It’s the worst sleep I’ve had since being on tour.

Let’s be honest—I haven’t been sleeping for the better part of a week.

Since on or about the night Jax Jamieson groped me in a bowling alley.

Almost kissed me in his Town Car.

Then went back to ignoring me.

Okay, ignoring isn’t quite the right word.

But the morning after he’d walked me to my room and I lay in bed all night debating whether I should walk my ass down the hall and beg him to put his mouth on me?

I didn’t see him until he took the stage.

The next day was almost as bad.

Yesterday, at the lunch Jax did not partake in, I overheard from Mace that Jax’s sister and niece were coming. For real this time.

And I didn’t get to meet them.

Maybe he decided our friendship, if you can call it that, isn’t worth tolerating the monster crush I have on him, I think.

But then, he didn’t seem to hate it when he was going all braille on your boobs.

It’s stupid to feel hurt. I get it intellectually. Jax is a musician, the musician, and I’d have to be a moron to expect anything from him.

Still, there’s a tension in me I don’t know how to resolve. I’ve tried, by throwing myself into work. Then by seeking relief late at night alone.

Any kind of relief.

This morning after getting up to Carter’s delightful email, I shove my things into my bag and stab the button in the elevator.

I worked my ass off trying to finish this program, and he tossed it aside as though it didn't even matter.

Sure, I could’ve spent more time on it if I hadn’t built the program for Jerry. Still, if Carter’d told me what more needed to be done instead of sending a dismissive email? I could’ve done it.

Now I’m already trying to come up with other solutions for tuition, but my mind jumps from one thing to another like cerebral Whac-A-Mole.

Part of me wants to talk to Jax. But as we pack up the bus, I realize Jax isn't the one I need to talk to.

A woman answers on the second ring. “Professor Carter’s office.”

I pause, tripped up by the unfamiliar voice. “Who is this?”

“Stacey. I’m Chris’s research assistant. He’s, ah, out this morning—” She giggles. “But he should be back this afternoon. Can I give him a message?”

“Yes. Can you tell him Haley Telfer called?”

“Haley Telfer? Sure.”

“Hey, can I ask you something? How did you get this research assistant job?”

I can almost hear her shrug. “Chris just sent me an email. Around the end of the semester. You know how these things are.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Betrayal tastes bitter in my throat.

Carter didn’t want me as his research assistant because he had another option.

Clearly he spent enough time with Stacey that he didn’t have time to spend on my program.

As I walk zombie-like to the bus, Nina calls the crew together.

Still no Jax.

“I have an important announcement. As you know, we’re coming up on our final shows. But I’ve just gotten word that because we’re selling out, the tour’s being extended. Two months,” Nina says.

Lita’s gaze meets mine, but she doesn’t look surprised.

“You all have the option of staying on after the final show or leaving,” Nina continues. “But if you’re leaving, I need to know now.”

I don’t move because every word from her mouth sounds impossible.

“Nina emailed me and my band this morning,” Lita says. “It was Jax’s call. And Cross’s. I already told Nina we’re going to Nashville tonight. She’s lining up another band to open for the final two months, as well as the next two shows. You should come with us.”

But I can’t think about her offer because my attention’s on the other bus, shining in my peripheral vision.

I go into my bag, dig out an item of clothing, and yank it over my head.

“Haley?” Lita asks. “Where are you going? We’re getting ready to roll out.”

“I’ll be back faster than your center fielder can catch a pop fly,” I mutter.

Then I stalk across the parking lot.

When I knock on the door of the other bus, Kyle’s shaggy head appears. “What’s up, Haley?”

Three pairs of Riot Act eyes watch me stalk toward the beaded curtain. It sings as I brush through it.

Jax looks up from his guitar. Today he’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans plus socks.

Without the stage makeup, with his hair falling over his face, he looks younger.

“Hales.” His voice is wary. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of things shouldn’t happen,” I inform him. “Good people shouldn’t die young. Studios shouldn’t reissue vinyl albums as cut from the master when they’re not.” I glance over my shoulder. “Kyle shouldn’t answer the door wearing nothing but underwear.”

He takes in my own clothing choice but doesn’t comment. “The bus is leaving soon.”

I ignore that. “Nina said you're extending your tour.” A muscle in his jaw tics as he sets the guitar off to the side and shifts back. “So fill me in. You saw Grace and Annie last night, the people you live for, decided that was more than enough time with them and you might as well hang out on the road a little longer? That when you go back to Dallas, you’ll be bored out of your skull?”

The tension in his body is a living thing as he rises from the couch and stares me down.

“I’m not explaining my choices to you. You wouldn’t understand. Besides, I’ll have plenty to do. I’ll buy a house. The kind where the living room doesn’t have wheels. And it’ll have columns in the front like I’m Julius Caesar.” Jax drags a finger along the door frame around the curtain, lazily following the path with his gaze. “Ten bedrooms.”

His masculine scent should be a warning, but I step closer. “Why not twelve?”

He shrugs. “Sure. Fourteen.”

I turn away, inspecting the photos mounted to the sides of the bus. Dozens of them. Some with the band, but more with his family.

I spin on my heel. “A pool?” I ask.

His gaze narrows. “The size of a football field.”

“Do you even swim?”

“Like a fish.”

The bus lurches forward, yanking me off balance. Jax grabs me by the arms to stop me from falling.

Now we’re committed, because we’re rolling down the road. I’m on Jax’s bus and I know it’s a bad idea. His expression says he does too.

“You can’t be on here.”

“Are you going to throw me out the window? At least let me grab a pillow off the couch. I can take the same one as last time.”

His fingers dig into my skin through the fabric of the sweatshirt.

“Why are you wearing that.”

