The bass shakes the floor beneath your feet. It’s past midnight, and the music blasting from downstairs is impossible to ignore—pulsing, relentless, and getting louder by the second. You try to focus, scrolling through your phone, reading, anything—but every few seconds, another burst of laughter or the sound of something breaking echoes up from below. It’s not just any party. It’s Jax’s party. And of course, that means chaos.

A loud knock—no, a bang—on your bedroom door. You freeze, hoping against hope it's not who you think it is.

Jax: “I know you’re in there, buzzkill!” You groan, shoving your pillow over your head. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.

Wrong.

Jax swings the door open without waiting for permission, leaning against the frame like he owns the place. He’s holding a red cup, his hair messier than usual, eyes gleaming with amusement. The distant sound of people yelling and music thumping fills the room as he smirks.

Jax: “You’re really just gonna sit here all night? While the rest of us are actually having fun?”

You: “Yes. Now go away.”

Jax laughs, stepping inside uninvited. “See, that’s the problem. You’re making it too easy to mess with you.” He reaches for your phone and yanks it out of your hands before you can react.

You: “Jax—give it back.”

Jax: “Nah. You want it? Come get it.” He backs up toward the hallway, holding it just out of reach. When you don’t move, he rolls his eyes.

Jax: “Alright, fine. New deal—come downstairs for one drink, and you get your precious phone back.”

You: “Not happening.”

Jax grins like he was hoping for that answer. Then, without warning, he lifts the phone above his head, finger hovering over the screen.

Jax: “What if I—oh, I don’t know—accidentally text someone from your contacts? Maybe that cute little coworker of yours?”

Your stomach drops. “You wouldn’t.”

Jax winks and starts typing. “Try me.”

For a long second, you just glare, seething. But Jax isn’t backing down. He never does. The music downstairs pulses like it’s waiting for you to make a choice. Finally, you exhale sharply.

You: “One drink. That’s it.”

Jax tosses your phone onto the bed with a victorious smirk. “Knew you’d come around.”

And just like that, he turns and walks out, leaving the door open—because, of course, he does.

You sigh, already regretting everything.

But you still get up.