Chapter 8
EIGHT
BELLA
The house is quiet for a Saturday afternoon. The hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of traffic outside fill the space as I sit on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through my phone. My to-do list for the weekend sits on the coffee table, but I can’t seem to focus on it.
Because Jax texted me this morning.
It wasn’t a simple “good morning” or “how are you?” No, Jax doesn’t do simple. Instead, he dropped an unexpected, intriguing question right into my lap.
Jax: What are you doing tonight?
I’ve reread it at least a dozen times, overthinking every possible meaning behind it. Is he just asking casually, or does he mean something more?
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, snapping me out of my thoughts. It’s him again.
Jax: Don’t overthink it, Bella. I’m asking you out.
I laugh softly, shaking my head. How does he always know? I pick up my phone and type a response.
Me: Oh, you’re just assuming I don’t have plans? Bold of you.
His reply is almost instant.
Jax: If you had plans, you’d have told me by now. So, what do you say? Let me steal you for a few hours.
My stomach does a little flip. He’s got this way of being direct without coming across as pushy. It’s infuriatingly charming.
Me: Fine. What are we doing?
Jax: You’ll see. Wear something you can move in.
I stare at the message, my heart thudding in my chest. What does that even mean? My curiosity is officially piqued.
It’s just past four when a knock sounds at my door. I grab my bag, exactly like Jax told me to—comfortable clothes and tennis shoes, though I still have no clue why—and pull the door open.
He’s standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe, looking ridiculously good in his leather jacket and worn jeans. His gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, before locking onto my eyes. That look—the one that makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the world worth noticing—sends a rush of warmth through me.
“You look good,” he says, voice low and smooth.
I smirk, shifting my bag over my shoulder. “Thanks. You still not going to tell me where we’re going?”
Jax just grins, reaching for my bag and taking it from me like it’s his job. “You’ll see,” he says, turning and heading toward his bike parked in the lot next to my car.
I follow, watching as he tucks my bag into his saddlebags like it belongs there.
“So, should I be excited or worried?” I ask, crossing my arms.
Jax swings a leg over his bike and pats the seat behind him. “Just trust me, baby.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not exactly giving me a choice here.”
“Nope,” he says, handing me a helmet. “Hop on.”
The ride is exhilarating. The roar of the engine, the wind whipping against my face—it’s a rush I didn’t know I needed. I cling to Jax, my arms tight around his waist, and for once, I don’t overthink anything.
When we finally stop, I look around and realize we’re at an indoor rock climbing gym. The bright lights from the parking lot illuminate the sign above the door, and I turn to Jax with a mix of surprise and curiosity.
“Rock climbing?” I ask, pulling off my helmet.
“Figured it’d be fun,” he says, his grin widening. “Unless you’re scared of heights.”
I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’m not scared of heights. But are you sure you’re ready to see me completely outshine you?”
He laughs, a deep, genuine sound that makes my stomach flutter. “I like the confidence. Let’s see if you can back it up.”
Inside, the gym is alive with energy. People of all ages are climbing walls of varying heights and difficulties, and the faint scent of chalk dust hangs in the air. Jax handles the paperwork while I look around, taking it all in.
When he comes back, he hands me a harness and a pair of climbing shoes. “You ready?”
I nod, slipping into the gear. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Our first climb is on one of the beginner walls. The instructor walks us through the basics, showing me how to clip in and find the best handholds. Jax, of course, picks it up immediately, like he’s been doing this his whole life.
“You’ve done this before,” I accuse as he scales the wall effortlessly.
“Maybe once or twice,” he calls down, a teasing edge to his voice. “You need help, or are you good?”
“I’m fine,” I reply, narrowing my eyes at him.
I focus on the wall, taking my time to find the right grips and footholds. It’s harder than it looks, but the challenge is oddly satisfying. By the time I reach the top, my arms are burning, but I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.
“Not bad,” Jax says as we both rappel down. “Took you long enough, though.”
