The Wolf

The *click* of the lock was loud in the small room.

Roxy blinked, her sadness temporarily replaced by confusion. "Jax? What are you doing? *Viper* is on in twenty minutes."

"Fifteen," Jax corrected. His voice was a low rumble, deeper than the bass she played. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes, dark and sharp as flint, bored into hers.

"You look pathetic," he said.

Roxy bristled. "Excuse me?"

"I said, you look pathetic. Hiding in a closet, drinking swill, crying over a rhythm guitarist who can't even keep time."

"Liam is the lead singer," Roxy snapped, standing up. "And he has perfect timing."

"Not with women," Jax countered. He pushed off the door and strode toward her.

Roxy instinctively took a step back, her calves hitting the edge of the couch. Jax didn't stop until he was crowding her space, looming over her. The air in the room shifted, becoming charged and heavy.

He reached out. Roxy flinched.

Jax rolled his eyes. He took the beer can from her hand and set it on the table with a decisive *thud*.

"You've been pining after him for three years, Roxy," Jax said. "It’s embarrassing. The whole tour crew knows. The sound guy knows. I’m pretty sure the venue security guard knows."

"I haven't been pining," Roxy lied, her face heating up. "We're just... close friends."

"You're a doormat," Jax corrected. "He treats you like a bro, and you look at him like he hung the moon. And tonight? He proposes to the girl who sells t-shirts, right in front of you. And instead of getting mad, instead of smashing your bass or getting a drink with someone who actually appreciates you... you come back here and cry."

"Why do you care?" Roxy demanded, though her voice lacked heat. Being this close to him was disorienting. He was so... solid. Unlike Liam, who was frantic energy and bright smiles, Jax was stillness and gravity.

"Because I hate wasted talent," Jax growled. "And I hate watching a woman like you beg for scraps."

"A woman like me?"

"A woman who holds the rhythm together," Jax said. He took a step closer, trapping her between his body and the couch. He wasn't touching her, but he might as well have been. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. "You’re the heartbeat of that band, Roxy. Liam is just the noise."

Roxy’s breath hitched. "He's my best friend."

"He's a puppy," Jax sneered. He reached up, his thumb brushing the tear track on her cheek. His skin was rough, calloused from guitar strings, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. "And you've spent so long training him, you forgot what it’s like to deal with a wolf."

"I don't want a wolf," Roxy whispered, though her heart was hammering a frantic double-time rhythm against her ribs.

"Liar," Jax murmured.

He tilted her chin up with his finger, forcing her to look at him.

"Look at me, Roxy. Stop looking for the boy who didn't pick you. Look at the man who is standing right in front of you."

Roxy looked. She saw the intensity in his eyes—a hunger that had nothing to do with music. She realized, with a jolt, that while she had been watching Liam, Jax had been watching *her*.

"You're mean," she said weakly.

"I'm honest," Jax corrected. "And right now, I'm the only one in this building giving you the attention you actually deserve."

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