Page 55 of Before You Fell

His grin widens. “Come on. One drink. If you’re still in a mood after that, I’ll tuck you into bed and sing you a lullaby.”

“You sing worse than Cruz does.”

Jax stops walking. “That’s the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It’s true.”

“No. Absolutely nobody sings worse than Cruz.”

I laugh, causing Jax to beam with satisfaction.

“There she is.” He nudges my shoulder. “You’ve spent all week looking as if you’re deciding which studio cable would be easiest to wrap around Damon’s neck.”

“The red one, obviously.”

“I love it when women have hobbies.” He flashes me another grin and steers me forward. “Alcohol first, homicide later. I’m trying to keep this night classy.”

That gets another laugh out of me.

By the time we reach the bar, heat rolls over me immediately. Blue and gold lights sweep across the crowded dance floor, catching on sequins, watches, and bodies moving together in the haze.

The VIP booths sit on a raised level, overlooking the crowd, separated from the dance floor by a few steps. Low light spills over leather couches and crystal bottles, beautiful people tucked back there, pretending they aren’t watching everybody else.

The whole place is dark, expensive, and dangerous enough to make common sense seem deeply overrated.

Girls in tiny dresses dance with strangers whose names they likely won’t remember tomorrow. Men in tailored shirts lean in too close.

Jax orders our drinks before I can argue.

“You know me too well,” I tell him as he hands me my vodka lemonade.

He knocks back a shot of whiskey, before he grins. “One of my many gifts.”

I take a sip, the citrus sharp on my tongue, but the warmth spreading through my body has nothing to do with the alcohol. That took place prior to my text to Jax.

The pill is starting to settle into my bloodstream, slowly dulling the ache that has been weighing on my shoulders all week. The noise in my head quiets. Not completely, but enough that I can finally unclench my jaw. For the first time in days, I don’t feel as though I’m being skinned alive by my own thoughts.

Maybe tonight I can simply exist.

My gaze drifts toward the elevated VIP booths.

Jett sits in one of the leather booths, a drink in his hand. Beside him, Phoenix nurses a bottle of whiskey with one long leg stretched out and his black shirt open at the throat.

As if he senses my gaze, his eyes lift. Dark hazel eyes meet mine across the room and something invisible tenses between us.

He simply observes me, as though he can sense every spot where my pulse has begun to misbehave. Heat pools low in my stomach. For one stupid second, my body forgets every reason why I’m angry with him.

I avert my eyes. If Phoenix Stone is a warning label then I have spent years pretending I can’t read.

“Did Cruz not come?” I ask Jax.

Jax bursts out laughing. “Oh, he came.”

“Where is he?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Brunette. Tiny dress. Twenty minutes ago.”

I laugh into my drink. “Poor girl.”