Chapter 10 Definitely Not Playing With Fire #2
Her eyes narrow, trying to decode me, and then her gaze flicks to my lips before snapping back up to my eyes. I smirk because she just handed me proof she might be more than just tolerating me.
I lift the bag in my hand with a cocky grin and give it a shake. “Gotta bandage you up.” I swear I catch a flicker of disappointment before she shutters it behind that hard face of hers. “What were you thinking of? Dirty girl.”
She yanks her wrist from my grip, but she doesn’t step away, and that’s the part that gets me. A soft pout forms even as she tries to look offended. “Jerk. I was not being dirty.”
“Sure, Sunshine. Keep saying that.” I peel open a Band-Aid and take her hand again, slower this time, giving her the chance to pull away.
When she doesn’t, I press the strip over her injured knuckle with careful fingers, smoothing it down the best I can.
“There.” I lean back, admiring my work with the confidence of a man who has done exactly one medical thing in his life.
“Not Elias-grade, but a band-aid’s a band-aid. Even I can’t fuck that up.”
“You say that,” she mutters, already tugging at the corner where it’s folding in, critiquing my work. “But this won’t last the night.”
Then she laughs, actually laughs, and my heart does that stupid thing it only ever does with her, skipping and stuttering before it kicks back in too fast.
“That’s okay. We’ve got more.” I shake the box so it rattles the other ninety-nine Band-Aids. “Now… you ready for the real fun?”
She lifts a brow, skeptical and curious in the same breath, right as I hook my hands at her hips and pull her in close. “Real fun, huh?” she questions, almost suspiciously, which… fair.
“Trust me, pushing you around in a cart wasn’t the main event.”
“I hope not.”
I lean in until our noses almost brush, grinning as the tension in her posture tells me she wants to push me away and also wants to stay exactly where she is. “Ride me? I mean, with me.”
“Hell no.” She jerks back like she just remembered she’s not supposed to enjoy the feel of me, and the way her eyes flash makes me laugh. “I saw how you ride. I’m good.”
My hand flies to my chest in mock offense, being dramatic, knowing it makes her smile sometimes.
“You wound me.” I let her go and drop against my bike, acting like it’s no big deal while the image of her wrapped around me digs in and refuses to leave.
“Fine. Don’t be my backpack.” I shrug like I don’t care, even though I very much do.
“Fine. I won’t be.”
“Just stay close, Angel.” My voice softens without my permission, and I cover it by reaching up, dragging a finger along her jaw before I tip her chin up and release her again. “I don’t want to lose you in the dark.”
She bumps her shoulder into mine as if that’s her version of a response, then grabs her helmet. “Come on. Before you get any more stupid ideas.”
“Too late.” I grin as I swing my leg over my bike. “All the stupid ideas are already in motion.”
She snorts under her breath while she pulls her helmet on, the sound small but real. “Great. Can’t wait.”
“Oh, you're gonna hate it,” I promise, thumb tapping the ignition as my engine kicks to life and she flips me off.
Cute.
We take off again, weaving through empty streets lit by a handful of sad streetlamps. She keeps right on my tail, close enough I can feel her headlights riding the back of my jacket. It does something to me. Has me riding a little faster, a little cockier. Makes my blood run stupid and reckless.
I turn left onto a side road that looks like it hasn’t seen a car in a century.
The asphalt’s busted, gravel everywhere, a couple of potholes big enough to swallow Theo whole.
Perfect. The trees crowd in on both sides, thick and nosy, branches knitting together overhead until the road feels like a tunnel.
I slow down, sliding to a stop in the middle of an empty gravel lot, and kill the engine.
Two tired streetlights lean over the space, throwing a warm, honey-colored glow that barely reaches the edges, and everything beyond it disappears into shadow and pine.
Above the treeline, the sky’s blown open with bright stars, like somebody spilled glitter and forgot to clean it up.
She pulls up beside me, visor popping up. “Why are we stopping here? Planning to bury a body?”
“Maybe yours,” I chirp as I swing off my bike, boots crunching gravel. “Depends on how cooperative you’re feeling.”
“Good to know.” She deadpans while she gets off hers, slipping her helmet off, posture already set to fight-or-flight. “I’ll start running now.”
I rummage through the compartment beneath my seat until I find them, the beat-up pair of leather gloves I keep for fire reasons. Yes, that’s an actual category in my head. I hold them up like a magician about to reveal a dove, except my dove is questionable and probably a safety violation.
Her gaze drops to the gloves, then lifts back to me, unimpressed. “What, you want me to punch you? Because I will.”
