But I was still shit out of luck.

He was watching me, and I could damn well feel it.

Turning around, I placed the towel in the backseat again and stilled when the grumbling of my stomach—evidence that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast—burst forth in the otherwise quiet car.

Shit. I twisted back around and fastened my seat belt, hoping he hadn’t heard it.

No such luck.

“Are you hungry?” Jax looked over at me. “I have some snacks if you want.”

“No, I’m fine,” I mumbled, not making eye contact.

But then my belly whirred again, and I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around my stomach, melting into the seat.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he chuckled, and I opened my eyes to see him reaching behind the seat again and digging a container out of his duffel bag. “Eat,” he ordered, dumping a plastic Tupperware container in my lap.

I pursed my lips. Why did he have to sound so condescending all the time?

“I’m fine,” I said flatly, turning my glare out the window. “I’ll be home soon anyway.”

“So I can give you a ride home, but you won’t eat my food?”

My eyes widened, and I looked over at him. “You made me let you give me a ride home,” I pointed out, and then added quietly, “Which I appreciate. Of course.”

I shook my head, unable to keep the small smile from my lips.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “I’ll eat.”

And it took me no damn time to peel the lid off the container and smile at the watermelon chunks inside. Picking one out with my thumb and index finger, I joked. “Fruit?” I asked. “I’d never pictured you chopping watermelon, Jax.”

“But you pictured me,” he deadpanned, his cocky lips twisting up as he pulled the shifter down, powering ahead as if he knew everything.

I rolled my eyes, not even entertaining the idea of walking into that one any further. Sliding a piece of watermelon between my teeth, I bit the red cube in half, loving the grainy texture against my tongue. Sweet juice filled my mouth, and my stomach growled again, in appreciation.

Sucking the nectar to the back of my tongue, I swallowed and placed a hand over my mouth. “This is really good.” I nearly laughed, because I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. “Thanks.”

But glancing over at Jax, I lost my smile immediately. His straight face was focused out on the road, and he looked almost angry. The car had slowed, and an air of awkwardness had settled in his narrowed eyes.

“Am I eating your lunch?” I asked, all of a sudden feeling angry that he had bullied me into eating. “I told you I was fine—”

He cut me off. “Eat. Please.”

And I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, looking unsettled.

Unsure about his change in mood, I couldn’t figure out what to do. So I finally just continued munching, feeling the void in my stomach filling as Jax drove us through waterlogged streets.

Crossfade’s “The Deep End” filled the space around us, and I was lost, barely trying to hide how I watched him.

He did the whole guy thing as he drove—body pressed into the seat back, arm steel-rod straight on the steering wheel at twelve o’clock, and chin down. But whenever he shifted up or down, my gaze flashed to his hand, reveling in the cords of his forearm and how they flexed when he changed speeds. And I loved how the car gained momentum and the engine roared and vibrated, making my thighs shake.

I wanted to be able to drive like that.

I’d never asked Liam to teach me, even though he probably would have. Aside from all the damn cheating, my boyfriend—er, ex-boyfriend—was actually a nice guy and easy to get along with.

But I never thought I could learn. Which was stupid. I held my own in school. It wasn’t as though I was incapable of learning something new.

I kept eating, glancing down every time he shifted to watch him. Trying to memorize how he timed pressing in the clutch with shifting the gears and chewing as I studied his legs and arms all working to keep the car going.

My mother had taken me to the symphony in Chicago when I was little, and I remember watching the conductor while everyone else watched the musicians. The power of leading, of knowing when to push and pull, fascinated me. I was envious of having control like that. Of guiding so many instruments in a unified effort to create something so beautiful. It was like a magnificent puzzle, and you just had to find the right way—or maybe just your way—to fit them all together.

I chewed softly, watching Jax, my eyes moving up and down, following his movements, and I knew damn well that given the choice of the conductor or Jaxon Trent, I’d watch Jaxon Trent.

His long fingers clutching the shift, the muscular calves flexing every time they punched the clutch, the blue eyes that I swore turned black and intense as they stared out the window.

I could watch him work his car forever.

“You need to stop watching me like that.” I heard his voice, and I jerked my attention up to his face.

Shit!

He was still staring out the windshield, lips slightly open and looking cautious.

“What?” I asked, trying to act as though I didn’t know what he was talking about, and I wasn’t just drooling over his driving. But it was useless. My cheeks had warmed, and I’m sure it showed.

“You’re going to get us in a fucking accident,” he scolded.

I scowled. “Me? What did I do?”

He shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “Do me a favor, would you?” His voice was soft and smooth, threatening in how quickly he turned sensual.