16. Dylan
DYLAN
“Wow. Steady there, Menace, you nearly took me out!”
I chuckle as I turn my character on the screen so I’m no longer shooting at Jax but with him, as we take on a hoard of zombies.
“Sorry about that, got a little carried away.”
“You think?” he teases. “I should have known you’d be just as violent in a video game as you are on the ice.”
Is it weird that I take that as a compliment? Maybe, but oh well. I still like the way he said that—with admiration. Like he’s impressed.
I’m curled into the corner of the sofa, feet tucked under me and a controller in my hands as I furiously tap buttons, killing any zombie—and apparently Jax—who comes near me in the game. The rapid-fire pops of headshots and the gory splatters on the screen are strangely satisfying.
Jax is beside me, his legs stretched out, his posture more relaxed than I’ve ever seen. This really is his way to turn off and just chill.
And I can understand why. I’m fully unwound from the game earlier, the tension melting away as we fight our way through the digital apocalypse.
Over the past hour of working side by side, a strange camaraderie has formed between us—one I hadn’t expected.
One you’d think would form on the ice where working together actually makes a real-life difference.
But that also comes with a hell of a lot more strings, more challenges than a simple video game where it doesn’t truly matter whether you make it to the beginning of a new post-apocalyptic era or get eaten alive by flesh-consuming zombies.
“Oh God, there’s a whole army of them,” I groan as a fresh wave of zombies appears over the hill, racing down it toward us.
We shoot manically into the crowd, but we’re soon overrun. “I’m dead,” Jax states, as blood drips down his side of the screen.
“Ugh, me too.” I toss my controller onto the table, flopping back on the sofa with a groan.
“Want a drink?” Jax asks, getting to his feet.
“Sure. Whatever is in the fridge.”
“Anything to eat?” he calls from the kitchen.
“I’m good.”
He returns with two cans of fizzy drinks, handing one over to me before taking a sip of the other and setting it on the coffee table.
We’re silent for a moment. Truthfully, other than the occasional comment or critique about our loss tonight, we haven’t talked much since we got home, both of us too intent on the video game.
But Jax isn’t much of a talker anyway, and I find I actually enjoy just sitting in the silence with him.
I always thought it would feel strange, awkward, but not with him.
Instead, it’s…comforting. Knowing we’re both processing our emotions about tonight’s game in our own way, but together. It makes me feel not so…alone.
I’ve always just gone back to my dorm after a game, knowing everyone else was out celebrating or commiserating. I’d climb into my comfiest set of pajamas and call my dad up and rehash the game until well into the night .
Pain lances through my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to do that with. No one else has ever cared enough to listen, but Jax does. He pauses the game or lets the zombies override us, uncaring if we die as he gives me his entire focus while I dissect this play or that.
He suggests critiques or points out things I missed. It’s a real conversation—a true meeting of the minds.
It reminds me of the chats I used to have with my dad.
“Hey.” He nudges my shoulder. “Where did you go?”
I shake off the grief that’s always lingering just beneath the surface, no matter how much time passes. Pasting on a smile, I gesture toward the TV. “Want to go again?”
He studies me a moment longer before answering. “Only if you promise not to shoot me this time.”
I laugh, the weighted moment leaving me. “I can’t make such a promise. Clearly, I get a little gung-ho with a gun in my hand and zombies in my face.”
“Note to self, don’t trust Dylan with a gun if the apocalypse ever arrives.”
“Har har.” I stick my tongue out at him playfully before shifting to pick up my controller from the coffee table.
Jax moves at the same time, our arms brushing. It’s a fleeting touch, but it sends a jolt of awareness through me. He notices it, too; I see the way his fingers still on the controller, his gaze dropping to where our skin touched.
As a new game loads, I’m acutely aware of how close we’re sitting.
Did his leg always press against mine, or did he move closer after getting our drinks?
And has his cedarwood scent clung to me all night, or has a fresh wave hit?
It’s all I can smell now. Every deep inhale to cool my blood is thick with it—with him .
The next group of zombies hits, but I barely register it. My focus is on him—on the way his profile is illuminated by the glow of the TV, on the quiet intensity that seems to radiate from him even when he’s sitting still.
