CHAPTER 5: THREE DAYS SINCE THE ICED INCIDENT

MILA'S POV

Three days.

Three days since the iced coffee incident. Three days since Rick assigned me as Jax Kingston's personal babysitter. Three days since I watched that stupid gorgeous man walk away after calling me "007" like it was some kind of joke.

And three days since he started ignoring my texts.

I stare at my phone screen, rereading the thread of messages I've sent him. The first one was professional and polite:

Hi Jax, this is Mila Santiago from Prime Sports. Rick asked me to coordinate our schedule for the week. Let me know when you're free to discuss.

Professional. Normal. The kind of text any junior agent would send.

He left me on read.

The second one, sent four hours later, was slightly less professional:

Just following up! Would love to get something on the calendar before the next game. Let me know what works for you.

Read. No response.

The third one, sent the next morning, was aggressively friendly:

*Good morning! Hope you had a great night. I know a great coffee place near the arena, maybe we could meet there? No pressure! Just want to make sure we're on the same page for the season. :)

With a smiley face. Because I know that probably irritates him.

Also read. No response.

That was yesterday. Now it's a new day, and I'm sitting at my desk at Prime Sports, staring at my phone like it might spontaneously combust.

"He's not going to answer," Spencer says from his desk, not even looking up from his computer. "Kingston's been ignoring Rick for months. What makes you think he'll respond to you?"

"Maybe because I'm charming," I mutter.

Spencer snorts. "Right. Charming."

I ignore him and pick up my phone again. My thumbs hover over the keyboard. What's the right move here? Another text? A phone call? Showing up at his house? That last one feels like a fast track to a restraining order.

But I didn't get this far by being patient.

I type out a new message:

*You have to reply to me at some point. I'm not going away. :)

Send.

There. That's assertive but still friendly. The smiley face softens it. Probably.

I set my phone down and try to focus on the contract paperwork Rick dumped on my desk this morning. Something about a rookie's performance bonuses. The numbers blur together. My mind keeps drifting back to Jax Kingston's green eyes, the way his tattoos moved when he crossed his arms, the sound of his voice when he said "007" like it was a secret between us.

This is fine. This is completely fine.

My phone buzzes.

I grab it so fast I nearly knock over my iced coffee.

It's not Jax. It's Kira.

Hot Chef is being cryptic again. Send wine.

I sigh and type back: On my way home. We'll order pizza.

Then I text Jax one more time, just because I can:

I'll take that as a "maybe." Let me know when you're ready to talk. I'll be here. :)

I shove my phone in my bag and try very hard to think about anything else for the rest of the day.

---

Jax

My phone has been buzzing for three days.

I know because I haven't silenced it. I keep telling myself I will, but then another message pops up, and I find myself reading it before I can stop.

Mila Santiago.

She texts like she talks. Bright and persistent and full of smiley faces. The first one was professional. The second one was friendly. The third one was aggressively cheerful. And now she's sent a fourth:

You have to reply to me at some point. I'm not going away. :)

I actually laugh. A real laugh, not the sardonic grunt I usually give.

"Who's that?" Jess asks from across my kitchen table.

She's sitting in my house, eating cereal out of the box like an animal, her feet propped up on the chair across from her. She drove down from Maine this morning, unannounced, which is basically her brand.

"No one," I say, shoving my phone in my pocket.

Jess raises one eyebrow. She's got the same green eyes as me, the same dark hair—though hers is chopped into a messy bob. "No one is making you smile like a dork? Spill."

"Work stuff. My agent's junior agent. She's persistent."

"Uh huh." Jess crunches on a handful of cereal. "Is she hot?"

"Jess."

"I'm just asking!"

I rub my hand over my jaw, feeling the stubble. The tattoos on my fingers catch the light. "She's... not the point. What are you doing here?"

Jess's expression shifts. Just a flicker, but I catch it. She sets down the cereal box and wipes her hands on her jeans.

"I have news." She pauses, and I feel my chest tighten. Bad news always starts with a pause. "I'm moving to Boston."

The words land like a punch.

"You're... what?"

"I applied for an internship focusing on social work at a non-profit, and I got it." Her voice is careful, measured. "It's perfect for me, Jax. I want to make a difference and help people who need it. People like me."

Dread ticks through me. I'm torn. Proud, yes. So damn proud. But terrified too. She needs stability, right? I can't shake the image of her in that hospital bed a year ago, skin gray, machines beeping.

"That's amazing, Jess," I say slowly. "But it could be too much for you."

"I'm healthy. I'm happy. I've been sober for a year." She holds my gaze. "I'd be much happier if I could move past my lowest point and actually go chase my dreams. Like you did."

My chest twinges. Like I did? I left and barely looked back.

"Plus, I'll be closer to you," she adds. "I can come over and annoy you all the time."

That gets a smile out of me, but the concern lingers. "I just don't know if this is a good idea."

"It's a bad idea staying in the middle of nowhere Maine." She trails off, clears her throat. "I've made my decision. Can you just support me on this?"

My jaw tightens. "Okay, Jess. I trust you. I'm proud as hell of you. I just..."

"Worry. I know." She reaches across the table and punches my arm lightly. "It's basically your thing. But you don't need to worry so much. Things are good now."

I wish I could fully believe her.

My phone buzzes again. I don't check it, but I know it's Mila.

"You're going to reply to her eventually," Jess says, smirking. "I can tell."

"Ignoring her is a strategy."

"It's a stupid strategy. You like her."

"I don't even know her."

Jess shrugs. "Then maybe you should find out."

She's not wrong. And that's the most annoying part.

Later that night, after Jess has gone to bed in the spare room, I lie awake and stare at my phone.

Three new messages from Mila.

I'll take that as a "maybe." Let me know when you're ready to talk. I'll be here. :)

Seriously, Jax. I'm not going to bite.

Okay, fine. I will bite. But only if you deserve it. ;)

I laugh again. Goddamn it.

I type back: Fine. You win. Time and place?

Three dots appear immediately. She was waiting.

Morning Bean Cafe. Tomorrow. 10 AM. Don't be late, All Star.

All Star. She's giving me a nickname now.

I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling.

I'm in trouble.