Chapter 3 A Roof and a Headache

The inside of Jaxson Vane's house looks nothing like I expected.

I don't know what I expected exactly. Red Solo cups on every surface. A jersey nailed to the wall.

What I get instead is different. A worn leather couch, bookshelves with actual books on them. A kitchen visible from the entryway with a dish rack beside the sink that has exactly two mugs and a bowl in it.

It is annoyingly civilized.

"You can leave your bag there," Jax says, gesturing toward the bottom of the stairs. He doesn't look back at me. He's already walking toward the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Wasn't asking for your wellbeing," he says, pulling a mug from the cabinet. "I'm making some. Do you want one or not?"

I bite my tongue so hard I taste copper.

"No. Thank you."

He shrugs, sets the mug down, fills it from a pot that's already brewed. He looks like he’s been up all night doing exactly what the rumors say he does.

"Jax?" A female voice drifts down from upstairs. "Who's at the door, baby?"

Baby.

I keep my face very still.

A female steps out and I recognise her immediately. Emily Hartwell. Of course, it has to be her. Campus royalty. She's in one of his shirts and her hair is down and she takes one look at me and I can see disgust all over her face.

"She's the tutor, Em," Jaxson says simply, without looking up from his coffee.

"Oh," Emily says, giving me another quick size up. Then she walks away to inside.

I wait until she's out of earshot.

"Do you always have company at six in the morning?" I ask, the judgment leaking out before I can stop it.

Jax raises the mug to his lips and looks at me over the rim. It's a slow, patient look. Like he was waiting for exactly this.

"Do you always audit the sex lives of people giving you a roof? You showed up at a single man’s house before sunrise, Bennett. What did you think I was doing? Praying?"

The way he says it makes heat crawl up the back of my neck.

"I was expecting some baseline level of discretion at least."

"Discretion?" His head tilts, just slightly. "I'm not hiding anything, Bennett. You're in my house. I don't perform for guests."

"I'm not asking you to perform. I'm asking you to have a basic level of—"

"She's leaving anyway." He says it simply, cutting through the sentence like it was never there. "I’m a one-round kind of guy when the sun’s up."

My skin prickles. "I really don't need to know the specifics of your schedule, Jaxson."

"Then don't ask questions that lead there," he counters, his eyes narrowing.

As if on cue, Emily comes back down the stairs, shoes in one hand, a small bag in the other, looking entirely self-possessed and not the least bit rushed. She drops a brief kiss on Jax's cheek and walks out, not sparing me as much as a glance.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Jax watches me watch her leave. Then he raises an eyebrow, slowly.

"You were saying."

"I was saying," I say, turning away from the door, "that we should establish some ground rules if this is going to work."

"Ground rules." He repeats. "Okay. Do you want to do this standing up or?"

"Standing is fine."

"Of course it is. God forbid you relax for a second." He drops onto the couch. Stretches one arm along the back of it, legs out. "Go ahead. Lay down the law."

I take a breath, trying to ignore how much smaller I feel when he's looking at me.

"Six days," I say. "I'm here until graduation. I'll tutor you every evening for as long as you need. We can work out a schedule. In exchange I use the spare room and we stay out of each other's way." I pause. "I don't need anything from you beyond the room. I won't touch your things, I won't interfere with your... guests. And I'd appreciate the same consideration."

He looks at me for a moment.

His eyes are very dark and very still and there is something behind them that I cannot read, which I find deeply inconvenient because I can usually read people.

"That's a lot of words," he says, "for 'can I please sleep here.'"

"Can I please sleep here," I say flatly.

The corner of his mouth pulls up.

"Yeah. Obviously." He tilts his head. "I told Rebecca yes few hours ago, Bennett. You didn't have to give me the full terms and conditions. I'm not going to charge you rent."

"I know. I just wanted to be clear about expectations."

"Expectations," he repeats again.

"Is there a problem with that?"

"No problem." He picks up his coffee. "Just observing that you've not really changed. You're exactly the same tightly wound little bird from sophomore year."

"You barely knew me sophomore year."

"I knew you enough." He says, pushing up from the couch. "I'll show you the room."

He takes the stairs without waiting to see if I follow, which I do, because I don't have a better option. He opens the second door on the left and steps back, leaning against the frame while I walk in.

The room is clean. A plain navy duvet, pulled straight. One window. A desk in the corner with nothing on it. A mirror above the dresser.

It's fine.

It's more than fine actually and I hate that it is because I came here prepared to tolerate something terrible and instead I'm standing in a perfectly decent room with absolutely nothing to complain about.

"Bathroom's across the hall," Jax says from the doorway, watching me do a slow rotation. "Towels under the sink. I have a cleaner who comes Tuesdays so just leave anything you don't want touched out of the way."

"Okay."

"Wifi password is on the router. It's the one in the hallway." He pauses. "Anything else you need right now?"

I shake my head.

"You know," he says, "most people say thank you."

"Thank you," I say.

"You're welcome." The corner of his mouth moves. "See, that wasn't so bad."

He's about to say something else when my phone goes off.

I look down at the screen

Derek.

Jax is staring at me, a brow raised.

I take the call.

"Madeline," he says my name carefully. "Hey."

"Derek," I say and the name tastes bitter on my tongue. "What do you want?"

"I just... I wanted to check that you got somewhere safe. That you're okay."

"You practically pushed me out the door," I say. "But yes. I'm somewhere."

"I didn't push you. You chose to leave, Maddie, I never said—"

"What do you want, Derek."

He exhales. "I know you said Sunday for your things. But would it be possible to come today instead?"

