chapter ELEVEN
One of the beautiful things about Hawaii is that every day is like waking up on vacation. Just sitting up in bed bathing in the Polynesian sunshine—the island welcomes me daily. I stretch, reaching high toward the ceiling and give myself a morning shake.
Standing, I look in the mirror finding my hair a tattered mess and yesterday’s mascara smudged under my lids. Still, I give myself a nod and a quirky grin. “Today will be a good day.” My reflection agrees.
Wrapping myself in my thick, oversized robe, I walk into the hallway, unsure if Kelli has unexpected company. Most days I’m up and out of the apartment well before she’s awake, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been surprised by a rogue man on my couch eating Anatolia Granola in his boxers. We may have left Manhattan, but some things never change.
Luckily, the apartment is empty, and Kelli is still fast asleep in her room.
I walk into the bathroom and start my morning routine. Once I’m freshly showered, I slide into white shorts and a V-neck polo. When I finish my French braid, I apply extra thick mascara to my lashes. After stepping into my Doc Martens, I appraise myself in the mirror. My appearance says I’m a well-put-together woman who is confident at her job and self-assured—if only people knew what went on beneath the exterior.
“You got this,” I say to myself as I head out the door.
I hop into my Wrangler and start my commute toward the Kauai Princess. The drive takes me down Maluhia Road where a beautiful canopy of eucalyptus trees line the shoulder creating a tree tunnel. The sun peeks through the leaves as I drive down with my windows open and feel the wind on my skin.
“Good morning,” I greet Lani as I walk up to the reception desk. “You look well-rested for someone who went out last night.
She scrunches her perky, little nose. “I asked Jason to bring me home early. Tutu got in my head.” Her bangle bracelets bang on the desk as she talks. “It’s not a good thing when your grandmother is in your head while you’re giving head.”
I try to cover my ears, but it’s no use.
“She’s of the older generation. She expects people to behave a certain way,” I say sincerely. “She means well.”
In melodramatic fashion, she throws her hands up to the gods. “Why do I have to belong to a culture that values their elders as much as we do.”
“I think I’m following.”
Her hands drop to her sides as she explains, “I told Jason we cannot be intimate anymore until he meets my Tutu.”
“And he said no?”
“That’s the problem. He said yes! As in he’d be honored to meet my Tutu. As in, this relationship is going in a serious direction. As in, he’s kind of ecstatic about it.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Is it? Am I a one man kinda girl? I just started my sexual journey. I should be having one-night stands and trying on boyfriends like I would new pants. How many men have you been with? Four?”
I want to tell her she’s right, but my sex life is not what we should be discussing right now. “You should experiment a little, but don’t just try on any pair of pants. Stick to the cotton, dependable ones. Silk may look good, but it’s a bitch to keep clean.”
“Don’t mock my troubles—or my analogies.”
With a small laugh, I have a hard time concealing, I walk around the desk and give her a hug. At the end of our embrace, I grab onto her shoulders and tell her, “Jason’s not proposing marriage. He just wants to meet Auli’i. It’ll be fine.”
She gives a reassuring nod. “Will you come?”
“Me? Why? That would be weird.”
She grabs onto my hand and pleads with her eyes. “No. It’ll make it easier. How’s Wednesday? Please, come and be the buffer, so Jason doesn’t freak out and leave me because he thinks my grandmother is too intense?”
“I thought you were concerned he was going to want to get married? You need to prioritize your freak outs. It’s hard to keep track.”
“I don’t like any of it.”
“Did you really start thinking of your grandmother while, you know…”
“It was awful. And then he asked me what was on my mind, so I told him and well,” she lifts a finger in the air and then slowly curls it down until it’s wilted. “It was sad.”
“That is quite unfortunate.” The thought of Jason’s lost erection makes me turn my head to escape the imagery. Something outside catches my attention, and I look out the back door and see Benji walking by the pool area. “I’ll be right back.”
I scurry through the lobby doors and hightail it toward Benji. When I reach him, I grab his shoulder and turn him around.
“Mornin’, Nani!” His teeth gleam against his dark brown skin.
“Don’t beautiful me. What the hell is wrong with you?” Based on the ever-growing smile on his face, I can see he doesn’t comprehend my agitation. “Throwing daggers at a guest? You are out of your mind!” My voice is raised, and my hands burst out erratically.
“Rafael gave meh permission. I’m certified now.”
