Chapter 12 Definitely Not Thinking About It
Raine
We almost kissed.
Shit, Raine.
You almost let Theo kiss you.
I breathe, downing the shot glass in front of me. I have no idea what Jax put in front of me, but I don't really care. The need for a drink outweighs the need to know what I'm drinking.
Which I know. Stupid.
But at least I can say with a hundred percent certainty that Jax would never drug me or his friends.
Theo is on my left, his knee oddly still pressed to my own on these highly uncomfortable small red stools.
Elias is on my right, his broad shoulders almost scraping my own.
I have to pretend to be small just to keep from touching them.
Which I really should keep from doing.
Cannot touch them.
No touchy.
It's ridiculous how many times I have to tell myself that. To remind myself that letting them in is good for no one. Not for me. Not for them. Especially not for them. Bash wouldn't bat an eye at hurting one of them to get me to do what he wants.
I could see Elias handling himself against some suits. Jax? Probably, but it would end in some charges. But Theo? Dear God. He would not last. I mean, maybe he could confuse them with his logic. But I don't see him lasting in a fist fight with any of them.
For someone who works on bikes, his hands are too soft.
Breathe, Raine.
Nothing actually happened.
Breathe.
“Atta girl!” Jax cheers, pouring another shot in my cup. Vodka? Tequila?
Why can't I tell the difference?
Elias, ever the caretaker type, covers his glass with his hand. “Someone's gotta stay sober and drive everyone home.” He flips his shot glass, just taking the one to be a good sport, I guess. “That someone will be me.”
“When is it ever not you?” Jax shakes his head, like Elias existing is a personal inconvenience. “One of these days, I’m gonna get you drunk, Daddy sir.”
Jax throws in a cocky ass wink, because why not when you're already calling your best friend Daddy. Elias just stares. Just one long, slow blink like he’s rebooting his entire soul to process that nickname.
Elias inhales through his nose and holds it, shoulders going rigid for half a second, jaw flexing like he’s chewing down something hot.
He reaches for his water with all the care of a man handling a live wire, takes a measured sip, and keeps his eyes anywhere but Jax’s face.
I can see the way he’s holding back a smile.
Smiling at Jax would give him permission to continue being stupid.
“Is he always so…?” I start, still searching for a word that doesn’t feel mean and also doesn’t feel inaccurate.
“Jax?” Theo cuts in, deadpan, like he’s saving me the effort. “Yeah.” He doesn’t even need to look at me to know I was going there.
I nod anyway. What else is there to do?
Elias sighs, barely audible under the bar’s music. “I stopped trying to dial him down years ago.”
Jax, of course, is leaning on the counter like he owns the place, arms crossed, all casual confidence and teeth. “If you can’t handle all of me, you don’t deserve even a piece of me.”
I can’t deny it. I respect that.
“Fair.” I lift my glass at him and knock back the shot again.
Jax’s eyes flick to my now-empty glass and he points at it, equal parts impressed and concerned. “You do that too well. Should I be worried? Tempted? Aroused? I need guidance.”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, refusing to laugh even though it tries to break out anyway. “Don’t look at me for guidance. Manage your own emotions.”
Jax slaps a hand to his chest like I just wounded him. “Manage my own emotions?” His voice goes syrupy. “Raine, sweetheart… you say that like I’ve ever had control of them.”
Elias doesn’t even bother hiding his reaction. He stares at Jax the way a tired parent stares at a hyperactive toddler who’s eaten glue.
“That much is obvious.”
Jax wiggles his brows at me. “Hey, at least I admit when something gets me worked up. Unlike some people”—he flicks a glance at Theo, who immediately stiffens—“who look like they’re gonna pass out every time you lift a glass.”
Theo nearly chokes on his drink. “I’m literally just sitting here.”
“Yeah,” Jax says brightly. “And failing at it. Adorably.”
“I'm not adorable,” Theo huffs, the rim of his glass meeting his lips as he sulks. “And I can admit shit,” he adds for good measure before taking a drink.
“Alright then,” Jax points at me, eyes fixed on Theo. “Tell her. Tell her she’s dangerous with a shot glass.”
Theo looks panicked. “I—um—well—she’s… good at drinking?”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “Way to sell it.”
My eyes flutter to his lips, and suddenly I can't look his way again, gaze fixed on my glass as I spin it in my fingers.
Jesus.
Calm your tits down.
I need to get laid.
Theo clears his throat, ears pink. “I mean—you’re… efficient?” He winces immediately. “That sounded better in my head.”
