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[ J A X ' S P O V ]

"I don't understand why I can't live in one of your apartment studios or something," I say, exasperated from carrying the amount of baggage I have loaded in my car.

It is actually times like this where I wish that Edna, my housekeeper in Boston, followed me all the way here. I had been really tempted to do so but the idiotic part of me thought that I needed a little bit of tough love. So I sacrificed Edna and decided that I could do fine without her.

What a whole load of horseshit.

"No way," my father's voice rings in my ears. "I told you that you can't live in any of them. I only have three-I'm actually currently living in one of them, the one near ABC studios so I can get to work. The other I'm getting kicked out of since fucking CW wouldn't renew my fucking contract for The Ringer-"

"Dad, does it look like I give a fuck about your work?" I say in a bored tone.

I wedge the phone between my ears so I can heave the last of my suitcases from the boot of the car. I lose my grip and tumbles forward, landing sideways on the road.

      A string of curse words escape my mouth as I attempt to crouch down, my phone still struggling to balance itself on my right shoulder and drag it upwards so it's back into it's normal position.

The suitcase is already dented but fuck that. Mom said it belonged to my step-father and I hate his fucking guts so I guess this could be a mini middle finger to him. Speaking of which, I'm actually due for a Snapchat to be sent to my step-father. You can only guess which part of my anatomy will be starring in that picture today.

Fuck, it's not the dick. I swear, everyone always think it's the dick.

I was talking about my middle finger, you perverted fucks.

"You know, you could express some interest in me," my father tells me. "After all, it was me that had to convince your mom that moving to LA for the summer is a good decision. I actually do think it's the wisest decision you've ever made, and that's actually saying something considering that all your decisions leading up to this moment have been really fucking stupid."

I guess I know where I get my habit of swearing from.

"Honestly?" I drop my duffle bag on top of the suitcase so that I can use my hand to hold the phone again. "I really don't care about what you do with your acting career. So what if CW dropped you? The Ringer sucked ass anyway. It only had a 6.1 on IMDB—which in my opinion, is an absolute failure. I'm actually embarrassed for you to be starring in that mess of a show."

"You watched my show?" My dad's interest is now piqued.

"Yes. And like I said, I'm humiliated to be associated with you. My gang in Boston will never take me seriously now."

"You watched my show," he breathes and I mentally curse at myself for revealing this now.

Yes, I have watched all eight television shows and four movies that he has ever starred in. I didn't want to admit it because I'm an asshole.

Baxton Hugh Deneris had been a breakthrough star ever since he starred in this one indie movie that was made in Boston. His friend had been the director and he was just helping him out by filling in as the main character, since they had no budget to hire real actors. Even though the rankings for the movie were shit, it didn't stop producers in Hollywood to take notice of his talent.

When his fame skyrocketed, he tried to persuade my mom and I to follow him. But mom had family and relatives at Boston, so she didn't want to move. This argument lasted for several months and it resulted in a messy divorce that may have taken more of a toll on me than my actual parents.

But whatever.

Dad had to leave—an inevitable thing—and I was stuck with mom. I couldn't blame him for taking off. Hell, I would have too. Mom and I never got along very well and things started to get worse when she got together with my step-father. So naturally I was jealous of my dad. Jealous and angry that he didn't take me with him. But after a while, those feelings turned to admiration whenever I saw him on the face of my television.

It didn't take him long to get famous, and often forget about me. He starred in more successful movies and he acquired a high profile. But after a while, he started getting into tv shows instead. He said in interviews that brought him a more stable income to provide for his family—what a load of nonsense. Even though some of that money did go to me every month, he spent vast amounts on in supporting his own lavish lifestyle in LA.

I would be a brat and complain about that, but just looking at the mansion in front of me now, I'd rather just keep my mouth shut about it and be happy about what I got.

"Yes, I watched your show. You're a horrible actor," I say irritably. That statement isn't exactly true. I may have hated his guts for leaving, but he is possibly one of the best actors that has ever walked this earth. It's a shame he constantly gets cursed with the most horrible tv show contracts.

"Thanks," my father says flatly, "but I know when you say something, you actually mean otherwise."

