Page 38 of Coming In Hot
I slick my hair back into a neat tail, running my fingers through it to smooth out the mess, and pull on a white linen shirt, its cool fabric against my skin offering the first bit of comfort I’ve felt in days. Navy pants follow, simple but clean, the kind of outfit that feels effortless but still says I’m trying.
Checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I splash on some cologne, grab my truck keys, and I’m ready. Ready for what? I don’t know. But I made a promise, and it’s time to keep it.
Jax, however, is not.
He has no idea I’m coming. When I knock on his door, there’s a long pause before it opens. He stares at me for a full minute, his eyes wide, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m real or just some apparition standing in front of him.
“Pharo?” His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it in days.
“Yeah.” I try to keep my tone steady, but there’s something tight in my chest. “Can I come in?”
Before he can stop me, I push past him. Jax shuts the door behind me, the sound of the latch clicking, and we stand there—silent, eyes locked. The tension between us is palpable, thick as fog.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is quieter now, but no less challenging.
“Keeping my promises. I returned safe and sound.” I keep my tone even, but even I can hear the hesitation in it. Like I’m trying to convince myself as much as him.
“And?” He leans against the door, eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest. “Did you want a medal?”
This isn’t how I saw this going. In my head, I imagined him smiling, maybe even breathing a sigh of relief, telling me that he’d thought about me while I was gone. Maybe even telling me he missed me. But of course, Jax is gonna make me work for it. Petty fucker.
“I came to collect on that dinner you owe me,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the way his challenge sends a jolt through me.
Jax snorts, the sound almost incredulous. “Why do you keep acting like we’re friends?” He sighs, rolling his eyes like this whole situation is the most tedious thing he’s ever dealt with. “It’s exhausting.”
Challenge accepted. If there’s one thing I know about Jaxon James, it’s that he’s full of shit. Always has been. And I’ve always loved to call him out on it.
I close the distance between us, my boots barely making a sound on the floor as I get right up in his face, close enough to smell the coconut and citrus scent of his vape lingering on his breath. His eyes flicker, but he doesn't back away, which only makes my resolve stronger.
“Right from the start, you’ve always played this ridiculous game with me,” I say, my voice low, almost a whisper. “Cat and mouse, hot and cold, pretending like you don’t want this.” I lean in a little, my breath mingling with his. “I call bullshit, Jaxon. I know for a fact you want this.”
I don’t back down, can’t back down, not now, not with the tension between us so thick I feel like I could reach out and touch it. There's something about being this close, this raw, with him that’s different from everything else. It's dangerous. It's exhilarating. And maybe that's why I'm still standing here, staring him down, knowing full well that this is a line we’ve flirted with but have never crossed before.
Jax snorts again, that smug grin creeping back onto his face. “I think you suffered a head injury over there. You’re delusional.”
His denial hits me like a shot of cold air, trying to freeze the moment, but it doesn't work. If anything, it makes the heat between us that much more unbearable. I can feel the electricity in the space between us, the way it crackles in my chest, urges me to push just a little further, to prove him wrong.
“I’m not delusional,” I say, my voice steady despite the wild thrum in my veins. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I take another step closer, closing the gap, until we’re practically nose to nose. My heart beats faster with each inch, and even though he’s trying to pull away, trying to deny it, I know the truth. I see it in his eyes.
Jax doesn't back down this time. For a split second, the deflection disappears, and I see it—the truth. He feels it too. The pull, the need, the thing that’s been simmering between us since the moment we met.
And for once, neither of us is pretending.
“First, I hear about you asking after me, my whereabouts, and comings and goings. Then you show up at my house and put bandages on my cuts. Wanting to kiss my boo-boos and make them better. Then you followed me around town, poking your nose in my business like a first-rate stalker. You’re worse than an ex, worse than a bad rash. You’re…” I pause, trying to find the right word, but it’s slipping away. “Unmanageable.”
I know I’m pushing him now, but hell, I’ve been pushing him for years. And for once, I’m not holding back. He’s always had this way of dancing around the edges, pretending like he doesn’t care, like he doesn’t get under my skin just as much as I do to him. But now? Now I’m calling him on his shit.
“Unmanageable,” he smirks. “A lot like the way you're looking at me right now.”
“How am I looking at you, Jax?”
Like I want to kiss you?
Like I want to devour you with one bite?
“Like you want to suck my dick.”
