Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 59

It’s almost one and I’ve been pacing the apartment like a dog in a cage, losing the fight with myself one round at a time. His text came twenty minutes ago, a simple reminder of our “date.” He actually put the word in all caps, like he’s daring me to call it something else. Like he knows I’m already on the hook.

If I don’t show, he’ll get the message. But standing him up....yeah, I’d spend ages seeing that look on his face. The disappointment. The irritation. That thing where he pretends not to care but his eyes give him away. I curse under my breath and grab my keys before I can think myself out of it.

The streets blur under my bike until I’m rolling up to the spot I dropped him off yesterday. He’s there. Of course he is.

He spots me before I even kill the engine. Relief washes over his face, smug and satisfied in the same breath. He looks like he just won a bet with himself. I hand him the helmet without a word, but he takes it like it’s a victory prize.

“You should stop ignoring my texts,” he says, voice low, lips tugged into that grin that makes me want to kiss it off and ride as far as I can from him all at once.

I don’t answer. Can’t. If I open my mouth, something reckless will spill out.

The ride’s quick, steady, a silence I can hide behind. I pull us up to a little restaurant tucked between a post office and a shut down bar. Warm lights glow through the windows, lace curtains fluttering in the draft from the propped door. The hand-painted sign above reads Rosalina’s. I’ve been here enough to know what’s good, what’s not. The hits more than make up for the misses.

Xander pulls the helmet off, shakes his hair back into place. He glances up at the sign, brows raised. “I’ve passed by here a hundred times. Never once thought to step inside.”

“Your loss,” I say, finally breaking my silence, voice flat but my chest tight.

We walk in and the smell hits first....tomatoes simmering, garlic, fresh bread. The place is cozy, mismatched wooden chairs and faded family photos on the walls. There’s a couple in the corner arguing quietly over a crossword puzzle, and a kid at the counter coloring on the back of a receipt while his mom wipes down tables.

We get seated in a booth by the window. The vinyl’s cracked, but it feels solid. Safe.

Xander leans back, eyes scanning the menu even though I can tell he doesn’t care what he eats as long as he got me to bring him here. “So,” he says, “you’re not a total lost cause. I might be getting way ahead of myself here, but I'll take your showing up as a sign of interest. ”

I arch a brow. “ I am interested, in getting to fuck you. How long will you string me along?”

“I know what you're trying to do and it won't work. And just so we're clear, sex is completely off the table until you say yes to being my boyfriend,” he fires back, meeting my stare without flinching.

My pulse kicks hard in my throat. I hate how easy he makes this look.

I reach for the menu, though I don’t need it. “Get the lasagna. Most of everything else will just piss you off.”

He smirks, tapping the laminated page with one finger. “You ordering for me now? See, we're already on the right path.”

I glance up, let my mouth tilt just enough to look like a threat. “I liked you better when you couldn't stand being in the same space as me.”

"You only have yourself to blame," He says, sounding like he’s exactly where he wants to be. And that’s the problem...I don’t know what the hell to do with someone who doesn’t realize how dangerous it is to want me this much.

The menu’s useless in front of him, because I can feel him watching me instead. He doesn’t even bother pretending...eyes dark, sharp, just slightly hooded like he’s in on some joke I’m not invited to.

“The couple’s special any good?” he asks, all innocent, though the curve in his mouth gives him away. “We should try that too.”

I don’t look up. “It’s not.” My tone is flat, clipped. “Might seem tempting, but it won’t live up to your expectations.”

He narrows his gaze, amused. “And how would you know if you’ve never tried it?”

My jaw tightens. I don’t give him that satisfaction. I pour water into my glass, steady, like it doesn’t matter. The waitress swings by with a notebook, eager. I don’t waste time. “Lasagna. And—” I scan the page without really seeing it. “Grilled chicken with rosemary potatoes.”

She scribbles, nods, disappears.

As soon as she’s gone, he leans forward. Not much, just enough to brush against my space, like a cat testing boundaries. “Quit acting weird,” he says, voice low but threaded with humor.

I meet his gaze. Calm. “I’m not.”

“You are.” His eyes glint, lashes dropping before he looks straight at me again. “All shifty, like I’ve got you at gunpoint or something.” His lips twitch into a slow, deliberate curve. “Do I scare you now, Jax?”

I don’t think. I just grab a piece of the complimentary bread, shove it into his mouth before the words settle in me too deep. “Shut up and eat.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just bites down on the bread and chews slowly, smug, like he won.

He swallows, then without asking, lifts my glass, drinks from it and sets it down. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and goes, “What’s your full name anyway? Realized I don’t even know.”

I arch a brow, he smirks. “We’ve gotta skim the basics first...then we get to the real stuff.”

I lean back, arms crossing. “Real stuff.” I echo it flatly, like the words don’t itch under my skin.

“Mm-hm.” He nods, suddenly serious in that way that only makes him more dangerous. “Like… what keeps you up at night. What you wanted most when you were ten years old. Who broke you the worst. What you’d change if you had one do-over in life.” He pauses, eyes fixed on mine, unblinking. “And what you’re most afraid of right now.”

I stare at him, my throat tight. He tosses the questions out like he’s ordering dessert, but they land heavy, one after the other, burrowing where I don’t want him.

I look away first. Because that’s the routine we're suddenly finding ourselves in. Him dragging me into light I don’t want, and me trying to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground like I’m not already halfway there.