Page 56 of Before You Fell

We lean against the bar, staring at the crowded dance floor as the music shifts into something heavier and dirtier.

Jax takes another drink, his grin fading into something sharper. “You should scare Phoenix more often.”

I glance over. “What?”

Jax grins. “The party. Memphis.”

My stomach tightens, but I keep my face bored because I am not giving Phoenix Stone the dignity of ruining my vodka.

Jax’s smile only widens. “You should’ve seen him afterward.”

The laughter in his voice draws my attention.

“What do you mean?” I ask, because I didn’t bother to stay after what I said to Phoenix. I was too pissed off at his arrogant little performance to stand around and witness an encore.

“He sat at the bar by himself and got completely wasted. Women kept coming over and he told each of them to fuck off.”

“Phoenix?” The name escapes my mouth before I can stop it, sharp with disbelief.

“Shocking, I know.” Jax laughs into his drink.

“You’re lying.” I stare at him.

“I’m not.” He shakes his head. “No bullshit. No flirting or ego-tripping. Just whiskey and the kind of face that made the bartender pour before he even asked.”

That shouldn’t affect me the way it does.

“Even Jett was impressed,” Jax adds, taking another swallow of whiskey. “And that asshole gets excited about absolutely nothing unless it’s a clean bassline or when someone finally shuts the fuck up.”

I huff a laugh despite myself.

Jax’s grin turns wicked. “Best part? Phoenix was fucking miserable.”

Something twists beneath my ribs and I hate it. I hate that Phoenix has this much control over me.

“And just so you know,” Jax says, lowering his glass, “he’s been watching you since we walked in.”

Automatically, my eyes want to turn. I stop myself. Not tonight. I’m so tired of searching rooms for Phoenix Stone. Tired of building entire love stories from scraps he throws at me without even realizing.

I finish my drink. “So what? I don’t care.”

Jax gives me a smirk that says every man in this band knows I am full of shit and has been politely pretending otherwise for years.

“That’s the spirit,” he says anyway.

Another song starts, loud enough to shake the floor and dirty enough to make half the room forget they have standards.

The bass pounds through my chest, and for the first time all week, I experience something other than exhaustion.

“I love this song.”

Jax follows my gaze to the dance floor.

His grin softens. “Then go dance.”

“You sure?” I gaze at him.

He snorts. “Sweetheart, I spent two bloody hours bullying you into coming here. If you don’t go let your hair down and make at least one questionable decision, I’m demanding a refund.”