Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 53

I’m supposed to be sketching a mechanical, optical illusion sleeve for a client, gears meshing into impossible shapes, shadows doing things shadows shouldn’t do. But somewhere between shading the fourth cog and lining up the perspective, my brain decided that was boring and jumped ship.

Now the sketchpad’s abandoned on the far corner of my desk and I’m deep into a completely different rabbit hole...

"How to make someone open up and commit."

Apparently, the internet thinks the answer is somewhere between “ask them deep childhood questions over candlelight” and “take them to a ropes course so the shared adrenaline bonds you for life.” One list suggested looking into their eyes for four minutes without speaking. Sure, nothing says “romance” like mutual unblinking in silence while trying not to sneeze.

Then there’s the “be vulnerable” advice, which is great in theory… except I can’t picture Jax sitting cross-legged on the floor with me, spilling his soul like we’re at some campfire therapy retreat. He’d probably just smirk, ask if I’m trying to turn him on, and change the subject.

I’m halfway through an article titled 'Top 20 Commitment Hacks That Actually Work' when Addy walks past and leans in like she’s spotted contraband.

“What’s got you so invested?” she asks.

I glance up, flip my phone face down, and turn off the screen like it’s porn. “Nothing.”

Her brows lift, but before she can press, the front door chimes. In comes a delivery guy carrying a massive bouquet of red roses like it’s an Olympic torch.

We all know who they’re for.

Layla practically skips to the counter to sign for them, grinning like she’s in a romcom montage. Adam sent her a bouquet yesterday too...apparently we’re on Day Two of The Grand Public Declaration of Love. She brings them back to her station, arranges them like they’re on display at Versailles, then glances around and asks, “Think I should send him something too? Let him know I’m thinking about him?”

Without missing a beat, Addy says, “Send him a lock of your hair in an unmarked envelope. Really keep him guessing.”

Layla laughs but waves her off. “I’m being serious.” She turns to me. “Remember that antique shop you showed me? I found this classical watch there for Adam a while back, he loved it. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow, see what else I can find.”

“That’s a good idea,” I say, but my brain’s already wandered.

Antique shops are my thing...growing up with my parents, I couldn’t help but love the hunt for rare vintage finds. I know all the best spots, the hidden gems with dust so thick it’s practically an authenticity seal. Would Jax even be into that? Or is that way too 'here’s my heart' served on a vintage mahogany platter?

It’s driving me insane. How do people navigate this? Is there a manual? And if so, where the hell was it when I turned eighteen?

I check the clock...11:13. My next client’s not until three. The slow day’s a blessing and a curse. Too much time to think. Too much time to act on thoughts I should absolutely lock in a safe and never touch again.

I stare at my phone. I debate. I second-guess. I picture last night’s call and feel my thumb hovering over his name. It’s just hanging out. Gotta start somewhere. Nothing dangerous about that, right?

I type hi.

Then I freeze. Last night I called him. Now I’m texting him the next morning? That’s… a lot. Am I giving desperate?

God, I’m definitely giving desperate.

I hit send anyway.

Now I just sit here, staring at the screen, feeling like I’ve set a tiny, stupid bomb and I have no idea if it’s going to go off.

My phone pings and my heart actually races. This is just fucking ridiculous!

" Hi, how'd you know I was jerking off thinking about you?"

Before I can roll my eyes, another notification pings.

I open it. And......Christ.

He sent me a picture.

Of himself.

Very much in the act.

For a full three seconds, my brain blue-screens. Then I’m just… staring, mouth slightly open, heat crawling all over my skin like I’ve been caught doing something I wasn’t. I should be offended. Or at least annoyed. But instead, I’m… fascinated. And, yeah, turned on.

It’s not just the thoughts the fucking dick pic elicits in my head, it’s the sheer audacity. The absolute confidence in sending that without so much as a warning. The guy has no brakes.

I blink at the screen. It’s barely past eleven, I don't think I'm in the right headspace for this.

I type back..."Good morning to you too."

My stomach does that traitorous twist again. God, I hate this.

I’m sitting here like some idiot teenager with a crush, trying to decide what to type while praying I don’t say something dumb enough to require faking my own death....which is humiliating enough. I clear my throat, type before I can second-guess it.

"You busy?"

There’s a pause long enough to make me think I’ve scared him off, then—

"Never for you. Why? You finally gonna let me have you today? Knew you'd give in eventually."

I roll my eyes, mostly at myself, because I’m grinning like an idiot. Heat crawls up my neck.

"Was thinking of going antiquing later. Around one. You wanna come?"

The little “read” receipt appears. No reply.

Then finally—

"This feels like a trap."

I send back that it's not, followed by the address, then I say it'd be nice if he can make it.

And then… nothing.

Five minutes. Ten. The conversation is as dead as my confidence. I want to type 'So… are you coming?' but I can already picture him seeing it, leaning back, and staring at his screen like he’s debating whether or not to turn me down.

It’s stressing me out. And I do not appreciate being left on read. The guy said he liked having me close....now I give him a perfect chance to hang out and suddenly we’re playing ghost? I've always scolded Addy for ignoring red flags in guys, but now I see how easy it is to lose yourself.

Guess the only way to find out if he’s showing is to go and see for myself.

In about an hour and a half.

I drag my sketchpad back toward me, flip it open, and try to focus on the gears and shadows and illusions. But the cogs keep turning into that stupid smirk of his. Maybe he went back to jerking off and he’ll text me when he’s done...after he’s washed his hands, hopefully.

On the bright side, at least it's me he's thinking about....which I'm guessing is Jax's version of being thoughtful.