Page 84 of Coming In Hot
The air between us tightens, the way it always does when it’s just the two of us.
“You jealous?” he asks, real quiet.
OfJoey?
Ofyou, for not noticing sooner?
“No,” I lie, because I’m a goddamn expert at that.
He steps forward, close enough that I can smell his cologne under the road dust. His voice drops, low and lethal. “Liar.”
I’m cornered—not by the cinderblock walls or the flickering fluorescent light, but by him. By the way he stares at me, like he already knows what I’m going to say, and worse, like he knows I won’t say it.
Pharo takes another step closer, and I swear I stop breathing. His eyes are sharp, like he’s waiting for me to quit pretending I don’t want this—don’t wanthim.
“I’m…” I start, but my voice catches halfway through. Goddamn it.
His lips twitch. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Smug bastard.
I roll my eyes, but it’s weak at best. “You’re real confident for someone who ambushes me in a bathroom.”
Pharo laughs softly, and it’s the kind of sound that digs under my skin and stays there. “You call it an ambush. I call it giving you an out from pretending like you’re not pissed off and dying to say something about it.”
I clench my jaw. “Why are you here?”
It comes out sharper than I mean it to, like I’m pissed off he’s breathing the same air as me—which, to be fair, I kind of am. But mostly I’m pissed because Iwanthim here. Because the second he walked into the bar, the whole damn room shifted. Like it always does when Pharo’s around.
He doesn’t flinch. Just lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Same reason you are. Cold beer, bad music, some grease-soaked fries I’ll probably regret later.”
I narrow my eyes. “Try again.”
His gaze sharpens. “You really want the truth?”
“No, I want the weather report,” I snap. “Of course I want the truth.”
Closing that last bit of space between us. Now we’re practically toe to toe, and my pulse is going off like a goddamn fire alarm.
“I’m here because I knew you’d be,” he says, voice quiet but steady. “I’m here because it beats being home alone. Withoutyou. I’m here because I don’t like you having hobbies outside of me. You didn’t invite me to join you. You didn’t offer me a consolation prize, like stopping by for a quick blow job or a post-ride beer.” Pharo studies my mouth like he’s never seen it before. “Not even a quick text saying ‘Don’t wait up.’”
“Were you? Waiting up for me?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
I shift my weight, arms crossed now like they’ll somehow protect me from the way he’s gazing at me—like he sees straight through the leather and sarcasm and bullshit to the part of me that only ever wantshim.
“I didn’t think you’d wanna be here,” I mutter. “I didn’t ask you because I figured you’d say no,” I say finally, quietly. “This has never been your thing, these people, organized rides, this was beneath you or some shit.”
“Jesus, Jax,” Pharo breathes, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You think that low of me?”
“I think I’ve got four years’ worth of reasons to be careful.”
That shuts him up—for a beat.
Then he steps in closer, voice softer now, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt if he says it too loud. “I’m not trying to collect on your mistakes. I just want in. You, me, the stupid ride, even this disgusting dive bar that I bet is owned by the guy who owns the motel we stayed at. I spotted a dead animal on the wall out there, nailed to the wood-paneled wall. I want to be where you are.”
My throat feels tight.