“Yes, but you were supposed to find an assistant.”
“I did. Isaiah told me Fish Bait was talkin’ stink so we thought we’d geev ‘em a lesson. It was good fun.”
I rub my head. “You need a release for something like that. What if he sues us?”
“I did nah hit him.”
“You scared him half to death.”
“That dude was nah scared.”
With a stomp of my foot, I exclaim, “You have no idea if he was or wasn’t. He’s my guest, and you don’t mess with one of my people. Right or wrong, good or bad, we don’t play games like that.”
He scowls at me. “Dats funny. I heard ya had his tingy waxed.”
“He did that voluntarily.”
“And da Volcanorita?”
“Benji, I’ll say this again, and you can tell Isaiah, leave Jackson Davis alone or you’ll have to answer to me.” I hear the irony in my voice.
“Fine. I never saw yah get so heated. We bruddahs got a special feeling for you. ‘Cause Trish is special.” His brows waggle as he says the words.
I roll my eyes at his sweet talk. “Thank you, Benji.”
I watch as Benji walks toward the Tiki Bar. When I turn around, my body comes to a halt at the site of a pensive Jax standing against a column. His hands are in his pockets, while his eyes are trained on mine, slightly squinted and appraising.
My heart pounds, unsure of how much of that conversation he heard. By the look on his face, I assume it was most of it.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t defending you.”
He shakes his head. “Never would have imagined.”
“I was merely protecting the integrity of my guests. If they act so freely with you, they’ll think they can do anything to anyone.”
“What do you have planned for today?” His voice is smooth and steady.
My brows rise. “You still want to do this?”
“Last night, I had knives thrown at my head. I’m pretty sure I can handle anything.” His dedication to this deal makes me antsy.
I jump in place and give a little shake. “Great. We’re going golfing.”
“You golf?”
“Not really, but I know how to drive the cart. What about you? You game?”
The right side of his mouth rises. It’s impossibly disarming.
“Always.”
…
“I love you.”
“No, I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“I love you more more.”
“You’re my stallion.”
“I can’t wait to get you back into our room.”
“Whoa! Getting handsy there, Mr. Waimer,” Shayna Waimer laugh-talks as she playfully swats her husband on the arm. She turns to Jax and me who are staring at them, dumbfounded. “He just pinched my butt. Can you believe him? This man.” She looks up into his eyes with a dreamy expression.
“Who are these people?” Jax asks out the side of his mouth while staring straight at them.
“They’re our partners this afternoon.” I, too, speak to Jax from the side of the smile plastered on my face as I look at Mark and Shayna Waimer outfitted in matching plaid shorts. She has on a tank top that says—you guessed it—“The Mrs.” emblazoned on the front, while he sports a teal Lacoste golf polo.
Jax turns to me, forcing me to face him. “I thought you said we were golfing?”
“We are.” I grin. “As a foursome.” I’m oddly proud of myself for today’s plan. The Wiamer’s are annoyingly affectionate, and they demand all of the attention in a room, therefore leaving no opportunity for Jax to manipulate the conversation in anyway—in other words, he won’t be able to talk about the past.
“I think I’d rather down a bottle of sriracha.”
“Tried that and you survived.” I pat him on the arm. “Today, you suffer a new kind of torture.”
“You’re cute when you’re plotting.”
With a pointed finger, I admonish, “Oh no. Don’t be nice.”
“When have I been mean?”
“Just…” My brain draws a blank. I hate being put on the spot. “Let’s go. I’m driving.”
“Another ‘gent to spend the morning kicking a ball along the greens with.” Mark extends a hand toward Jax.
“Are you British?” Jax asks.
Mark grimaces. “No. I just like to throw on an accent every now and then.”
Shayna grabs onto Mark’s bicep and adds, “Mark does the most adorable French impression. Do it for them, bae.”
Mark doesn’t miss a beat and immediately pouts his lip and lowers his brows. With a hand to his mouth like he’s smoking a cigarette, he says, “I cannot resist such a beautiful woman. I must have her in my bed at night.”
It is, quite possibly, the worst accent I’ve ever heard.
Shayna clearly thinks the opposite. “You are so sexy when you go Parisian.”
Mark leans his forehead against hers. “I can do more for you tonight when we are alone.”
“Oui, oui,” she breathes.
“Shall we get started?” I clap my hands to gain their attention.