“Sunshine.” I let out a dramatic sigh and press a hand to my chest. “If I wanted pain, I’d let Theo lecture me about responsibility again. Put the gloves on.”
She narrows her eyes, suspicion heavy in her voice. “Why?”
“Protection,” I tell her with a straight face, committed to the bit.
“Protection from what?”
I lift a brow, giving her the most innocent look I can manage. “If you stick a finger in my ass later, I’d prefer it not be bare.”
She chokes. Actually chokes. I’ve never been prouder.
“That’s not… Jax!” she snaps, cheeks heating just enough to make me want to fan them myself.
“What?” I spread my hands, all sincerity and zero shame. “I’m just being safe. You should be proud. I’m growing.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Mm-hmm,” I agree, watching this tiny fight happening on her face between disgust and laughter. It’s my favorite expression of hers. “And yet here you are, putting the gloves on.”
Give in, Raine. Let me in.
She mutters something about regretting every life choice that led her here, but her hands slip into the gloves anyway.
While she’s busy, I pull out the rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball, soaking it until it drips.
Her eyes narrow even more as she watches me, curious and suspicious all at the same time.
“Jax,” she warns, and it almost sounds motherly.
“Yes, Sunshine?”
“What are you doing?”
“Magic tricks.”
I flick my lighter and whoosh—the cotton ball ignites instantly, flames licking up all around.
“Catch!” I shout, tossing it at her.
“JAX—!”
She fumbles, curses, and barely manages to bounce it back with both palms. “You absolute lunatic!”
I laugh, catching it and tossing it back again. “Don’t hold it! You gotta keep it moving!”
“You’re insane!”
“You’re smiling,” I point out, tossing it again.
“I’m smiling because if I don’t laugh, I’ll kill you!”
The little flaming cotton ball arcs between us, quick and stupidly bright against the dark. She slaps it back with a muttered, “I hate you,” but she’s grinning now—this wild, sharp little grin that hits me right in the chest.
That’s it, Sunshine. Let yourself relax.
“You know,” I say as I send it her way again, “I’ve seen you punch grown men unconscious. I’m not convinced a tiny fireball is your limit.”
“You’re convinced of nothing,” she shoots back. “Except your own bad decisions!”
“You like my bad decisions.”
“Debatable!”
“Uh-huh,” I grin too wide, too happy.
She misses one toss, curses hard, and bats it back at me with a frantic swipe.
“That was almost my face!” she yells.
I’m laughing so hard I nearly drop it. Eventually, the flame dies, the cotton shrivelling into a useless little ash clump that hits the ground. I stomp it out, then look at her.
She’s breathing hard, with her cheeks pink and her eyes bright.
Gorgeous.
And completely unaware of what she does to me.
I close the distance slowly enough that she can stop me if she wants, but thankfully, she doesn’t. She just watches my approach, chest rising, shoulders tense like she’s preparing for a hit—or something else entirely.
I step in, like really in, like enough for my boots to scrape hers.
My jacket brushes her ribs, and my breath ghosts her cheek.
I press her back until her spine hits the side of her bike, her palms landing behind her on the seat for balance.
She doesn’t break eye contact. She never does. That’s half the reason I’m addicted.
"You keep acting like letting me in is some terrible idea," I murmur, voice low, carried by the light breeze.
"It is."
"Then why did you follow me all night? Why’d you agree to come? Why not push me away right now?"
She hesitates one second too long, as if she’s trying to figure that out herself.
“Yeah,” I breathe, letting my breath fan across her face. “That’s what I thought.”
“Don’t get cocky,” she whispers, always so stubborn, but it’s the part I love best about her.
I lean in until our mouths are practically sharing the same air. “Not cocky. Just sure.”
She sucks in a breath—soft and completely unprepared—and it hits me like a punch.
Jesus. I feel it everywhere.
Her eyes flick to my mouth, then back up.
I catch it. She knows I catch it. She still doesn’t move.
I tilt in just a little more, giving her every chance to shove me or tell me to fuck off.
But she doesn't. She just grips the hem of her jacket, fingers tight, like she’s holding herself in place.
I hover there for one slow, torturous moment.
Her lips are right there.
Right fucking there.
She leans—barely, a breath. It’s a movement she forgot to hold back, and I want to kiss her so badly it aches.
But I know I shouldn’t. Tonight isn’t about this.
It’s about making sure she’s okay. So, I pull back a fraction, just enough to watch her reaction.
The way her eyes half-close. The way her breath stumbles.
The way her desire and her stubbornness fight on her face.