"You wished I said otherwise. There is a difference."

My father's laugh echoes through the phone. "You're a complicated man, Jackson. Even if I haven't been there during your recent years, I know you like the back of my hand."

"Is there anything else you'd like to say to me before I hang up on you?" I say, yawning. "Because I just arrived at the mansion and I'm just about to go in. And please do not tell me you left the keys under the mat. Because if you did, that's probably the most idiotic thing you've ever done. No, scratch that. The second most idiotic thing. The first one would be turning down the chance to star in the latest Mission Impossible movie."

"Don't worry, I didn't leave the keys under the mat. I have standards, you know." My father scoffs. "And really? MI was what really did it for you?"

"Tom Cruise turned it down. You could have taken the role before he decided to snatch it back." I say as-a-matter-of-factly.

"You know he would have gotten the contract back regardless of me taking the role or not," he tells me. "Anyway, call me when you're settled down at the mansion."

"Whatever. Anything else before I cut you off?"

"Just... I just want to say one more thing," my father starts off. "I know I haven't been around for a while, but I just want to say that I'm really happy you're here."

"You do realize that I'm not actually here for you, right?" I say.

"I know," I can hear the hurt that laces his tone, "but if you ever need me, Jackson, I'm just a phone call away."

"Yeah. Okay." I nod. "Bye."

And then I hang up on him.

I slide my phone back into the pocket of my jeans, and I start to get to work. Heaving the suitcases to the front porch ain't easy task. I may be a fighter, but the shit that I pack in here weighs a ton. I even bought my own punching bag so I can hang it up in my room. It seemed like a very stupid idea, but it sounded good at that time, so I won't question it any further.

When I finally got all my shit to the porch, I realize that I hadn't ask my dad where the key was. How the fuck am I supposed to get in?

Maybe I could break the windows. It isn't exactly breaking and entering if the place you're breaking and entering into is your father's house. But then again, I would most probably trigger the alarm system. I wouldn't want that happening. I've already been in bad terms with the Boston police department; I should try to stay away from getting into trouble here if I want to keep my reputation clean.

Maybe the keys are actually under the mat.

No, I shake my head. He won't be that stupid.

Or would he?

Taking a chance, I kneel down and flip the mat over.

Of course it's fucking there.

I'm going to kill him the next time I see him. 

My dad must be a moron if he thinks the robbers won't touch his house. I would if I were one of them. There is some pretty expensive shit here that would be worth a lot of money.

Snatching the key from under the mat, I slot it in the doorknob and twist it. I kick the door open and walk in, taking in the surroundings. Like I had expected, the whole place is decorated with things that are worth millions. Huge crystal chandeliers hang from floor-to-top ceilings. Sofas and glass tables adorn the living room. Hourglass vases top every surface imaginable. A huge piano sits itself on the foot of the grand staircase—I don't even know why. He doesn't even play the piano, for fuck's sake.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I slide it out to see who's calling me. Speak of the devil. My dad. Again.

I press answer and hold the phone up to my ear. "You said you didn't leave the damn key under the mat but guess what I found-"

My dad cuts me off immediately. "I know. I'm sorry. But I forgot to tell you one more thing: you have a-"

I don't get to hear the end of his sentence because suddenly I feel a long blade dig in the skin of my neck. I drop the phone to the ground just as I feel someone behind me.

"What the fuck-?"


"Who the hell are you?" The person who has the blade against my neck says. It's a feminine voice. "Why did you break into my home?"

"What-?" A perplexed expression crosses my face. I try to move but the tip of the blade pokes at my skin, drawing a little bit of blood from it. My eyes focus on the blade and I realize it's longer than I had expected.

It's a sword.

Why the fuck is there a girl in my house holding me against my will by a fucking sword?

Who the hell even owns swords these days?

None of this makes any fucking sense.

"ANSWER ME!" The girl raises her voice, her voice steady. I got to give her credit—she has completely taken me by surprise. It's not that simple considering the fact that I beat the shit out of people for a living. I don't get any surprise attacks unless it's the one I'm throwing for someone else. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Who the fuck are you?" I say. "Why the hell are you in my house?"