I hop into the golf cart and turn the key. Before Jax has a chance to sit in the passenger seat, I call for Shayna to take it. As she slides in, I think I see a flash of disappointment on Jax’s face.
Since we get many travelers here on business, the golf club at the Kauai Princess has a four-seater cart that is available by reservation only. It was ordered last year when a U.S. Ambassador requested it so his high-profile discussions could still be had while traveling from one hole to the next. There are two rows of seating and four golf club holders in the back.
The men sit in the back row with Mark behind Shayna and Jax behind me. I take off down the plumeria-lined path to the first hole. The sun is bright, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky.
“So, Jax,” I hear Mark say in the back. “How did you and your girl meet?”
I interject. “We’re not a—”
“She was friends with my little sister.”
Shayna gives me a nudge. “Oooh, hot, older man—the best friend’s brother—sounds scandalous. Did you tell your mom you were sleeping over your friend’s house and then sneak away to make out with him?”
“No.” I lie. I catch Jax’s eye.
Jax continues, “The first time we met was at Carvel.”
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t. It was my freshman year of high school at your parent’s house.” I turn to Shayna, “I was doing a group project with his sister and some other kids.”
Jax ignores me and continues talking to Mark. “It was a year earlier. I was fifteen, and a group of us were getting ice cream. My lacrosse coach took everyone out because we won our first divisional game. I’d gotten this huge, mint chocolate chip ice cream on a waffle cone. I was walking away from the window when I saw this little girl on the side. Her head was down and her lower lip poked out—it was absolutely heartbreaking. I heard someone ask if she wanted ice cream, but she had forgotten her money at home. My heart broke. I mean, she had these puppy dog eyes and the saddest, little smile on her. I didn’t have any more money; otherwise I would’ve bought her a cone, so instead, I gave her mine.”
“Oooh, that’s the sweetest story ever,” Shayna beams.
I look in the rearview mirror and see Jax holding up a finger. “No, it’s not. She took the cone and shoved it in my face—said she didn’t take charity.”
Shayna turns her body toward Jax. “What did you do?”
“I wiped the ice cream off, looked right into her eyes and kissed her on the cheek. I may have only been fifteen, but I knew a spitfire when I saw one—she was definitely a girl I was never going to forget. When she showed up at my school two years later, I had to get to know her.”
I thought he forgot that memory. It was my first kiss.—even if it was only on the cheek—it was a big deal at the time. A boy had kissed me.
I chance a glance in the rearview to see Jax’s head lowered and a soft smile on his face. I shake off the feeling it gives me and put my eyes on the path as I turn toward the tee at the first hole.
“That’s so romantic,” Shayna says. “Have you been together since you were fourteen?”
I stop the car and give Jax a heated warning with my eyes—we agreed not to talk about our past. It was part of the deal—a very important rule he is breaking.
The understanding of what I’m conveying in my stare resonating in his words. “We fell out of touch for a long time. I just happened to have run into her here on vacation.”
“So you were Draking?” Mark uses the term like it's a common phrase and then explains, “It means you were wallowing over a girl. You know, like the singer Drake.”
I turn to Shayna. “The GPS will assist you with your swing. Would you like me to show you how to use it?”
Turns out, Mark and Shayna are excellent golfers. They belong to a club near their home in Atlanta. Jax takes a few practice swings before hitting the ball. From the fairway, Mark and Shayna are talking about Jax having “crushed it” hitting it straight down to the green and near the flag.
“Your turn, Trish.” Shayna’s words cause me to turn around. The three of them are standing on the side, apparently waiting for me.
I hold up a hand as I explain, “I don’t golf.”
Trish points to the golf bag. “But you brought clubs?”
I curl an arm around my side and wave them off. “I don’t feel like it. I’ll just watch.”
“No way,” Jax says, walking to the cart and pulling the driver out of the bag. “What I do, you do.”
With a hand on my hip, I argue, “I’m here. You have hours of me, here on the golf course. I don’t have to actually play.”
“You’re intimidated,” he says entirely too loudly.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You hate not being good at something—it makes you question your ability and then your intelligence.”
“Calm down there, Doctor Phil. I just don’t feel like golfing today.”
“You do this to yourself all the time. You saw us hit the ball straight and now you’re panicked that you won’t do it as well, so you’re backing out.”
I look down at the ground and then up to the side before finally settling on the hem of his cargo shorts. “You hardly know anything about me.”
