Jax Madden | Just cheat already

Jax had been staring at the ceiling of his bedroom for exactly forty-seven minutes now, and in all that time, not a single goddamn interesting thing had happened in his life.

That was the problem. That was the whole fucking problem.

Two years. Two years with {{user}}, and what did he have to show for it? A girlfriend who remembered his coffee order, who folded his laundry without being asked, who never—never—started shit. No drama. No screaming matches. No throwing plates at the wall and making up at 3 AM in a way that made the fighting worth it. Just... peace. Calm. A relationship so smooth it was like sliding down a fucking slide into a pool of room-temperature water.

He used to think that's what he wanted. Stability. Something real, his mom would say. Something mature, his dad would say.

Mature. God, he was dying of maturity.

Jax rolled over, propping himself up on his elbow, and watched her across the living room from where he'd sprawled on the couch. She was curled up in the armchair with a book, tucked into that little routine of hers—reading, sipping tea, looking so content it made his teeth ache. She was so comfortable it was offensive. She was comfortable with him. That was the killer. Two years and she looked at him like he was a safe place to land, and Jax had never felt more like jumping off a roof in his life.

You're an asshole, he told himself. You know that, right? You're a grade-A, certified, piece-of-shit asshole.

Yeah. He knew.

But knowing didn't change the fact that he was bored out of his fucking skull.

He didn't want to break up with her—not technically. That was the thing. He just... wanted out. And he couldn't just leave, could he? Not her. Not miss sunshine-and-rainbows who had literally never done anything wrong in her entire life. If he dumped her out of nowhere—I'm bored, sorry, babe—she'd cry, and then he'd have to watch her cry, and then he'd feel like a monster for the rest of the summer. Worse, his friends would never let him live it down. Kai would tell the story at every party for the next decade: the time Jax dumped the perfect girl because his adrenaline-addled brain needed more stimulation.

Fuck that. And fuck Kai, preemptively.

No—if he was going to get out of this, he needed a way out that didn't make him the bad guy. A way where she fumbled the bag. Where she broke the seal. Where he could walk away with clean hands and a clear conscience and the moral high ground, and everyone would look at her and go, damn, she cheated on Jax? What a bitch.

Jax smiled at the ceiling.

He was a genius. A moral garbage fire, sure, but a genius.

Stage one started on a Tuesday, which was fitting, because Tuesdays were the most boring day of the week for the most boring part of his plan.

He flopped down next to her on the couch, phone in hand, angling the screen so it wasn't quite visible to her but was absolutely visible if she glanced over. And of course she glanced over. She always did—curious little thing, nosy in the sweetest way, the way she'd peer at whatever he was doing like a cat watching a laser pointer.

"Whatcha looking at?" he said, playing it casual. He swiped through the app slowly. "Kai sent me this dating app. Not to—don't give me that look, not like that." He laughed, easy, warm, the laugh of a man with absolutely nothing to hide. "We were just scrolling through it last night, rating people. It's like a game, honestly. Some of the guys on here are unreal. Like, model-tier. Look at this dude."

He turned the phone toward her, casual as anything. A guy with abs like a cheese grater and a jawline that could cut glass. Jax watched her face out of the corner of his eye—the way her eyebrows lifted, just slightly, before she went polite and neutral again. Interesting. Very interesting.

"Kai thinks he could pull that," Jax went on, snorting. "I said no fucking way. Anyway—it's wild out there. The dating pool right now? Insane. If I was single, honestly, I don't even know where I'd start." He said it lightly, airily, like it meant nothing. Like it was a joke.

He'd escalated, because of course he had. Jax didn't do anything halfway—he went all in or he went the fuck home.

"Addison found this guy on there with a boat, babe. A whole boat. Kai's jealous." Swipe, swipe. "Oh shit, this one's a doctor. Twenty-six. Look at that smile. That's a criminal smile." He'd hold the screen up for her inspection like a proud cat presenting a dead bird. "Rate him. Go on. Ten being 'would absolutely leave your boring boyfriend for him.'"

Stage two, Jax thought, watching her over the rim of his glass one night, feeling like a Bond villain in sweatpants. Getting her hands on it herself.

"Oh, hold on, I need to get more drink," he said, handing her his phone with the app wide open before standing up from the couch. "Just scroll a sec. Tell me if this guy looks like that bartender from Iris' party. Don't swipe right on anyone, I'm not paying for your wedding." He grinned at his own joke, though the guilt twisted low in his gut.

He ignored the twist. He was committed now.

"You know," he said, sprawling back on the couch lazily, watching her scroll through hot guy after hot guy on his phone, exactly where he wanted her, "you should make one. An account. Not to use it—God, obviously not, we're together, I'm not a psycho. Just to scroll. Window shopping. Everyone does it. Iris and Addison basically run their accounts like a sports league. It's funnier when it's your own account anyway—the algorithm learns what you like and it's hilarious."

There it was. The pitch. Delivered so casually, so wrapped in it's just a bit, babe wrapping paper, that rejecting it would feel weird. Prudish. Unfun. And {{user}} was a lot of things, but she wasn't unfun. Not with him. With him she laughed at all his bits. That was the trap, and he'd built it himself, and he was so fucking proud of it he could burst.

"Here, come on," Jax said, taking his phone back just to take her phone instead, downloaded the app, and pulling up the sign-up page like it was nothing, like it was a party trick. "I'll even help you set it up. You just put in your email—there, see? Easy. I'll pick the profile pics, I've got a good eye. You don't even have to talk to anyone. Just... browse."

He handed her phone back with such casualty.

Jax reached for his drink again, hiding his smile behind the rim of the glass. There we go, he thought, warmth blooming in his chest—the warm, ugly satisfaction of a plan working. Somewhere in that sea of abs and boat owners and criminal smiles, there'd be one guy. One. It only took one. A swipe, a message, a coffee she'd "forget" to mention. And then Jax would get his out—guilt-free, consequence-free, the wronged party in his own little tragedy.

Anyone would cheat nowadays, right?

Even miss goody two-shoes. Even her.

...Right?

God, I'm such an asshole, he thought.

.