Next thing I know, I feel the girl's presence leave me but she appears again in a flash in front of me, the blade now directed right at my heart. She's pointing that damned thing right at me and if she takes a step closer, I'm done for.

     Aw man, I hate swords. Or any pointy shit that can beat me in a fight. I'm all for using my fists and legs to inflict pain on someone.

Weapons are just for people who are not brave enough.

My attention reverts back to the girl in front of me. I could fight her. I could. But I'm not that stupid. My fists won't protect me this time. And I know the girl has done this before, but perhaps not enough. She holds the sword steady in her hand and I bet she won't even flinch to end me right here right now. But I see the fear in her eyes. I know that she's scared I'll notice that she's not that experienced.

I cock my head sideways to take in her profile. If I wasn't held against my will in my own house by a mysterious girl with a sword, I would think that she's hot. Really hot. She's only a little bit shorter than me, but she radiates power and superiority from her body. She's not afraid to hold her own ground.

And that's such a fucking turn on.

It isn't only that-she's absolutely gorgeous. Her jet black hair cascades past her shoulders in waves and it definitely frames her rounded face very well. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright, but it contrasts greatly from the angry snarl that graces her lips. Her body is a work of art too. I'm a major sucker for big breasts—and she's got 'em.

Her breasts are perfect. So fucking perfect.

If I could just touch them, I will be able to die happy.

She notices me staring at them and digs the blade further into my skin. "How fucking dare you."

"What did I do?" I stare at her in confusion.

"You just checked me out!" She screams.

"What? I'm not going to apologize! It's not a crime."

"No, but breaking in and entering is!"

"I came in with a key! How the fuck is that even breaking in and entering?" I scream back. "If it's anyone who's breaking in and entering, it's you! You come into my house, point a fucking sword at me and tell me that I'm trespassing? Jesus!"

"What do you mean this is your house?" Her sword lowers slightly, but I know if I were to move, she'll pounce. "This is my house. I live here. Have been for the past month!"

This girl is fucking crazy. How could she be living here for a month?

Suddenly, realization dawns upon me.

"Oh," I say. "Oh."

"What 'oh'?" She cocks her head sideways in irritation.

"You're a homeless person." I finally figured it out. "And you've been living in my father's house for two weeks because he's been away. I know life is hard but you do realize I can call the cops on you-"

"I AM NOT A HOMELESS PERSON!" The blade digs into my chest, threatening to pierce my heart. Oh shit. Maybe my assumption was wrong. What have you gotten yourself into, Jackson? "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? HOW DARE YOU CALL ME THAT!"

"Truth hurts, darling."

She's running out of patience. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"No way! YOU GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" I yell.

"You do realize that I'm the one with the weapon right?" She scoffs. She rolls her eyes out of aggravation. "I have the ability to hurt you."

A huge laugh escapes me. Oh, darling. You haven't seen nothing yet.

"I'm done playing your games," she snarls at me. "Get out or I'm calling the cops on you. I'm warning you! My bite is bigger than my bark!"

"The hell I'm leaving!" I yell.

She challenges me with her stare. Fuck me, her eyes. They're my favorite color—grey. Not too dull, but not too bright either. My kind of eyes.

Fuck. I need to control. I'm losing control of the situation. All because of this girl and everything about her. I haven't even had a decent conversation with this girl and she's already driving me wild.

"You sure about that?" she seethes. "Because I can tell you first-hand that this sword is real. One wrong move and you're dead."

My street name's Deadbeat for a reason, I smirk.

I need to get out of her grasp, fast. I'm not the one to underestimate my opponent—if I push her buttons a little more, she might just drive that sword straight into my chest and I don't want to take that chance. The first thing I do is assess her stance. Her legs are glued together, which makes it easier for me to engage.

With one last look at the weapon pointing towards me, I duck quickly, then reach down to grasp the handle of the blade and swing behind her so now I'm the one holding the sword against her neck. She staggers backwards, knocking into my chest. I'm holding her neck steady against her but I have a feeling it's not going to last because her ass is touching my front and I'm certain she can feel how aroused I am by this situation.

Now's not a good time to get excited, dick. I'm trying to win a fight here.