He gets closer, his voice lower than before. His words only for me to hear. “I know how your eyes dart to the side when you’re mad. I know you twirl the ends of your braid when you’re thinking about something important. And I know when you bite on the inside of your mouth, you’re nervous. Those are tells you’ve had since you were fourteen.”
“Maybe I’ve changed?” I whisper.
He leans in even closer, his lips right up to my ear. “Your leg hasn’t stopped shaking, and your hands are twitching—those are new. I saw them in the hospital, and they’re back right now. Is it me that makes you so nervous or just life?”
My gaze is focused on the navy-blue t-shirt he’s wearing and how his chest is defined through the thin fabric, and the sweet aroma of honey pouring off his warmed skin.
I look up and catch his Adam’s apple as he swallows hard. When I dare meet his eyes, they’re staring down at me, as if they already know the answer.
“You.” I let out a long breath.
“Good. Then golf shouldn’t be so scary after all.”
Before I know it, Jax has the ball on the ground and me standing alongside it.
When he steps back, I get myself into the stance. I’ve golfed with my dad enough times to know what to do. With my feet shoulder-width apart and my knees slightly bent, I grab the driver, wind up, and hit the ball…into the rough.
My shoulder sinks as I look up into the sky—this is why I didn’t want to play anymore.
“May I?” Jax is at my side. “Let me show you something.”
I wave him off. “It’s fine. I’ll play it.”
“No way. We don’t mind giving you another shot. Right guys?” He turns to Mark and Shayna who adamantly tell me to try again.
Feeling ten kinds of embarrassed, I give in to Jax and hand him my club. “Fine.”
He stands behind me and wraps his hands around my waist, placing the driver in my hands. My body stills at the feeling of his lean, muscular body up against mine. Jax is like an old, warm blanket wrapped around me on a cool night.
“Hold it like this, tucking the thumb of your left hand inside your right palm.” His callused hands are gentle while they adjust my grip. When he’s done, he lays his hands over mine, raising it up to the right. “Now, wind up, bringing the club up and around, and follow through.”
Leaning into my body, we swing together just as he described. With each motion, I can’t help but feel every inch of him from his strong biceps to his pectorals hard against my back, and all the way down to his groin and the feeling of him so close to my backside. I have to control my breaths to remind myself these emotions can’t exist between us anymore.
“Lean into your left leg and shift your weight forward.” We do it again, this time allowing my back leg to bend as the weight shifts off of it and pivoting on my toe to continue the follow through.
With great ease, he continues to hold me, guiding me through the swing. Our legs are practically molded together so when I bend and pivot, he’s right there beside me.
“You got this,” he murmurs into my ear, and it sends a shiver down my back.
When he steps away, I feel naked and cold despite the warm Hawaiian sun. I watch as he places another ball on the tee.
With a few steadying breaths, I reposition myself in front of the ball. I look to the side, cringing at the mere sight of them staring at me—judging me, being overly critical…
“Close your eyes,” Jax speaks softly. “Forget we’re here. Just close your eyes, and do what I just showed you.”
I do as he says. I recall the feel of Jax behind me, the way his body pressed to mine, and it instantly calms me. I imagine his hands over mine, gripping the club, and feel every ripple of his body nestled firmly to against my back. Together in my mind, we pull it straight back, and with a rush, we swing and follow through, pivoting with the action.
“That’s my girl!” Jax bellows.
Shana’s claps are right behind it. I open my eyes just in time to see the ball land on the fairway. It’s not as far as I’d have liked it to go, but at least it’s straight.
“Everyone load back in!” Mark says as he hops into the cart.
When I turn to look at Jax, I don’t get anything. He’s walking back to the cart like nothing happened. It’s probably for the better. I’m not entirely sure what, if anything, happened either.
We make it through the next few rounds with few rough instances. Mark got this ball in a sand bunker, and Shayna lost one in the water. Somewhere around the fourth hole, we find a groove and the conversation between us picks up.
“What is it you do, Jax?” Mark asks.
“Musician,” he confirms, as Shayna takes her swing.
“Got anything we may have heard?” Mark asks.
“Not really.”
“Die a Happy Man,” I interject. Honestly, the idea of him being modest is just ridiculous. “It’s on the radio right now.”
Jax’s head shoots up as if he’s surprised I’d even know the song.
