Chapter Fifty-Three

Lena wasn't even sure why she texted him.

Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was restlessness.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was the lingering energy from the morning, the way she'd left his house feeling... different.

She had gone home, had spent the rest of the afternoon trying to distract herself with homework, scrolling through her phone, even going for a run—but nothing worked. Her thoughts kept circling back to Jaxon. To his stupid smirk. To the way he had leaned against the counter, teasing her like it was second nature. To the way his presence felt like something she was starting to crave in a way that made no sense.

So, naturally, she did the least rational thing possible.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled out her phone.

Lena: Hey! What are you doing?

A response came almost immediately.

Jaxon: Missing you, of course ;)

Lena snorted, rolling her eyes.

Lena: I think you meant to say 'wishing you were here'—but autocorrect is tricky, I get it.

Jaxon: So does that mean you are coming over, or are we just flirting for sport?

Lena: Who says I want to come over?

Jaxon: C'mon, Carter. We both know you're already thinking about it.

Lena: Bold of you to assume.

Jaxon: I don't assume. I just know things.

Lena: Oh yeah? And what exactly do you "know"?

Jaxon: That you're bored. Restless. Probably overthinking something instead of just doing what you want to do.

Lena stared at her screen, her jaw tightening. Annoyingly, he wasn't wrong.

Lena: You think you know me, huh?

Jaxon: Carter, please. At this point, I could write the book.

Lena: Great. I'll be sure to leave a one-star review.

Jaxon: Ouch. But okay, since you're definitely not thinking about coming over, what are you doing?

Lena: Trying to decide if dealing with your ego is worth the effort.

Jaxon: And?

Lena: Jury's still out.

Jaxon: Take your time. I'll just be here... at the basketball court... alone... absolutely killing it.

Lena: You must be so lonely.

Jaxon: Tragic, really. If only someone would come keep me company...

Lena rolled her eyes. She could practically hear the smirk in his words.

Lena: Fine. One game.

Jaxon: Better start stretching now. I don't want you blaming injuries when you lose.

Lena: Oh, don't worry. If I need an excuse, it'll be your oversized ego taking up the whole court.

Jaxon: Understandable. It is hard to focus when greatness is this close.

Lena: Right. I'll be sure to bring sunglasses—wouldn't want to be blinded by all that delusion.

Jaxon: Smart move. Also, don't forget tissues—for when you inevitably cry after losing.

Lena: Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you. Fifteen minutes, Walker—try not to miss me too much ;)

Fifteen minutes later, Lena arrived at the court, the streetlights casting a warm glow over the pavement.

Jaxon was already there, dribbling smoothly, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing forearms that she refused to look at for too long.

He took a shot without even glancing at the hoop. It swished in effortlessly.

Show-off.

Lena smirked, walking onto the court. "I didn't know 'shooting hoops alone on a Friday night' was your whole personality."

Jaxon caught the ball, spinning it in his hands. "And I didn't know 'pretending not to be obsessed with me' was yours."

She scoffed. "You wish I was obsessed with you."

Jaxon stepped closer, stopping just within her space. "Oh, Carter. I know you are."

Lena felt heat creep up her spine, but she refused to let him see it.

"Are we playing, or are you just here to hear yourself talk?"

Jaxon grinned. "One-on-one. First to eleven."

She took the ball from him, bouncing it once. "Hope you're ready to lose."

Jaxon: "Confidence is cute, Carter. Too bad it won't help you score."

To no one's surprise, Lena was terrible.

Jaxon stole the ball every time she dribbled. When she tried to shoot, he blocked her effortlessly, barely even trying. Every few seconds, he threw in a snarky comment—just to make it worse.

"That was almost good," he teased after she missed another shot.

Lena groaned. "I hate you."

"Not my fault you have zero basketball skills."

She glared. "I do have skills!"

"Not at this," he shot back, spinning the ball in his hands. "But don't worry, I'll make sure to be extra nice when you lose."

Lena scowled. "You are so—"

But before she could finish, she faked right, trying to dart past him.

Jaxon predicted it immediately, stepping into her space to block her path.

Her momentum carried her too close—her hands grazing his hoodie as she tried to steady herself.

His hand slid to her waist, firm and steady, keeping her from stumbling.

The ball rolled away, forgotten.

But neither of them moved.

Lena's breath caught.

Jaxon's fingers barely pressed against her waist, his touch featherlight, patient, like he was waiting for permission.

His thumb brushed over the fabric of her hoodie, just once. A silent question.

"You okay?" he murmured, voice gentler than she'd ever heard it.

Lena nodded, but she knew that wasn't enough.

Jaxon's gaze flickered over her face, searching. Not pushing. Not taking. Just waiting.

And that was new.

She wasn't used to waiting.

She wasn't used to someone giving her space to choose.

Her heart pounded, but it wasn't fear. It wasn't hesitation.

It was him.

The warmth of his touch. The way he was close but not too close. The way he was looking at her like she was something he didn't want to rush.

"Lena?" he asked softly, tilting his head slightly, just enough that their foreheads nearly brushed.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie.

She should step away.

She should grab the ball, break the moment, make a joke.

But she didn't.

And Jaxon—he didn't take that as permission. He asked again.

A slow exhale. "Tell me if you want me to step back," he murmured, his thumb just barely tracing the fabric of her hoodie, an unconscious, slow movement—like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

She didn't want that.

She wanted him.

Her breath shuddered.

And then—finally—she said it.

"I want this."

Jaxon's breath hitched.

It was barely there, a subtle reaction, but she felt it in the way his grip tightened slightly, like he was grounding himself.

His gaze searched hers, like he needed to be sure, like he wouldn't move until she let him.

Lena tilted her chin up. "I want you."

Jaxon exhaled, a quiet, unsteady breath—like he'd been holding something in, waiting for this. Something flickered across his face, a mix of relief and something deeper, something that told her he needed to hear it just as much as she needed to say it.

And then—his lips met hers.