Page 86 of Don't Think

The first time I met Jax here, I was a nervous wreck—heart pounding, palms sweaty, full-on panic mode. I was terrified of being rejected, of getting in too deep, too fast… and maybe even just a little afraid ofhim. Trusting someone new with your body is scary to say the least, but really? I haven’t regretted a single second.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Jax in the last few weeks, it’s that I canabsolutelytrust him. He’s shown me in every possible way that he has me in a way no one ever has.

He makes me feel like I matter. Like my happiness isn’t just an afterthought to him—it’s his entire goal. Finding someone who takes care of your soul as much as your body is difficult in itself, which makes all of this that much harder. Every time I meet upwith him, he takes another chip of my heart with him when we part ways.

But that’s not what this is supposed to be. I have to keep reminding myself of that fact.

I push through the double doors, my heart racing a mile a minute, but this time not with nerves. Not even close. It’s more like that excited buzz that hits when you’re about to see someone who makes your whole day better just by existing.

Then I spot him almost immediately, sitting on the same stool where he’s met me countless times before. My heart stutters and my feet stop, and I just watch him for a few minutes from a few feet away. Just knowing he’s sitting there, patiently waiting formeis a feeling I honestly couldn’t describe if I tried.

Then my feet are moving toward him again, like we’re two magnets fighting to become one. I slide onto the stool next to him, already smiling, expecting that lazy, crooked grin he always gives me.

But… nothing.

He doesn’t even look at me. Just stares off at nothing, absently spinning his phone along the bar. The soft thudding of it hitting the wood is the only sound between us.

I reach out, brushing my fingers gently down his forearm, hoping to snap him out of whatever this is. But he flinches and jerks away quickly.

The way my stomach drops, it feels like someone just slapped me across the face.

Something is definitely… off.

Everything between us has been easy, safe even. But right now? I wish I had stayed home instead. Curled up under my comforter and gone to bed early instead of feeling what I do now.

Then my mind catapults me to the other day at the amusement park, and how odd he was acting then too. I had a gut feeling he was going to tell me he wanted to end things… and this is onlysolidifying that thought. He never actually said anything, but that moment’s been sitting in the back of my brain ever since, simmering like a pot about to boil over.

And now? Now it feels like I was right all along.

He’s over it. Overme. I can see it in the way he won’t meet my eyes, and in the way he flinched like my touch physically burned him.

I should’ve known this wasn’t going to last. I mean, it always felt a little too good to be true. I just didn’t think it’d endthissoon.

Then he finally turns slowly, glancing at me over his shoulder when his expression shifts from confused and offended to relief. He turns fully so our knees are almost touching before he gently brushes the back of his hand down my cheek.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” he says, his voice low. “Felt a hand on my arm and was like, what the fuck?” He laughs a little, shaking his head.

I blow out a slow, relieved breath. At least now I have an answer for why he jerked away like I was some sort of walking disease.

But something still isn’t sitting right.

He usually knows the second I walk in—sometimes even before I make it through the door. And now that I’m really looking at him… his face is a little flushed, his shoulders tense under his leather jacket.

Wait—hisjacket.

Heneverwears it when we meet. Not inside. Not when he plans to stay.

I swallow hard. “Is everything okay?”

My heart’s pounding, but it feels light, like it’s floating somewhere between my chest and stomach, holding on by a thread that’s just about to snap.

He takes my hand, lifts it to his lips, and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles before setting it gently on the bar.

“Everything’s great,” he says, trying to reassure me, but it does little to my still-growing anxiety.

I nod, forcing myself to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

“Are you ready?” he asks, tipping his head toward the bar. “Or do you wanna grab a drink first?”