Chapter 60
Then he adds softly, like he’s testing me. “For now… your full name will do. Or is that also too much to ask?”
I decide to just get this over with. “Jackson O’Connor.”
He repeats it back to me like he’s rolling it over his tongue, tasting it. Eyes flicking up to me like he’s gauging my reaction. Then he grins, small and dangerous. “I like it. Can I call you Jackson?”
“No,” I shoot back, sharper than I mean to, but I don’t take it back. “Don’t.” It comes out almost a warning, and my chest tightens with how serious it sounds in my own ears.
He lifts his hands, palms out. “Okay… Jax it is.” He leans forward a little, studying me intently. “How old are you, anyway?”
I squint at him. “Two years older than you.”
I expect him to ask how I know his age, he doesn't.
“You’re lying.”
“Believe it or don’t,” I say, shrugging. “Makes no difference to me.”
He folds his arms, dead serious expression plastered on his face like he’s debating the meaning of life. “That makes you twenty-eight.” His voice has a mock-gravity to it. “Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever been into older guys before. Maybe I’m uncovering a kink.”
I stare at him, unamused, and reach for my water. “It’s two fucking years.”
“Exactly,” he says, eyes bright. “That’s practically a lifetime.”
I’m already taking a drink, shaking my head, when he drops the next grenade. “It’s okay though. Just....if we were ever to get married or anything, I’d rather keep my last name.”
The water goes down wrong. I choke, coughing hard, and slam the glass down. My eyes are watering, my chest feels like it’s on fire, and when I finally drag my gaze back up, he’s just sitting there with his arms crossed, watching me with the smuggest expression I’ve ever seen.
“Okay, you really need to stop this now,” I manage, my voice rough, horrified.
He loses it. Full-on laughter, spilling out of him like he can’t hold it in. He bends forward, his shoulders shaking, that stupid grin splitting wide across his face. “Relax, it was a joke. You should see the look on your face. I just wanted you to loosen up.”
I grit my teeth, glare at him, but he’s glowing with amusement and I know I’ve already lost. My pulse is still erratic, lungs raw from choking.
He points a finger at me, still grinning. “You’re too easy.”
“Having fun?” I ask, unimpressed.
“Actually,” he says, nodding slowly, “yeah. I am.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shrink back the way people usually do when I cut sharp. Instead, he leans in, bold as ever. “Next question.”
I exhale through my nose, slow, like I’m holding on to the last thread of my patience. “Can we ease up on the interrogating for now?” My tone is dry, but heavier than I mean it to be. “Still trying to recover.”
The way he laughs...low, easy, careless...it lands somewhere it shouldn’t. The glint in his eyes, too alive, too damn warm. I'm not a fan of how comfortable I’m starting to feel under his gaze, like he’s dismantling me piece by piece without lifting a finger.
The plates finally hit the table, the smell of garlic and tomatoes thick in the air. I slide the lasagna toward him without a word, take the other dish for myself. He doesn’t hesitate, fork in hand like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. I ask the waitress for a beer.
Xander eyes me as he cuts into his food. “You’re gonna drink when you’ve got to ride?”
“It’s one beer,” I say. “Not like I’m planning to crash us into a wall.”
He takes the first bite. His brows lift, shoulders dropping like he just unclenched. I don’t need him to say it..
I can see he likes it.
He leans back in his chair, chewing slow, savoring. “Can’t wait to see where else you’ll take me.”
My jaw tightens. “You’re really not planning to stop this, are you?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just sets his fork down, looks me dead in the eye. “If you want me to stop, Jax… you have to say so. Otherwise, I’m gonna assume you’re interested.”
And the way he says it, steady, no hesitation...it’s not a game. He means it.
I open my mouth, throat tight, ready to tell him to back off. To call it what it is before it spirals into something I can’t drag myself out of. He watches me like he’s braced for whatever comes next.
I start to speak, don’t even know what the hell I’m about to say....when he holds up his fork, loaded with lasagna, and shoves it toward me. “Here,” he says, voice smooth but a little guarded. “Taste this.”
I let out a short breath, but I lean forward anyway, take the bite off his fork. It’s good, but that doesn’t matter.
He only did it to shut me up, and it worked.
Halfway through the meal, he’s stealing from both plates like it’s his right. I let him, because apparently I’ve lost all control of this already. Then, out of nowhere, he asks, “You close with your parents?”
My fork stills. I don’t move, don’t even blink, just stare at the food on my plate.
“I asked where you grew up the other day,” he continues, softer this time. “You didn’t answer. Is it… a touchy subject?”
I finally look up. He’s not teasing now. His tone’s genuine, too damn open. And I hate how easy it would be to step into that. So I don’t. I keep my face blank, keep eating like he never said a thing.
For a second, he lets it go. But then he leans forward, elbows on the table, “Fine. If you don’t wanna answer, then you ask me something. Whatever you wanna know.”
I hold his gaze. I can see it all over him....well-loved, sheltered. Nothing in common with me. Nothing I’d want to drag him into.
And yet, God knows why, my mouth opens. “My dad died when I was four.” My voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else, flat. “My mom’s probably dead too.”
That gets him. “Probably?”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “They were drug addicts. I got pulled out after my dad OD’d. If my mom kept shooting up the way she did back then…” My jaw tightens. “Chances are she didn’t last long.”
Silence hangs heavy between us. Then he puts his fork down slow, eyes locked on me. “Jax…” He says my name soft, in that way that makes my skin crawl, like he’s holding something fragile.
I shake my head sharply, cutting him off before he can keep going. “Don’t. Don’t get fucking sentimental.” My beer arrives and I grab it, taking a long drink, anything to burn the moment away. “It’s not a big deal.”
And it’s not. Its just another fucked-up fact in a long line of them. Nothing worth pity. But the look on his face says he doesn’t see it that way.