“Excuse me,” I say, hands on my hips. “I didn’t see you offering to race.”
“You want to race?” His grin turns wicked. “All right, let’s go.”
The next hour flies by as we challenge each other to increasingly difficult climbs. I’m laughing so hard at one point—when Jax nearly slips and tries to blame the “chalk situation”—that I almost lose my grip on the wall.
By the end of it, we’re both out of breath and slightly sweaty, but it’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.
“You’re not bad,” Jax says as we sit on a bench near the entrance, sipping on water.
“Not bad?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “I think I held my own pretty well.”
“You did,” he admits, his tone softer now. “It’s impressive.”
I glance over at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. He’s looking at me like he’s seeing something no one else has, and it makes my chest feel tight in the best way. “Hungry?” He asks.
I nod. He stands and tosses our cups in the trash, then holds his hand out. “Well, let’s go girl,” He smirks. I take his hand and he walks us back to his bike and helps me on the back. Each time I get on the back gets easier and easier.
When Jax parks the bike outside a small brick building with a neon pizza sign buzzing in the window, I glance around, taking in the warm, inviting glow from inside. It’s not a fancy restaurant, but that’s what makes it perfect.
“A pizza place?” I ask, pulling off the helmet.
“You climb like that, you’ve earned it,” he says with a smirk, dismounting the bike and holding the door open for me.
Inside, the place smells like heaven—garlic, cheese, and fresh dough. A mix of families, couples, and groups of friends fill the tables, their laughter and chatter creating a cozy hum. Jax gestures toward a booth in the corner, and I slide in, the seat worn and familiar like it’s held a thousand good conversations.
A waitress appears almost instantly, smiling as she sets menus in front of us. “What can I get you two to drink?”
“Two beers,” Jax says without hesitation, glancing at me for confirmation. I nod, and the waitress disappears.
“Beer and pizza?” I tease, leaning back against the booth. “You really know how to impress a girl.”
“It’s not about impressing you,” he replies, smirking. “It’s about making sure you’re well-fed after climbing halfway to the ceiling tonight.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Fair enough. But I’m choosing the toppings.”
“Oh, this I gotta hear,” he says, folding his arms and leaning forward. “Let me guess—something boring like just cheese?”
“Cheese isn’t boring,” I say defensively. “But no, I like pepperoni. And mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms?” he repeats, wrinkling his nose.
“You’re a mushroom hater?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“They don’t belong on pizza,” he declares, shaking his head. “It’s unnatural.”
The waitress returns with our beers, setting them down with a grin. “Ready to order?”
“We’ll do a large half-and-half,” I say quickly, shooting Jax a triumphant look. “Pepperoni and mushrooms on one side, and… whatever he wants on the other.”
“Pepperoni and sausage,” he says, smirking at me. “No mushrooms.”
The waitress nods and heads off, leaving us to our little standoff.
“You’re lucky I’m willing to compromise,” I say, taking a sip of my beer.
“Lucky, huh?” he says, his grin widening. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”
As we wait for the pizza, the conversation flows easily. Jax asks me about my sisters, and I tell him about our Saturday night bowling tradition. He listens, nodding and occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment that makes me laugh.
“So, what’s it like being the middle sister?” he asks, resting his elbows on the table.
“Exhausting,” I say, laughing. “Brooke’s always bossing us around, and Brianna’s constantly trying to outshine everyone. I’m just here trying to keep the peace.”
“You seem like you handle it well,” he says, his tone genuine.
“Most of the time,” I admit. “But what about you? Do you have siblings?”
His smile softens, and he shakes his head. “Nah. It’s just me. The club, though… they’re like my brothers. Maybe more than brothers, honestly.”
I can hear the weight in his voice and the unspoken history behind his words. “That must be nice,” I say softly. “Having people you can count on like that.”
“It is,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “But it’s a lot too. Comes with its own kind of responsibility.”
Before I can ask more, the waitress returns with our pizza, setting the massive pie in the middle of the table. The smell alone makes my stomach growl, and I don’t waste any time grabbing a slice.
