s like you never—” He breaks off his thought with a groan like he doesn’t want to think about what we were. He pulls back a little, examining me. “Who was the guy you were dancing with?”

I swallow, wondering if the truth is best in this scenario. When people say truth is always the best, they’re fucking liars. Or they have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. You wouldn’t tell a robber that you’re completely helpless and have no idea how to fight him off. No. You’d tell him you’re a black belt in karate and that if he tries anything, you’ll fuck him up.

But with Jax, lying is what got us in this shitstorm. “One of Psycho’s friends.”

“Psycho is...?”

I nod, knowing he only needs confirmation.

“You sure can pick them, can’t you?”

“More like they pick me.”

He surveys the room, most likely looking for Tiron. “What did he want?” This is why I know Jax hasn’t completely given up on the idea of us. If he had, he wouldn’t care where the possible threat was.

“Checking up on me. For Psycho.”

His fingers tighten around my hips. “Will he come here?”

“Doubt it. It’s not his style.”

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