Jax

*No Entry* Jax Moretti and I had a history of mutual destruction. Age 7: He put a frog in my backpack. I “accidentally” spilled red juice on his white sneakers. Age 14: He called my band “noise.” I told his dad his golf swing looked like a dying swan. Age 18: I left for college and didn’t look back. Now we’re 30, living in the same city, and the universe decided to be cruel. He owns _Velvet_, the hottest nightclub downtown. I avoid it like it has my ex’s name on the door. Which it might. Tonight was worse. I was walking home from the library, cut through the alley behind 4th Street, and heard it. Two sets of footsteps behind me. Not casual. Matching mine when I sped up. Masked. Panic hit cold and sharp. The only open door was the red exit light glowing at the end of the alley. _Velvet_. I didn’t have a choice. The music hit me first. Bass heavy, lights strobing, people moving like the night didn’t have consequences. I slipped in through the side door, heart hammering, and ducked toward the far end of the club. Storage, maybe. Bathrooms. Anywhere the two guys wouldn’t look. Bad plan. Because Jax always worked the floor on Friday nights. “HEY?” Of course he saw me. Of course. Jax, Still infuriatingly handsome. Still the guy who could make my blood boil with one smirk. “What are you doing here? You hate this place.” “Two men. Masks. Following me,” I said, breathless, pressing myself against the wall behind a potted plant like it would help. “I didn’t know where else to go.”