Chapter 157
The store’s cooler air clings to my skin. We walked here, my idea....thought we could use the fresh air, a change of scenery, something to pull us out of the house before we got swallowed whole by the walls. But now, watching Jax, I can tell he's wondering if I’ve just dragged him here to torment him.
He's standing in front of a shelf, shoulders set, reading the label on some fancy olive oil like it’s a government file he’s memorizing for court. His brow is drawn, lips pressed in a line that looks too serious for something as simple as olives. I can’t help it. I turn toward him again... third time now. “Say it again?” My tone is lighter than my chest feels, playful...hopeful.
“No.” The word is low, clipped, and he doesn’t even spare me a glance.
“Come on,” I press, stepping a little closer, “Last time, I swear.”
His mouth twitches...almost a smile, almost a frown, and finally his eyes flick to me. “That’s what you said the last two times.” The way he says it, flat and edged, makes my grin stretch wider.
I close the space between us, shoulder brushing his as I reach for the bottle, tugging it out of his grip. His fingers hesitate before letting go, like he’s indulging me against his better judgment. I tilt it toward the light, pretending to read it while my eyes stay fixed on him. “This is the last time. I mean it.”
He gives me one of those looks...brows arched, jaw tightening, his version of displeasure. But I know better. I’ve learned to read past it. It’s not anger, not really. It’s him fighting with himself, trying not to give too much away.
He exhales through his nose, a slow, reluctant sound. “It’ll lose its luster,” he mutters, like he’s warning me.
I shake my head, lips tugging into something softer. “Not a chance.“
Some things don’t fade.
His expression tightens, eyes narrowing, as though I’ve cornered him. And then, with all the reluctance in the world weighing down his voice, he says it. “I love you.” He yanks the olive oil back from my hands like he needs to anchor himself to something, turning away with a scowl that doesn’t quite hide the truth. But I catch the faint flush creeping over his ears, the twitch of his mouth like he’s fighting not to soften. “You’re fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, and it’s the most unconvincing thing I’ve ever heard.
My laugh breaks out, warm and unguarded. I fall into step behind him, my chest light and my heart loud.
The line at the cashier crawls forward, carts rattling and voices weaving in around us. Jax shifts the bag of rice under one arm and, without looking at me, asks, “You like hotpot?”
“Yeah. Why? That what you're planning on making?”
He shakes his head, his eyes stay forward on the conveyor belt creeping along. “No. I know a good spot. Thought maybe we’d go there. Tonight.”
It’s simple, but it lands in me with a weight that feels too good. I angle toward him, can’t stop the smile curving my mouth. “Feels like forever since we went on a date. I’d like that.” The word slips out softer than I meant it, but I don’t take it back.
Jax doesn’t answer right away, just dips his chin in that quiet way he does when he’s already made up his mind. His hand finds mine immediately after, big and warm, fingers lacing through mine. It settles me in a way I can’t quite name.
I glance down at where we’re joined, then back up at him, teasing, “So... what about the shirt?” I tug at the hem of mine, the matching ones we got at that antique store. “You like it?”
That earns me a scoff, his eyes finally cutting my way. They flick down to the fabric stretched across my chest, then to his own. “I’m keeping count of all the shit you rope me into,” he mutters, but the look he gives me undercuts it....low and simmering, like he’s already undressing me right there between the Skittles and the chewing gum rack. “And when I decide to cash in...” His mouth quirks, his gaze dragging like he wants me to feel every inch of it.
It has me shifting closer, pulse skittering, because even in the middle of a crowded grocery store, Jax manages to make it feel like the only ones in the world are me and him.
“I should start a bucket list for us,” I say, mostly to see how fast I can get that twitch in his jaw. “You know, couple shit. Like, fucking in the back row of a movie theater, locking a love padlock on a random bridge in Paris. A corny photoshoot in an orchard, holding baskets of apples.....A couples’ yoga class, imagine the positions, Jax.”
The look on his face makes me bark out a laugh before I can finish. He stares at me like he's questioning every life choice that led him here. “I’m not sure I love you that much,” he mutters, horrified in that dry, gruff way that makes me grin wider.
The line shifts forward a few steps. The woman in front of us, maybe late fifties, stiff-backed in her pastel cardigan, glances over her shoulder. Her eyes skim over me...over Jax, and stop at our linked hands. I feel the weight of her stare, the way it hardens, and then she shakes her head and lets out a thin mutter....something about what the world has come to.
I’m used to it by now. Too used, maybe. Most times I’ll bite back, sometimes I won’t. This feels like one of those times I let it slide. But Jax, he isn't built to let things like this slide.
“Something you wanna get off your chest, lady?” His voice is calm, but it's laced with venom meant to sting.
She doesn’t turn, just folds her arms tight, lifts her chin, eyes locked on the cashier like the register might save her.
Jax’s eyes narrow, his expression cold. “Thought so. Brave until someone talks back.”
I tug at his hand, quiet but insistent, and tilt my head just enough for him to look at me. “Let it be,” I murmur.