MY BROTHER'S BIKER FRIEND

DAY 1

JAX'S POV

I woke up before the alarm on my phone even had a chance to go off, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling of Leo’s guest room. The morning light filtered through the blinds in pale, thin strips. The house was dead quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs. I tossed the blanket back, rubbed a hand over my face, and sat on the edge of the bed for a long second, just listening.

Downstairs, a soft clatter broke the silence—a mug scraping against the granite counter, followed by the muffled hum of the coffee maker.

My chest tightened. She was awake.

I pulled on a plain black t-shirt, pulled my hair back, and forced myself to slow down as I headed down the wooden stairs. The goal was simple: act completely, totally normal. I’d spent three years mastering the art of looking indifferent around her, and living under the same roof wasn't going to change that—no matter how much it was already testing my grip.

When I stepped into the kitchen, she was leaning against the counter, waiting for her coffee to brew. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, dark curls slipping free around her neck, and she was swallowed whole by an oversized gray sweater that practically covered her hands. She was staring down at her phone, her thumb scrolling slowly, her lips slightly parted in that focused, oblivious way she always had when she was reading something.

God, she had no idea.

She had no idea that I knew every single one of her tiny habits. I knew she held her breath whenever she got annoyed, that she bit her bottom lip when she was trying to sound unimpressed, and that she’d spent the last three years pretending I was just her brother’s annoying friend who rode a loud bike. She thought I didn't catch the way her eyes darted to me whenever I walked into a room, or how fast she looked away the second I caught her watching.

I leaned against the doorframe, keeping my expression entirely neutral, resting a shoulder against the wood. "Morning."

She jumped slightly, her eyes snapping up from her screen. For a fraction of a second, her guard dropped, those dark eyes widening before she caught herself and smoothed her face into a cool, calm mask.

"You walk too quietly for someone who drives a tank," she muttered, turning back to the coffee pot to pour herself a cup.

"It’s called stealth," I replied smoothly, pushing off the doorframe and walking over to the counter. I kept a careful foot of distance between us, even though every instinct in my body wanted to reach out, tuck a stray curl behind her ear, and pull her closer. I reached past her for a mug, my arm brushing lightly against the sleeve of her oversized sweater. Static shock zip-lined right up my arm.

She froze for half a beat, taking a slow sip of her coffee, her eyes glued to the steam rising from her mug.

"Eggs?" I asked, grabbing the carton from the fridge like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Or are you planning on living off caffeine and sarcasm all morning?"

She shot me a dry look over the rim of her cup, though the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips—the exact look that made keeping my hands to myself a full-time job. "Sarcasm works fine, thanks."

"Tough luck. You're getting eggs," I said, cracking one into the pan with a grin. I kept my back turned to her, staring down at the stove so she wouldn't see the way my chest was hammering against my ribs. Three months. Leo had asked me to watch the house for three months, swearing I was the only guy he trusted around here.

If he knew the thoughts running through my head right now, he would’ve locked me out in the rain.