Chapter 2

XANDER'S POV

I was jogging the last stretch back to my apartment, protein shake in hand, sweat drying uncomfortably on my bare back. Still had to shower, pick up those Arcadia Bloom tickets, and then make it to work before Zig realized I wasn't in yet. I was late....again. But I always pulled it together somehow.

My brain was already skipping ahead to tonight, I hadn't been to an exclusively gay club in a while and it was about time. Maybe Lucid? No cover charge before ten, half-decent music, and usually some lean, wide-eyed thing or two willing to come home and let me bend them over the kitchen counter. We’d fuck the mutual insanity out of each other, no strings, no names, no regrets. Just the kind of self-medication that kept me from crawling out of my skin.

I rounded the corner to my building, unscrewing the cap of my shake when I slowed. Just a little. Like something in the air shifted....static, tension, whatever you wanna call it. I blinked and squinted ahead.

No fucking way.

I paused mid-step, hand frozen halfway to my mouth, heart doing this stupid lurch. Great. Now I’m hallucinating dick I can’t have.

Leaning against the brick wall, black hoodie shoved up to his elbows, boots crossed at the ankles.

Jax.

My chest tightened before my brain could catch up.

I slowed, narrowed my eyes. Blinked. Because I had to be imagining it. No way he was really here. My mind had been running loops on him lately, sure, but this? This was something else. A hallucination in full HD.

But nope. The closer I got, the realer he became. Same dark blonde hair, same dark unnerving eyes, same unreadable expression that made me feel like I was standing too close to the edge of something steep and stupid.

I was still shirtless, sweat clinging to me, gym shorts riding low on my hips. My grip tightened on my protein shake, resisting the childish urge to hold it in front of my junk.

My mouth actually went a little dry.

He just watched me. Eyes steady, unblinking. And I watched right back. Because what the fucking hell?

A beat passed. His gaze dropped, dragged slowly down my chest, over my sweat-slick stomach, then back up, and my cock twitched, like the traitorous bastard it was.

I should’ve looked away. I wanted to. But fuck, he was just standing there, heat radiating off him like he knew exactly what he did to me. And maybe he did.

I looked around, like maybe someone would walk out and explain what the hell was happening. No such luck.

"Um… hi?"

The words slipped out before I could filter them. Weak. Not my usual MO. I was used to controlling the room, setting the tone. But this guy? He threw me off-kilter, and I fucking hated it.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped forward.

My body tensed. Fight or flight kicking in but with a third option creeping in...want.

I didn’t move. Didn’t back up. Even when my gut told me I should. Even when something twisted and hot curled low in my stomach, same as the first time I’d laid eyes on him.

Could he remember that moment?

I definitely did, it had been a blink, a glance. But it stayed with me, like glass under the skin. I remembered feeling watched. Known....pinned.

"You good?" I asked, voice rough. "Need something?"

That seemed to amuse him. A slow smile curled at his mouth, all dry and laced with something sharper.

"You," he said.

Then suddenly his fingers were in my hair....deep in it. Tugging.

I hissed, breath punching out of me. "What the fuck—"

His grip didn’t ease. He just stared at me like I was the answer to a question he’d been trying not to ask.

"You’re becoming a serious problem," he said, casually, like he was telling me the weather forecast. Just casual apocalypse shit.

I grabbed his wrist, jaw locked. I didn’t pull right away. Maybe I should’ve. Maybe I wanted to see what he’d do next.

"You wanna let go, or do I knee you in the balls first?"

Still, he didn’t move. Just looked at me with those dark eyes that had no business being that fucking intense.

"I’ve been thinking," he said, tone too calm for the chaos crackling between us. "And I’ve realized there’s only one solution."

I yanked his hand out of my hair, pretty sure he'd uprooted some strands, my breath coming faster than it should’ve. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He didn’t blink. "I’m gonna have to fuck you out of my system."

My mind went blank. Like actual white noise. I stared at him, sure I hadn’t heard right. But the heat rolling off him said otherwise. He meant every word.

"You’re fucking mental," I said, still trying to process what the hell just came out of his mouth.

He blinked slowly. “Probably. Doesn’t change what I said.”

In that moment I wanted to hit him. And kiss him. And shove him against the wall and figure out what the hell this was clawing at my insides. But I also wanted to run. I wanted to scrub him out of me before he got any deeper.

He reached into the pocket of my goddamn shorts and pulled out my phone. I didn’t even have time to react before he tapped the screen, then held it out to me, steady and expectant.

“Unlock it.”

I blinked at the phone. Then at him. “You’re joking.”

He wasn’t joking.

I took a step back, instinct kicking in.

“ Give me my fucking pho–”

“Shhh.”

My lips parted in shock. He literally just shushed me. One finger up. Like I was a misbehaving child in church and not a grown-ass man. I stared at him in disbelief.

Then he said it again....quiet, calm, but firm.

“Unlock it.”

Not a question, an order. Like he had any right.

And I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me, maybe it was the way he stood there like he had all the time in the world, or the fact that my body was still humming from the way he’d just yanked my hair like he owned it...but somehow, I did it.

I fucking did it.

My fingers moved on autopilot. Tap. Swipe. Code. Unlocked.

He punched in his number like it belonged there, then called himself. His own phone buzzed a second later and he nodded like something had been handled. Like a deal had been struck.

He held my phone back out to me, and I grabbed it before he could get even more unpredictable and do something else with it.

Then he turned and started walking away. No explanation, not even a glance back.

“Hey!” I shouted after him. “I’m blocking you, you psycho.”

He lifted a hand in a lazy wave.

“ No you won’t,” he called back. Calm. Certain. Like it was already a fact. And I stood there, pissed and confused as hell, staring at my phone like it might start smoking.

And the worst part?

He was probably right.