And for the first time in a long time, I feel okay. Better than okay. I feel content—happy and safe.
No tension. No overthinking. Just the steady hum of the truck,the comfortable warmth of his presence beside me, and the quiet realization that I like this.
I want this. I want us.
The soft strum of a familiar song fills the cab, and I smile before I can stop myself.
"Really?" I tease, tilting my head toward him. "Rascal Flatts?"
Jaxon smirks, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easily on my thigh. "What? You love them."
I roll my eyes, but I don't argue. He's right—I do love them. The fact that he remembered, that he knew without asking, makes me smile even more…
He taps his fingers against the wheel, nodding toward me. "Go on, Mads. You know you wanna sing it."
I scoff. "Absolutely not."
"Come on, don't leave me hanging." He nudges my knee lightly with his own. "I know you know every damn word."
I press my lips together, trying to fight the grin tugging at them. But then the chorus hits, and I sigh dramatically before giving in.
My voice is soft at first, barely above the music, but Jaxon smirks, turning the volume down just enough to make me sing louder.
"There she is," he teases, and before I know it, he's singing with me, our voices blending into the easy warmth of the night.
The drive back feels short. Far too soon, Jaxon is turning into my apartment complex, pulling into a parking spot near my building.
I unclip my seatbelt, reaching for the door handle. "You don't have to walk me up, Jax. I can?—"
"Nah." His voice is casual, like it's not even up for debate. "I'll walk you to your door, kiss you goodnight and all that."
My breath catches for half a second, and he just smirks, sending me a wink. That fucking smirk.
Then, before I can argue, he's already out of the truck, moving to open my door.
I slide out, and he doesn't hesitate—his hand finding mine, lacing our fingers together like it's something we've done regularly.
His grip is steady, his thumb brushing against my knuckles, sending small shivers up my spine. Neither of us speaks, and maybe that should feel awkward, but it doesn't. It feels natural, like the space between us has always been meant to disappear.
When we finally stop at my door, I turn toward him, pulse racing.
Jaxon looks down at me, his hazel eyes dark under the dim light, his free hand lifting slowly, brushing his fingertips along my jaw. The touch is light, hesitant, like he's waiting for me to pull away.
I don't. I can't.
His hand slips to the back of my neck, his fingers threading into my hair, and then—slowly, intentionally—he leans in, his breath warm against my lips.
And I meet him halfway.
The kiss is slow at first, soft and certain, like we're both memorizing the feel of each other. Jaxon deepens the kiss, his fingers tightening in my hair, his body pressing just slightly closer, and I feel the breath leave my lungs.
By the time we finally pull apart, I'm dizzy, my lips tingling. The look in his eyes—dark, intense—nearly undoes me.
Jaxon smirks, his thumb brushing once more over my cheek.
"Night, Mads."
I swallow, my heart still racing, and somehow, I manage a soft, "Night, Jax."
