Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 142

Jax’s fingers wrap snug around my wrist, warm, insistent. He’s leaning a little toward me, straddling his bike, his mouth tugging at the corner in that dangerous half-smile.

“Come on,” he drawls, tilting his head just enough to make the plea sound like a dare. “Leave early. Don’t you keep saying we don’t spend enough time together?”

I squint at him, teasing. “Do I?”

His grip tightens, pulling me closer until my knees brush the side of his bike. His voice dips, “I spent half of yesterday afternoon subjecting myself to Nate’s nonstop yapping just to shut out how good you felt in my mouth that morning. That’s how bad it is.”

My throat works on a hard swallow, heat crawling down my neck. And Christ, this is what I mean...how steady things are between us now, how damn good they feel. It's only been four days since he swore he'd do better. He’s still Jax, sharp-edged and filthy-tongued, but lately, there’s more softness slipping out between the cracks. More sweetness he probably doesn’t even realize he’s showing. And I’m a lost cause, so fucking whipped I can barely see straight.

I lean in, kiss him, quick and grounding, my lips dragging against his just long enough to taste him. “You could come in. Hang out with us instead.”

His gaze flicks toward the shop window, then back at me, and he sucks in a breath like I just suggested something life-threatening. “As annoying as Nate is,” he mutters, “I prefer him to those two.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “They like you though. Really. And I know for a fact they’d enjoy spending time with you.... Getting to know you.”

I hope he can't tell how much I want that. He shoots me a look, dry and cutting, the kind that says he doesn’t buy a single word. “Getting to know me or grilling me?”

“Fine, guess you’ll just have to wait until I’m off.”

For a second, he looks like he might argue, but then he leans forward, presses the top of his head against my chest. Lets out this exaggerated sigh that rattles through me, too dramatic to be real, but the warmth of it tugs at something tender in my ribs. When he finally lifts his head again, I’m biting down hard on my smile.

“Pick you up at six?” he asks, casual, but there’s weight under it.

I smile, lift a brow. “Eight. I’ve got a late client, remember?”

The frown that steals across his face is almost comical, his mouth twisting like he’s been personally wronged. “Fucking clients! First they steal your lunch break, now they’re stealing your evening too.”

I can’t help laughing, even as I try to step back....only to have him catch my wrist, tugging me into him. He folds me close, tight and unyielding, like he’s trying to fuse us together, his chin tucked briefly against my hair before he breathes me in and lets out a low exhale.

I grab the helmet off the handlebars and settle it over his head, fastening it under his chin. “You promised you'd buy an extra one,” I remind him.

His eyes gleam at me from behind the visor, like I’m the only thing worth paying attention to.

“Fine,” he mutters at last, loosening just enough to look at me. His arm snaking my waist. “Guess I’ll go helmet shopping to kill time, since my boyfriend thinks work’s more important than me.”

This new side of him....the sharp edges softening into something boyish, possessive in a way that makes my chest ache. It’s unstudied, uncalculated, spilling out in these little sighs and mutters and tugs. I like the way it strips him down, shows me a tenderness that sneaks past every wall he tries to keep up.

It makes me greedy, aching for more glimpses of this Jax that feels like mine in a way the world doesn’t get to see.

“Stop sulking,” I murmur, wrapping my hand around his nape. “You’ll ruin the whole 'brooding biker' aesthetic you've got going on.”

He scoffs, but doesn't let go.

“I should head in.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel, like I’m not reluctant to peel myself away from the gravity of him.

Jax loosens his grip on my waist like it costs him, like every inch between us is a loss he can’t name. His lips part, breath catching, and he says, “I…”

I hold still, my chest tightening, because he did this yesterday too. Hesitant, caught on the edge of something fragile. Yesterday it was “I’m gonna be thinking about you,” said so quietly it barely survived the air between us.

I swallow, wait for him to step over the same threshold.

This time, he blinks once, jaw flexing. “I’ll text you.”

It’s almost nothing, a throwaway line. But it lands like a stone dropped in still water. I nod, keep the smile stitched to my mouth, because I won’t let him see how much I’m reading into it.

He watches me for a beat longer, like he knows, then revs the bike and pulls away, and I stand there, watching the blur of him fade into the street.

And I can’t help but wonder if “I’ll text you” and “I’m gonna be thinking about you“ is all he meant to say…or if they were just the safer versions of something else, something neither of us has found a way to voice. Something waiting in the silence between us.

Only Addy’s around when I step in, spray bottle in one hand, rag in the other, methodically scrubbing the front counter like it personally insulted her. She glances over at me when the door shuts behind me, but doesn’t even bother with a hello.

I scoff. “You’re seriously still mad?”

No answer. Just an extra hard swipe against the wood. She can definitely hold a grudge, nevermind that I'm not the one who bailed on her. I drop the packed lunch Jax put in my backpack this morning at her station. He packs three now, since I mentioned Addy and Layla like stealing mine. He made sure to say it wasn’t because he cares about or likes them, just that he’s looking after me.

Addy freezes mid-wipe. Then slowly and begrudgingly, she asks, “What’d he make this time?”

I grin because I know I’ve won a small battle. “Pulled pork sandwiches with pickled onions and his homemade slaw.”

Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to look impressed. I’m about to needle her further when the door flies open and Layla comes in...no, skips in...like she’s floating on some invisible cloud. She’s glowing, radiant in a way that makes me squint a little.