I wrap my cardigan tighter around myself. "Reminders of a happier time, I guess."
He glances at me, brow raised, and I swallow the bundle of new nerves that seems to have lodged in my throat.
Something heavy settles between us, thick with everything unspoken.
Jaxon shifts slightly, and that’s when he spots it.
One of his old high school football shirts, the blue ink fading right into the grey.
It’s crumpled on my bed, one of his old long-sleeved tees I usedto steal all the time. A knowing smirk takes over his face, making both dimples pop. Goddamn, those freaking dimples.
"Mads." His voice is low, teasing. "Are you still hoarding my clothes?"
Heat creeps up my neck. I cross my arms, refusing to meet his gaze. "No."
He huffs out a laugh. "That’s a lie." He steps closer, arms crossing over his chest. "How many do you still have?"
I hesitate, biting my lip before mumbling, "All of them."
His brows lift. "All of them?"
I shift on my feet. "I don’t know, okay? They’re just…comfortable."
Jaxon studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then, instead of pushing further, he shakes his head, trying his best to hold back his grin. "We should get going. Can’t keep Mama Montgomery waiting."
I nod quickly, grabbing my bag and avoiding the way my heart pounds entirely too hard for something as simple asold clothes.
Because if there’s one thing I know about Jaxon Montgomery, it’s that he doesn’t forgetanything.
And I have a feeling he won’t forgetthiseither.
We’ve barely pulled out of the parking lot when Jaxon connects his phone to the car and picks a playlist. The bass kicks in, vibrating through the speakers as he taps his fingers against the wheel, completely in his element.
I settle into my seat, tucking my cardigan around me, but after a few minutes, I can’t help but shake my head. "You’re really just going to take control of the music like that?"
Jaxon doesn’t even glance at me; he just smirks. "Driver picks the tunes. It’s a rule."
I scoff. "No, it’s not."
"It is in my car," he says easily, turning the volume up slightly, like that settles the debate.
I roll my eyes but let it go—until about ten minutes later, when I reach for his phone and swipe it off the mount.
"Excuse me?" he says, his voice laced with amusement.
I unlock his phone as if it’s mine and start scrolling. "Passenger controls the music.That’sthe real rule."
Jaxon exhales sharply, side-eyeing me. "Mads."
I smirk, ignoring his warning, flicking through his playlists. And then, I find it. A playlist I made years ago. I tap the first song before glancing at him. "Oh?What’s this?"
The familiar intro floods the car, and for a second, I think maybe he’ll change it. Maybe he’ll shrug it off, pretend it was just something he forgot to delete.
But he doesn’t.
His grip on the wheel tightens slightly, his jaw flexing just a little as he purses his lips. Have they always looked that soft?
I hum along to the intro, watching him. "Can’t believe you still have this saved."