We dig in, the conversation turning lighter as we debate the best toppings, the worst movie sequels, and whether pineapple belongs on pizza.
“It’s an abomination,” Jax declares, wiping his hands on a napkin.
“I don’t know,” I tease, grinning. “I think it’s kind of refreshing.”
He narrows his eyes at me, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Bella, because that’s a dealbreaker for most people.”
“Good thing I’m not most people,” I fire back, taking another bite.
By the time we finish eating, I’m full, warm, and more relaxed than I’ve been in weeks. Jax leans back in the booth, his arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied look on his face.
“This was fun,” I say, surprising myself with how easily the words come out.
He looks at me, his expression softening. “Yeah, it was.”
For a moment, we just sit there, the noise of the restaurant fading into the background. There’s something in his gaze that makes my pulse quicken, like he’s seeing me in a way no one else ever has.
“Ready to head out?” he asks, breaking the silence.
I nod, sliding out of the booth. As we step outside into the cool night air, he holds the door for me, his hand brushing mine as I pass.
“You cold?” he asks, glancing at my sweater.
“A little,” I admit, tucking my hands into my sleeves.
Without a word, he shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. The gesture is simple, but the warmth of it—and the scent of him lingering on the leather—sends a shiver down my spine.
“Thanks,” I say, pulling it tighter around me.
He nods, his usual smirk softening into something gentler. “Let’s get you home.”
When we pull up to my house, the night feels quieter than usual. The crisp air brushes against my cheeks as Jax shuts off the bike, the rumble fading into silence. He helps me off, his hands steady and firm, lingering just long enough to send a soft warmth through me.
As we walk up the path to my door, I try to focus on the ground beneath my boots instead of the ache in my chest. I don’t want this night to end.
He stops at the bottom step while I take the last one, turning to face him under the soft glow of the porch light. His jacket still hangs around my shoulders, the leather smelling faintly of him—spice, smoke, and something distinctly Jax.
“I had a great time tonight,” he says, his voice low and steady.
“Me too,” I reply, my smile softer than I mean it to be. “Thanks for… everything. The climbing, the pizza, all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, the corner of his mouth curving into that lazy smirk that gets me every time. “I told you you’d have fun.”
I laugh softly, shifting my weight. There’s a moment of silence between us, not awkward, just… heavy. Like something is waiting to be said.
I finally find my courage and ask, “Do you… want to come in?”
His eyes flicker, and for a second, I think he’s going to say yes. My heart is practically in my throat, but then he hesitates, running a hand over his shaved head.
“Not tonight,” he says, his tone soft but firm.
Disappointment hits harder than I expect, but I nod quickly, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, of course. No problem.”
Before I can turn away, he steps closer, his hands sliding to my waist and pulling me gently toward him. His gaze meets mine, and my breath catches at the intensity in his eyes.
“Bella,” he murmurs, his voice almost rough, like he’s warning himself as much as me.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not just a kiss—it’s everything. His lips are warm and firm, moving against mine in a way that makes the world disappear. My knees go weak, and I grab onto his jacket for balance, my heart racing so hard I can barely think.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, my head spinning. His forehead rests against mine, and his voice drops even lower.
“Make sure you lock up,” he says, his words soft but commanding.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“And when I call,” he adds, his lips brushing against my forehead, “make sure you pick up.”
Before I can answer, he steps back, his hands lingering on my waist for a moment before he lets go entirely. He gives me one last look—a mix of heat and something I can’t quite name—before turning and heading back to his bike.
I watch him as he starts the engine, the rumble filling the quiet street. He doesn’t ride off right away, though. He waits until I unlock the door, step inside, and give him a small wave.
Only then does he nod, as if satisfied, and take off into the night.
As I close the door behind me and lock it, my heart is still racing, my lips still tingling from his kiss. It’s official. I’m in trouble. But for the first time in a long time, I think I’m okay with that.