Jax groans loud enough to catch the attention of the other patrons around the counter.
“Jesus Christ, Professor. If Raine ever seduces you, you’re gonna thank her for her time and file her taxes.”
Theo makes a strangled sound. “Why would—why would I file her taxes?”
Elias rubs his temples. “Please stop talking, Jax.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” Jax perks up, grinning at him. “Especially not when Daddy looks this stressed.”
Elias freezes mid-sip, slowly, carefully lowering his water. “Jax, if you call me daddy one more time in public—”
“What?” Jax leans forward, palms on the bar, a wicked little gleam in his eyes. Always testing lines, this one. “You gonna punish me?”
Theo spits his drink back into his cup, coughing, and I try to suppress the laughter bubbling in the back of my throat.
Elias straightens, and the set of his jaw says he’s one comment away from snapping a molar. “Jax.”
Jax just beams, like the warning is a compliment. “Yes, Daddy?”
Elias drops his palm to the bar with a sharp smack, shaking a couple bottles. “Stop. Calling. Me. That.”
Jax blinks once, then again, grin widening, thinking he just stumbled onto the world’s most entertaining hobby.
“Oh,” he says, delighted, “I’m definitely calling you that.”
Elias turns to me, eyes pleading over the music. “I cannot stress enough how close I am to throwing him out the back door.”
“You can try,” Jax chirps, leaning in like this is friendly banter and not Elias’ last nerve. “But I’m wiry.”
That earns a choking laugh out of Theo, which shouldn’t do a damn thing to me but absolutely does. His head tips back a little, and something stupid and warm flares in my chest.
No.
Nope.
Shut it down, Raine.
I reach for my glass again just so I have something to do with my hands, but when my fingers brush his knee—barely, accidentally—my whole body trips over itself.
It’s nothing. It’s a normal amount of contact on stools that were built for children or circus performers. But my brain reacts like he grabbed me.
Theo goes still, suddenly hyper-aware. His eyes flick to where our legs touch for half a second, then up to me. I know I should look away, but I stupidly don’t.
His mouth parts just the tiniest bit, like he’s about to say something and thinks better of it.
His lips are still pink from the way he keeps nervously sipping on his drink, and suddenly all I can think about is how close his mouth was to mine earlier.
How I felt his breath. How I let him get that close.
Shit.
I look away fast, focusing on a knot in the wooden bar like it contains the secrets of the universe while my pulse is doing gymnastics in my throat.
Theo shifts beside me, quiet as always, but I feel it.
Every tiny movement. The way he keeps turning his glass instead of drinking it. He’s nervous, or flustered. Maybe both.
And all of it makes the air between us feel too tight. His shoulder brushes mine when someone squeezes past behind us, and that’s it. My whole body lights up like someone plugged me into a socket.
I can’t sit here.
Not next to him.
Not with the memory of his mouth that close to mine.
Not with Jax watching us like a smug little chaos fairy who will absolutely say something if I so much as breathe wrong. So, instead, I push my stool back abruptly.
“I’m gonna go dance,” I decide, already on my feet before any of them can react.
I walk toward the music like I’m escaping a fire.
Honestly, I kind of am.
Jax perks up immediately. “Hell yeah, shake it for Jesus.”
I don’t give myself time to overthink. The dance floor is already crowded with bodies pressed close. The lights pulse, and the bass rattles through my ribs. It feels better here. The noise in my head can be drowned out with the speakers.
I find a pocket of space with just enough room for me to let the beat grab me and drag me along. I close my eyes for a second and breathe.
This is better.
No soft boys with big brown perceptive eyes and soft voices.
Just music.
Someone slides in front of me after a song or two, close enough that I can smell his cologne through the stench of alcohol and sweat.
He’s taller than me, and not completely unattractive.
He moves well enough to not be embarrassing, and I’m not in the mood to start a fight over someone existing in my general vicinity. So I let him dance.
We move in sync for a minute, no big deal.
His hands stay respectful at first—hovering near my waist but not quite touching.
I’m not thrilled, but I’m not pissed either.
It’s fine. But then the next song hits and his hands get braver, sliding from the air to my hips.
They grip me too tight, and I fight the urge to grit my teeth.
Okay. Warning shot.
I peel his fingers off, firmly but not aggressively, and step half a foot away.
He grins like I’m being coy, which I’m really not. “Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.”
Gag me.
“I’m exactly like that,” I bite back, shifting just enough to put more space between us. “Hands off.”
He laughs, a wet, mocking sound, as if I’m the one being dramatic. “You’re in the middle of a club. Relax.”