“Yeah,” he murmured.“Let’s go.”
But the space between us still crackled like we were one breath from closing it again.
And I hated how much I wanted it to.
8 | Section 6.Date Nights
Jaxon
Thehintoffreshcoffee started to flow through the shop and sunlight slanted through the front windows, catching dust motes in the air and lighting up the blue-black walls.
It should've been a beautiful start to my day—peace and quiet.
I should’ve been at ease.
Instead, I was crawling out of my skin with one woman doing a marathon in my mind ever since Monday night.
I was standing behind the coffee pot, phone in my hand, staring at Savannah’s name like it might bite my finger off.We hadn't spoken since that date night—since our almost-kiss—and it was driving me insane.
Even that was an anomaly in and of itself.
I was Jaxon Cage.I didn'tgetnervous or antsy about women.But everything that happened between us Monday night was on a constant loop in my head.The way her voice softened when she talked about her dad.The way her guard went back up when she said Chase’s name—fucking asshole.The way she looked at me when I told her she deserved better, like no one had ever said it to her and meant it.
And that almost-kiss.
Fuck.
She was a siren that night, and her lips were singing a silent song, pulling me into dangerous waters.For two days, she'd been running a marathon in my head.For two days, that woman had haunted my very soul.
And now I was looking down at my phone wondering what the fuck to say to her.
Why the hell am I afraid to text her?
Because it matters,a quiet voice answered.
That pissed me off.
She kept her distance from me the entire time after that, and barely said goodbye when I dropped her off.Whatever cracks I made in her walls that night were covered up in cement from that one shared moment.I had a feeling we were back to square one, and that sucked.
I dragged a hand down my face and leaned back against the counter, a heat starting to simmer inside me.
Whatever I sent her had to immediately reel her in.
Otherwise, it would be game over.
I shoved the thought aside and unlocked my phone, scrolling up to our last messages.
Nothing since Monday night.No “I had fun.”No “looking forward to the next one.”Just silence—and it shouldn’t have bothered me.
But it did.
Okay.Opening line.
I typed.Deleted.Typed again.
Too flirty.
Too serious.