"You just finished telling me you didn't kick me out."

"I'm not, I swear. I just thought... since you've already gone, it might be cleaner to get it done now. Rip the bandage off."

Something heavy moves through my chest at that. Rip the bandage off. Three years and an engagement and he is describing it as a bandage.

I turn toward the window. Away from Jax, though I'm acutely aware I'm not actually removing myself from his range of hearing.

"I'll come within the hour," I say.

"I'll be out," Derek says quickly. "You'll have the place to yourself. Key's under the mat as usual. Take as long as you need." He pauses. "Kayla won't be there either."

"Okay."

"Thank you." The relief in his voice is sickening. "Really, Maddie, thank—"

I hang up.

I stand with the phone in my hand and breathe through it. Whatever it is. The particular grief of being somebody's loose end.

Then, I turn around.

Jax is exactly where I left him in the doorway, arms still crossed, not even pretending he wasn't listening. His expression hasn't changed. He doesn't look uncomfortable the way most people would look uncomfortable having witnessed something private. He just looks at me steadily and waits.

"Let me guess," he says, and his lips curl at the edge. "Your ex fell out with you, that's why you need my place. And now he needs you to come collect your things."

"You have no business with my personal life, Jaxson," I say.

"I think I do. You're my roommate now. I don't need an angry ex pulling up at my door causing scenes." He says. "What happens to you for the next six days is adjacent to my life whether either of us likes it."

"It's six days," I say, holding his gaze. "And then I'm gone and none of it is adjacent to anything of yours. Until then, nose out."

I walk out of the room with my bag and I go downstairs and out the front door and down the path to where I parked across the street.

I get in the car and put the key in the ignition.

I turn it.

But nothing happens.

I turn it again.

Still nothing.

And again.

The engine turns over once, catches for half a second, and dies.

I press my forehead against the steering wheel.

Of course. Of course the car does this now. Of course the one mechanical object I depend on decides to abandon me at six-forty on a Friday morning after the worst night of my life. This is the universe's sense of humor and it is not funny.

There is a knock on the passenger window.

I look up.

Jax is standing on the other side of the glass, in a jacket now, keys in hand, looking down at me.

I roll down the window.

"The universe is sending you a message, Bennett," he says through the open window. "It’s saying your car is as unreliable as your taste in men. Get out. I’m driving. We'll use my car."

"What did I say about staying out my business?" I bite back. "I'm not here as one of your girls but a temporary roommate."

"You can't even be a girl of mine," he says, eyes dragging over me. "I have a type, and you’re way too much of a headache."

"You're not my type either," I say, which is the truth, and I say it with great confidence.

"You're the first girl to say that to me." He says. "I'm usually everyone's type."

He has the looks, God help me, I can see it. He’s handsome, but has the attitude of a total jerk.

The corner of his mouth moves. "Step out, Bennett. I'll take you there."

"No, thank you."

"This isn't the time to dig your heels in," he says. "And I'm not doing this to get on your good side. I couldn't care less about your good side."

"Then let me be," My head is starting to pound. "I told you—"

"And now I'm telling you." He opens the passenger door from the outside, pulling it wide, and stands there, not moving, like he has absolutely nowhere else to be and every intention of waiting me out.

I sigh, a pounding headache starting to bloom behind my eyes. This is why I hate him. He’s relentless.

"Okay," I exhale. "What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"You don't do things out of the goodness of your heart. So what do you want."

"Rebecca is."

"Becca? What do you mean?"

"I know, Madeline," he says, his voice suddenly grave. "About your boyfriend fucking your stepsister for nine months. Becca told me everything when she called last night."

"She what?" I ask. "She told you. She actually told you."

"Yes. Only because I owe her, and she knows I’m the only person in this town shameless enough to keep a guy like Derek away from you." He says. "I’m your designated handler for the week. That’s the deal I struck with her. Now get out of the car before I carry you out."

I stare at him.

He stares back.

He is completely serious.

"I don't need a handler," I say, very carefully, like I'm explaining something to someone who has demonstrated limited capacity for reason. "I don't need watching over. I've been managing myself for twenty-three years without your input and I intend to keep doing exactly that."

"Mm." He doesn't even blink. "How's that going for you so far? This morning specifically."

The audacity of him. The sheer, breathtaking audacity.

"I can put up with my own shit, Jaxson."

"Sure." He glances at the steering wheel. "Tell that to the car."

I grunt, rolling my eyes. What did Becca just get me into? Asking her cousin, the one person on campus she knows I have never gotten along with to watch me for the week simply because she doesn't trust me to make my own decisions. Because she's convinced I'll go crawling back to Derek the moment no one's watching.

Maybe she's not entirely wrong about that. But that is beside the point.

The point is I will now have Jaxson Vane in my immediate vicinity for seven consecutive days, and that was nobody's idea of help except Becca's.

But I don't really have a choice. My car isn't starting and the money sitting in my account isn't promising enough for an Uber.

So, I sigh and get out of the car.

Becca and I are going to have a very thorough conversation about what it means to help someone.

"Fine," I say. "But I want to be clear. This is not friendship. This is not anything except what it is. Seven days and then I walk out of your house and we go back to being two people who don't like each other. That's it."

"God, I hope so," he says. "I already have enough friends."

"I mean it, Jaxson. Seven days and then I never have to look at your face again."

Jax doesn't look offended. If anything, he looks amused. He leans down until his breath stirs the hair at my temple, his voice dropping low.

"Careful, Bennett," he murmurs, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Seven days is a long time to play with a sinner without catching a little fire yourself."