“Oh my God, we love that song!” Shaman exclaims.
Mark’s eyebrows squish together. “I don’t know it.”
She walks up to him and starts singing, “If I ever, ever got together with you.” She lengthens the you for a long time, just like they do in the song. “I’d die a happy man.” Her voice cracks at the end.
Mark’s hand is enthusiastically pointing at Shayna as his body bounces up and down. “I do know that one.” With a loud bellow, he sings, “It’s this one man’s stand to change the Maker’s plan and forget all the pain we created in the rain. I won’t give-up the fight. I’ll die making it right for you.” Mark howls as he sings the last word.
The words of the song are pretty. I’m about to comment on it when Shayna joins Mark and the two sing enthusiastically into their drivers. “I was laying in the bed, dying in the sheet. When you appeared, I thought it was a dream. An angel by my side, couldn’t ignore the heat.
“When you disappeared, I found out life was mean. Just me and my sins. I’m going for the win. And I won’t stop till I get back with you.” They don’t do the long dramatic singing of the word ‘you’ because they drop their clubs, grab onto each other, and start making out, right on the green of hole four.
Shayna’s arms are wrapped around Mark’s head while his hands violently grip her ass.
My face pulls in as I try to avert my gaze.
Jax just stares at them with his head tilted in confusion. He makes a loud noise from inside his throat to get their attention.
Mark comes up for air first, his hands still holding onto Shayna. “Sorry. We love that song.”
“Thanks. I wrote it.” Jax’s guileless words make my head shoot up in his direction. He catches my shocked expression. “Why do you look so surprised?”
“I just thought you played the guitar. Didn’t know you wrote the songs, too.”
Shayna steps away from Mark and adjusts her shirt before looking up to Jax. “You rock. That’s amazing. I can’t believe we’re here with a celebrity.”
Jax starts walking back to the cart. “Hardly. I left the band.”
Mark stops. His eyes are wide, and his arms are outstretched. “Why would you do that?”
Jax gives a half shrug. “More important things to take care of.” He’s in the cart quickly with Mark on his heel asking a million questions about being a rock star.
Shayna grabs my arm. “I need all the dirt. I bet he’s an amazing kisser.”
“The best,” I say before I realize what I just confessed. Luckily, Jax and Mark are out of earshot.
…
The morning progresses with Mark and Shayna asking Jax anything they can think of about the music industry. Jax continues to evade their enthusiasm, promising them his mediocre success is not as badass as they make it out to be.
Speaking of making out, they do it—a lot. Yes, it’s exactly what I expected. I planned on it being super annoying for Jax. Turns out—I’m the one who’s internally cringing.
“Do you think they’re gonna do that after every hole?” I ask Jax as we watch Mark and Shayna play tonsil hockey when she gets a birdie on the ninth.
“My money is on yes.”
“Ugh.” I can’t help but orally display my annoyance.
“It’s refreshing.”
While I make a mock gag face, he watches them as someone would two doves in a tree—with a peaceful gaze and a keen interest in nature’s beauty.
“What’s refreshing?” I ask, looking at the Waimer’s plaid hips congealed together.
Jax doesn’t miss a beat. “Seeing a couple so into each other they want to vocally and physically express it with one another.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He gives a light nod. “I am. I like them.”
I do, too. While I may have an issue with their public displays of affection, I really like the Waimers. They’re excited about everything and have a zest for life.
“Why does their affection make you uncomfortable?” Jax asks, his attention now on me as I rub the back of my neck. “We were always holding hands and kissing when we were together. Granted we had to hide because your parents wouldn’t let you date, but if we could have, we would totally have made out on a golf course.”
“We were teenagers—they’re grown adults. There’s a difference.”
He looks at my arms crossed in front of my body.
“When’s the last time you were affectionate with someone?” he asks, and I shoot him a dirty look.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is.”
I want to punch him for thinking so.
“That guy you dated. You never kissed him at a club or straddled his lap in a park?”
Rehashing our past is hard enough to avoid. Looking into my relationships with men since Jax is a whole other ballgame. I won’t let him have this conversation-not here, not anywhere. “We were doing fine today. Why do you always have to push things to the next level? Leave it alone.”
His eyes travel from my chest and the way I’m taking in quick breaths to the strum of my fingers on my forearm.
“Fine,” he says in defeat.
