Jax didn’t want to suck it up. Not theitin question, anyway.
He could put off thinking about his PhD if he had more flour.
Oooor he could think about Ari.
He hoped Afra was okay. He got the feeling Ari didn’t exactly leave men in his apartment alone the day after ruinously good sex that barely got past first base, which meant whatever had happened, she’d needed him.
Meanwhile, Jax could indulge himself in daydreams of when he might see Ari again while surrounded by the scent of two hundred freshly baked cookies.
Aaaand he was spiraling. He shouldn’t have stayed over at Ari’s. He’d forgotten to take his meds this morning, which explained the hyperfixation on baking, as well as the headache blooming in his frontal lobe. He needed caffeine.
Maybe he should text Ari.
“Jax?”
He must’ve missed Hobbes coming home.
“Hey. In the kitchen.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Hobbes appeared in the doorway a moment later. “So, first you don’t come home at night, and now you’re apparently starting a side hustle in refined carbs. Do I dare ask if you want to talk about it?”
Jax swatted him with the spatula when he reached for the chocolate chip. “Those just came out. They’re still too hot.”
“Was that a no to talking about it?”
“It was a ‘please test the cream-cheese chocolate swirl, I think I might’ve put the sugar in twice.’” They sat at the kitchen table with a plate of various cookies and cups of coffee.
“So.” Hobbes picked up a cookie and examined it in the light. It must have passed inspection, because he continued, “Ari,” and then took an enormous bite.
“I could draw you a diagram,” Jax offered.
“Pass.” Hobbes hummed in gratification at the cookie. “Right amount of sugar, by the way.”
Jax mentally congratulated himself. Considering the medication slipup, he was definitely going to have to taste-test every type of cookie. “Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” Hobbes dusted off his hands and picked up his coffee mug. “I take it the night went… well?”
“Playing with fire, Hobbes,” Jax warned. “Unless you want to hear about all the things Ari can do with his tongue.” He paused, derailed. “Well, not all of them, there’s only so many hours in a night—”
He raised his hands in protest. “I yield!”
“I do actually need your help with something,” Jax realized. “Which one of these cookies says ‘I’m into you the exact amount that you’re into me’ without reeking of premature devotion?”
Hobbes blinked at him, then looked at the cooling rack. “Well, it’s not the macarons.”
Fair.
What was an appropriate number of cookies for a “the sex was great, but how about I make you breakfast next time” gift?
“Jax?”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I hate when I forget my meds.”
“That does explain a lot,” Hobbes said. “Maybe you should keep some on you if you’re going to be having impromptu sleepovers.”
Jax took out his phone and willed himself to have received a text from Ari, but still no luck. “I’m still sort of hoping it’ll be less impromptu next time.”
“Hey.” He looked up at the suddenly serious tone. Hobbes was watching him steadily. “If he doesn’t call you, he’s a fool.”