Taking a deep breath, I sigh. "I would let go of the weapon, but I'm afraid I can't let you go. I'm afraid you're going to kick my balls or something."

"You're right. Because I would." She snarls at me.

"I'm going to call the cops. Hand me your phone."

"Like hell I will!" She snaps. "Get your own damn phone!"

"It's on the ground. And I can't get it without letting you go."

"At least you're not that dumb." She snorts.

"Hey!" I glare at her. "Listen to me, girl. I don't want you stepping foot into my house again. You hear me? I'm going to tell my dad to get extra security so you can never step foot in here again."

Her body immediately stills. She turns her head sideways so she can see me.

"Who's your father?" She asks me.

I stare at her blankly, wondering why on earth would she ask that. "Baxton Deneris."

She closes her eyes, then swears under her breath. "Fuck."

So she has heard of my father. Of course she has. He's everywhere. You'd be a fool if you didn't know Baxton Deneris.

"Yeah, that's right, girl," I say. "Don't mess with me. I have authority here. My dad can put you in jail."

She laughs but there's nothing humorless about it. "He won't. Because he knows I'm here."

Wait, what?

"You're lying. You're saying that because you're trying to undermine me," I scoff. "Bitch, you think I don't know? I'm a fighter. I know how people think. I assess them, I dive into their minds, break their shields-"

"Shut up," she rolls her eyes, "and get the phone. Call him if you don't believe me."

I lift the sword a little higher. "No."

"Jackson. Just do it."

My body freezes. "How do you know my name?"

No, scratch that. How does she know my real name? I go by Jax. I always go by Jax.

The girl doesn't answer me because as if on cue, my phone vibrates on the ground. She gives me The Look and shrugs, clearly waiting for me to answer it.

Cursing under my breath, I let go of her, but I make a habit of aiming the sword at her, even if she knows I would do no damage to her body. Her body is too damn perfect for me to even leave a scratch. I glare at her one more time before retrieving the phone from the floor. Sure enough, it's my dad.

"What?" I snap. "I'm kind of in the middle of something here."

The girl grins at me, her lips curving upwards. She nods to the phone and mouths put it on loudspeaker.

I narrow my eyes at her, but does as she say.

"Oh, thank god," my dad says out of relief. "I almost forgot to tell you-"

"Hi, Mr. Deneris," the girl greets my dad warmly. Her voice changed; it's sweet and innocent. This makes me hate her even more because I wish she'd use that voice on me. "It's Blaire."

Blaire. Blaire. Blaire. Blaire. That's her name. I can't stop repeating it in my head.

"Oh," my dad mumbles. "Oh, hey, Blaire. I didn't realize I was on the phone. So you've met Jax."

"Yes, I have." She says, glaring at me, but her voice is still very much alluring.

"In that case, I'm happy you guys got acquainted," my dad says, satisfied. "Jax, I was going to tell you-"

"What does this mean?" My eyes fall upon the girl—Blaire—then back to the phone. "Who the fuck is this girl, dad?"

My dad pauses before saying. "She's my friend's daughter. And she's going to be your housemate for the summer, Jackson."

☸☸☸☸☸☸

A/N: Dedicated to AYClaudy because our names are practically the same and she dedicated a chapter of Ride to me a few days ago. And also because I'm currently reading Ride and am loving it already!

Anyways, that was the first chapter! How are we feeling? I love Jax's voice. He's such an asshole but I love him. And what do you guys think of Blaire? I'd love to know.

I'll try to update soon, perhaps by this weekend. I have like 5 more weeks till THE EXAMS and I'm freaking out, so I won't be able to update as often but I'll try my best!

Meanwhile, you can check me out on all my social networks!

Twitter- claudiaoverhere

Instagram-claudiaaatan

Periscope-claudiaoverhere

Also, I will most probably doing a live broadcast on Periscope this Saturday at about 10am-11am EST. Do stay tuned for that! I'll be talking about loads of things like Wattpad, how I write, books I'm reading, where I live. You can ask me all sorts of questions and I will be answering all of them! So make sure you tune into my Periscope broadcast!

Love, Claudia.