“The wife and I have a favor to ask.” Mark’s words break our mention. We turn to him. He grabs Shayna’s hand and kisses it, then says to Jax, “Will you sing at our vow renewal?”
“You were just married,” I state.
Shayna smiles and explains, “We’re doing it again. This time, just us. No family or itinerary.”
Mark jumps in. “No big dress and uncomfortable suit. Just a man and a woman making a promise to spend forever with each other.”
“I’d be honored,” Jax answers without hesitation. “Just let me know when and where and I’ll be there.”
“Great.” Shayna jumps up and down. “Now, we have another favor to ask.” She looks at Mark and back to us. “We want to go back to the room. The excitement of today has us feeling a little—”
“Yeah,” I say, not wanting to hear about how randy they are.
Doesn’t matter, because Mark then throws out the words, “Ben wa balls.”
I gasp. “Oh my God.”
Shayna holds out a hand. “We heard you talking to the girl at the desk, and we really want to try them. Where can we get them?”
I blink a few times in disbelief they’re actually having this conversation with me. Right here. Right now.
“Online,” I answer.
Shayna bites her lip. “We’ll save that for the second honeymoon when we go home. We have plenty of toys in our room to keep us occupied.” She pulls Mark back to the cart.
Jax is giving me a discerning smirk. “Do I want to know?”
I ignore his question. “What do you want to do? Keep playing or head back?”
My tone must have sent a clear message that the rapport we had is gone because he bites his lip and looks down. His forehead is crinkled as he says, “Head back.”
I’m half relieved and half disappointed by his response.
While I don’t want to play the game anymore, it shouldn’t bother me that Jax is actually giving up on an opportunity to spend time with me. Yet, for some reason, it hurts.
We get into the cart and drive to the clubhouse. When we tell Mark and Shayna we’ll return the clubs, they’re more than excited to head off to what I assume will be a blissful afternoon in bed…sans ben wa balls, that is.
We walk to the clubhouse in silence and head to the shuttle that will take us to the hotel.
Jax sits in the front row while I go to the rear. A few more people come on board and spend the duration of the trip talking about their morning on the greens and their dinner plans for tonight. They’re loud and boisterous and a stark contrast to the two people anchoring the inside of the van, so far apart yet tethered to one other. I may not be near him, but I can feel him—I’m not sure if the connection is a noose or a lifeline, and it’s confusing the hell out of me.
I can’t see his face, but I can see his head. The entire ride it’s bowed and doesn’t move until we get to the Kauai Princess. He’s the first off the shuttle, and I wait my turn as the six other people unload.
He appears at my side as I step down off the shuttle. I walk slowly toward the hotel with Jax next to me, and our feet are practically in synch as we march into the lobby and past the koi pond. We head down the open-air hallway to the elevator that leads to the Pele suite.
He hits the button for the elevator, which arrives promptly. As the doors open, I turn to go back to the lobby.
“Trish.”
The imploring tone in his voice forces me to turn around. He’s standing in front of the elevator with his hands in his pockets, and his head bowed slightly, and his soulful caramel-colored eyes look straight into mine.
“I think I’ve been doing this wrong,” he says. The elevator closes behind him, but he doesn’t seem to care. “I don’t want to make you spend time with me. I want you to want to spend time with me. Is that something you’d be interested in doing?”
He quickly throws in, “Don’t answer that. I’d love for you to come out on a catamaran with me.”
“You mean one of those small tourist boats they rent on the beach?”
“I promise, if you come, I won’t make you do anything else. We’ll just spend time together for the rest of the afternoon, and that’s it. Then, I’ll spend the next two days hanging out by the pool. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Breaking eye contact, I turn my head to the side. For some unknown reason, water builds behind my eyes. I smash my lips together, hard, willing my brain to keep them behind my lids and dare not let a single one slip down my cheek.
This reaction scares the hell out of me—for a moment, I believed he was done wanting to be with me, and the idea of needing to be near him this badly is the absolute worst thing I could feel.
Jax Davis has the power to destroy me.
I muster up some sass. “Are you worried I’m going to make you dress up as Elvis and sing Blue Hawaii at the next luau?”
Not even fazed by my response he offers me a weak grimace. “I’m worried you’ll spend so much time trying to find the next great way to hurt, annoy, or embarrass me that you’ll miss out on actually getting to know me.”
I don’t know why, but against my better judgment, I throw all caution aside. “Fine.”