“It was a gift,” I remind him, my teeth grinding together as I tug on the ends of the laces through the hood. “I thought that’s how gifts worked. Once they’re yours, you get to use them however you want. Unless I’m wrong about that too.”

When Jax’s eyes darken in confusion, I know he sees the tears stinging behind my eyes. Great.

“What are you talking about, Hales.”

This isn’t why I came here. But now that Jax is holding me—okay, not quite in his arms, but between his hands—I can’t lie to him.

“Carter didn’t want to work with me. He wanted some girl to fawn over him.” I swallow the thick feeling in my throat. “He’s older and experienced and patronizing, and apparently that’s my type. Which sucks because there’s no way in hell a man like that would want me. For anything.”

Jax stares at me like I’m speaking another language. “That’s bullshit, Hales.”

It’s not the warning in his eyes that does me in or the way his muscles flex under the faded T-shirt. It’s not the working of his jaw or the lines around his mouth or the way he stands up for me even to myself.

It’s all of them.

“Jax?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I do something wrong? The other night, I mean.” I hate that I’m asking the question, but I need to know.

Now that we’re so close, I need to know what the hell happened.

“No.” He curses, his gaze working over mine. “No, you didn’t do a damn thing wrong. You couldn’t if you tried.”

I risk a glance at his face, and his expression has me sucking in a breath.

He doesn’t look angry. He looks contrite, and something I can’t quite read.

“How long has it been since you touched someone?” Jax’s voice is barely audible over the running noise of the bus.

“A while.”

“How about since you wanted to?” God, his voice is low. If it were a color, it would be black.

I reach up to where his hair’s fallen over his forehead. I tuck it back, careful not to brush his skin when I do. “Forever.”

My fingers itch, and before I can stop them, my hands stretch out to graze his abs through the thin T-shirt.

The muscles there twitch under my touch, and when he drags in a rough breath, his eyes lowering to half-mast, I know what it’s like to be powerful.

That’s when I realize what’s in his expression.

It’s longing. The kind of singular wanting that comes from looking at something you can’t ever have.

My touch drags up Jax’s chest, exploring it the same way.

It’s broad and hard, and I’m suddenly remembering how he looked when I caught a glimpse of him shirtless in his dressing room. I picture the lines and indentations as I touch him, and every brush of my hands on his body thrills me in a way I never expected.

“What’s wrong?” I ask at his rough intake of breath. “You get touched by strangers every day.”

My fingers continue their hypnotic path. The hem of my shirt tickles my back as I rise up on my toes so I can reach his shoulders.

“There’s just one problem, Hales,” he murmurs. His voice is every bit as dark as mine, as if maybe he’s as lost in this spell as I am.

We're close enough his breath reaches my face when my gaze lifts to meet his. “What’s that?”

His hands slide up my arms, his fingers threading in my hair and holding my head in a way that’s strangely sweet and possessive at once, tipping my face up to his.

“You’re not a stranger.”

He smells like sandalwood and shampoo, and when my nose bumps his chin, I can't help the strangled little sound that escapes my throat.

Through my lashes, I see his mouth, firm and parted.

Full of possibility for a heartbeat. Two.

Then his lips crush down on mine.

Every cell in my body comes alive at once at the feel of his mouth rubbing, teasing, parting.

My hands band around his wrists to push him away. To get some space.

He’s having none of it.

Jax isn’t gentle. He’s a hurricane, designed to wreak maximum devastation as he wakes up every nerve ending in my body.

He grabs my sweatshirt, raising his mouth long enough for me to gasp a breath as he yanks the fabric between us and over my head and back, trapping my arms in the sleeves behind me.

I’m struggling, but every move just brings me into closer contact with him. His mouth, his chest, his hands.

It’s tearing me apart. I want to scream with it.

Instead of struggling, I go still. Force myself to focus on the gentle friction of his lips. His tongue.

In that moment, I find what I’m looking for.

Not the discordance, but the tension before the resolution.

We’re a hook ready to split into a chorus.

A crowd moments from erupting…

I realize he’s right.

We’re not strangers.

I feel the moment my resistance dissolves, the second I kiss him back, my lips sliding under his. My tongue exploring his mouth.

Jax groans low in his throat, and it’s the hottest sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

I struggle to get out of the sweatshirt, feeling like an Olympic champ when it falls away.

My hands find his jaw, his hair, needing to touch him. To remind myself this is real.

A bump in the road jars me, but it only makes him tighten his hold. Jax backs me against the side of the bus and slants his mouth at a new angle. His tongue finds mine, and damn if he isn’t even more eloquent like this than he is with words.

He uses his hips to wedge mine against the side of the bus.

And holy damn, I’m lost.

Kierkegaard didn’t know shit, because the feeling of looking over a cliff? It’s got nothing on the feel of being kissed by Jax Jamieson. Being the center of his universe.

How long we kiss is anyone's guess.

In my head, it's a moment.

In my heart, it's forever.

When he pulls back, I can still taste him. My pulse hammers through my chest as my fingers brush across my lips.

Yup, still there.

Still tingling.

I bend down, retrieving the sweatshirt at my feet. There’s definitely no need for it. I think I’m sweating.

But I hug it to my chest as I sneak a look up at Jax.

He stares at me, breathing hard, like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened.

“I’m totally getting fired for that, aren’t I?” I whisper.

His half smile pulls into a grin that melts me. “Come on. It was worth it.”

A sound like rain at my back makes me jump.

“Are you kids going to fuck?” Kyle drawls. “Because if not, I need someone to battle on Guitar Hero.”

Jax and I exchange a look. Then Jax rubs his hands over his face. “Put some damned pants on, and we’ll talk.”