He must feel my gaze on him, as his lips quirk at one side, and his voice has dipped an octave lower when he asks, “You good over there?”
“Fine,” I answer quickly, forcing my eyes back to the screen.
But the air between us has shifted. I feel it crackling, electric and unspoken.
I try to ignore his suddenly all-consuming presence beside me, the heat radiating from him in waves. Feeling as though I can’t breathe, I lean forward. I’m staring at the screen, but I’m not intent on the game the way I was before.
A moment later, he leans forward too, bracing his elbows on his knees. Our shoulders brush once more, but this time, neither of us moves away. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and catch him looking at me.
Illuminated only by the light from the TV, I can’t decipher his expression, but the tension radiating between us makes my breath hitch anyway.
I wrench my gaze away, feeling unsteady as I stare unblinkingly at the screen and put all my focus into shooting zombies and ignoring the lingering stare of the too-attractive-for-his-own-good man pressed flush against me.
Finally, he looks away, returning his attention to the game.
I manage to push past the sudden heat that has flooded my body, the shallowness of my breathing, and the heightened awareness of how close we’re sitting as I focus on the game.
“Wow! Next level!” Grinning, I face Jax. He holds his hand out between us for a high five, and I slap my palm against his. His fingers curl around mine, entwining our hands together.
And that awareness is back.
That tingling where his palm is pressed against mine.
He shifts slightly to face me, his gaze searching mine before dropping to my lips. We’re so close. Too close. And yet, somehow, we aren’t close enough.
“Jax.”
His name is a whisper on my lips, but I have no idea what I’m asking for. No, begging for.
To stop this or…
To kiss me.
To ravish me.
To give me everything he’s got.
Honestly, I don’t know who moves first, but the next thing I know, his lips are on mine, his fingers sliding through the hair at the nape of my neck and pulling me impossibly closer.
He wraps around me like a blanket, devouring me. Consuming me. Making it so I never want to come up for air.
Jax kisses exactly as you’d expect, soft yet sure. Firm but not dominating. The heat between us builds with every slide of his lips over mine. My mouth parting to grant him entry as I moan.
Desire builds in my core, rushing through my blood as I pull him closer, unable to get enough.
In the next moment, my back is being pressed into the couch cushions, and Jax’s weight settles over me. I’m burning up. Need like nothing I’ve felt before builds with such ferocity that I don’t know what to do other than claw and paw at him.
My hands are everywhere, sliding up the back of his T-shirt and gliding over the rough denim of his jeans as I cup his firm ass cheek in my palm.
More. I need more.
His touch is gasoline to a starved flame as he pushes up my top, his palms coarse and rough against my smooth skin as he easily wraps his large hands around my narrow waist and slides them up my back. I arch into him, shivering at the hard length that presses firmly against my core.
A pulsing starts up between my thighs, and suddenly all I can think about is the two of us stripped naked, Jax above me as he drives into my clenching pussy in hard, long strokes that catapult me into oblivion.
I know without a doubt that he would be insane in bed.
Everything I’ve never experienced before.
Sure and confident. Demanding yet reassuring. Rough yet gentle.
I want it all.
I want all of him .
I’m seconds from ripping his clothes off when the front door slams.
It jolts me out of my fever trance so abruptly that I nearly fall off the sofa in my haste to put distance between us. He moves to help me, but my gaze is stuck on the smirking, arrogant asshole who just walked in.
“Oops. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” His tone is taunting. “Can see why you didn’t come out with us tonight, man. No need to work for pussy when you’ve got it right here at home.”
“Fuck off, Kyle,” Jax growls, not even looking at him. His focus is still intent on me, but I can’t even look at him. I can’t look at either of them. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, embarrassment and self-loathing warring with the unsated need still running rampant through my lower region.
Kyle scoffs, muttering something too low for me to hear but sounds suspiciously like “As easy as they said she was,” before he walks into the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Jax asks, keeping his voice low in case Kyle is eavesdropping, which he most definitely is. His face is threaded with concern, and his hand hovers in between us like he wants to touch me, but he’s not sure if that’s what I want right now.
Hell, I’m not even sure.
His hands on me were electrifying, but no.
I shift away from him, coughing to clear my throat. I keep my gaze deliberately lowered. “I’m fine. I think I’ m?—”