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A burst of laughter filtered upstairs, and I smiled. As much as I was ready for the quiet, ready to lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling in complete and utter silence, I knew to cherish nights like this.
I wasn’t scared of this change. Wasn’t afraid to live on my own or worried about locking doors or anything like that. But it was a little daunting when you’ve lived your whole life with a revolving door of your loved ones constantly in and out, to be faced with nothing but silence greeting me when I came home.
With a sigh, I straightened and brought a small box of makeup into the bathroom, eyeing the bathtub with a slightwhimper. Later. When everyone was gone, I was filling that bitch with epsom salts and lighting some candles and I was going to soak out all the soreness screaming in my feet and hips.
What I needed was a massage. Head to toe.
Gone were the days when I could be on my feet all the time, that was for sure. They felt puffy when I leaned over to stack clean towels in the cabinets opposite the shower. To the right of the cabinet was a small box, and I eyed the marker on the side.
Laundry room.
“Oh sure,” I muttered. “I know how to read, he says.” I whipped out my phone and scanned the QR code on the side to make sure it was correct, rolling my eyes when a list of laundry items came up. “No one wants to listen to me. I’m just the one who came up with the system.”
The box was small enough that I didn’t think I’d get yelled at for carrying it downstairs, and thankfully, everyone was busy enough that they didn’t even notice. In fact, the main floor was empty when I got to the family room. A slight twinge in my lower back and a dull ache through my hips had me groaning a little bit.
It wasn’t until I walked through the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Cameron, Ivy, and Greer in the backyard talking to Jax that he caught my eye through the big window.
The actual time of eye contact was quick. Nothing more than a few seconds. And I felt the weightless dip in my stomach like he was doing that thing he’d done the other night—the slightest brush of his nose against my hair.
Dammit.
I steeled my mind from backsliding into sex thoughts, striding as confidently through the kitchen as I could manage, given the slight waddle to walking from my screaming hips. The laundry room was a long rectangle, with a small stretch of counter to the right of the machines. Above the counter, aswell as the washer and dryer were upper cabinets, painted a creamy white color. The walls in this room were a soft pale green that reminded me of spring.
With a slight grunt, I set the boxes onto the counter and backtracked into the kitchen to find a pair of scissors to slice through the packing tape. Just as I found one, the slider opened, and Jax let himself inside the house.
My throat went dry because I’d lost all my loud, distracting family members.
What good was it having them here if they couldn’t interfere in moments like this, when my traitor brain and traitor hormones had a field day with his presence. I swear, I could smell him the moment he came inside and closed the door behind him.
“I can take care of those boxes,” he said.
“It’s fine,” I told him. “Knowing you, you’ll put the detergent too high up and my short ass won’t be able to reach it when I go to do laundry.”
I said it teasingly, but the man stopped, blocking my entry to the laundry room.
Arching my eyebrows, I ignored the way he held his hand out for the scissors. “Can you move, please?” I asked.
“No.”
I scoffed. “Jax, move. I can unpack them myself.” With the hand not holding the scissors, I tried to push him aside, but holy shit, it was like trying to uproot a very stubborn tree. “You cannot be serious.”
He crossed his arms, and the ink rippled with the sudden bulge in his biceps. My skin went hot, and there was a dangerous tremble under my skin that I wanted gone.
No man should look like him, I thought frantically. They shouldn’t look so appealing with no smile and no people skills, and the overbearing tendency to ignore me when I just wanted to unpack a fucking box.
It was the eyes. As I glared up at him, I couldn’t help butregister the slightest hint of amber around the edges. And it was the jaw—covered with dark hair because he still hadn’t shaved since he got back.
“Move, please,” I tried again, voice softer this time. There was a flicker in his eyes, and I fought a triumphant smirk. Yet he still didn’t move.
“Isn’t there something else you can work on while we’re all here?”
“No,” I said in exasperation. “I’d really like to work on this, so that the kitchen and laundry room are done.”
He held his hand out again. “Great. I’ll do it. You go sit and rest.”
Under my breath, I growled.
“Cute,” he said. “You sound like an angry little kitten.”
