Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
JAXON WILDE
The TV is blaring when I step into my apartment. I’d been wondering what Zara had been doing all day. Watching football wasn’t anywhere on my list of guesses.
I walk into the living room and stop cold.
She’s on the couch, head back, chin up, snoring. The Jacksonville versus Cincinnati game from yesterday is playing on the screen.
Is she a Bengals fan? Jaguars?
I spot the remote beside her on the cushion and press mute.
“Zara?” I say softly.
Not yet. I don’t really want to wake her. Not right now.
What the hell was that earlier? Why did I push her like that in the elevator?
Did I want her?
Yeah. I did.
But I have to keep that shit under control. She’s not safe. She’s selfish as hell. Always infuriating. An actress, playing a role—but sometimes, damn it, she gets to me.
Like in Anne’s office. That apology was real. I could tell.
But in the elevator? When she said, “It’s a nightmare”? That stung. Is that how she sees me?
I glance back at the screen and it hits me—football put her to sleep again.
She doesn’t like the game. Still, she’d better not fall asleep in the arena again. We can’t afford that kind of attention.
“Zara,” I say louder this time.
Nothing.
I reach down and gently shake her knee. “Zara!”
She bolts upright, wide-eyed and panicked. “What? Did I fall asleep?” She locks onto me. “Jaxon? What time is it?”
I check my watch. “Seven thirty-three.”
“Nooo,” she groans, slumping forward. “I slept through the game. Again?” Her mouth turns down and she looks up at me with these helpless, glassy eyes.
Damn.
I want to kiss her. We’ve never kissed, but I want to. Just once.
Just once.
I swallow hard—fighting the ache in my chest, the throb in my tricot track pants.
No.
No way.
No.
Way.
“What’s the problem, Zara? The game bores you?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I just don’t understand it. Why do they stop so often? Why do they keep slamming into each other? And what do all the numbers mean? It’s just... confusing. That’s all. And I’ve never been into sports.”
I cross my arms and nod. I can see what she needs now.
“So you need to learn the game?”
She shifts upright, suddenly alert. “I guess so.”
“Want me to teach you?”
Her brows shoot up like I just offered her a prison sentence. I stay still. Part of me wants to take it back—her hesitation feels like rejection.
But she needs help. And helping her helps both of us.
She exhales slowly. “Yes. Please. Teach me.”