Eight years earlier…
“THE BIG MAN ON CAMPUS can’t find a girl to dance with?” I surprise Jaxson as he stares out into the crowd of celebrating guests.
His head turns and glares down, his beautiful green eyes with dark framing lashes marking me the intruder to his quiet contemplation.
“Your mom makes my uncle so goddamn happy,” he comments sincerely. “I should thank her for that.”
In all the months it’s taken to get to know Jaxson, I don’t remember a single instance when he’s voiced a thought with such reverence.
Fascinating.
Both our gazes stare off at my mom and his uncle. They’re standing together behind the wedding table, toward the front of the room.
My mom is wearing a very nice, but very simple cream dress. Amelia told her she was beautiful, swearing she looked the part of happy wife-to-be. I said she looked great, but I would’ve preferred she had gotten the dress I picked out. The fiery red piece that came with a white sash and silver tiara.
From here, Mason appears to be suffering in his gray and black suit. Again, where Amelia told him he looked handsome, I informed him he looked crazy civilized. I’m certain he sided with me, considering after my comment he fought off Connie, my mom’s best friend, as she attempted another go at perfecting his tie.
Mason’s arm is tightly wrapped around my mom’s waist, her left hand flattened against his broad chest. The diamond ring he put on her finger only an hour ago shines beneath the dimly lit lights of the glass chandeliers hanging from above.
The two are smiling happily for the crowd. Well, Mom’s smiling. Mason appears to be pouting. My guess is my best buddy is tired of welcoming and thanking guests. No doubt he can’t wait to ship Amelia and me off to our dad’s for the week, so he and Mom can get a head start on ‘confirming their marital bliss’—his words, not mine.
Gross.
“Lucky” by Jason Mraz and Colby Caillat plays quietly in the speaker beside Jaxson and me. The music must have been Mom’s choice. Mason loves classic country and doesn’t deter from his preference often. This hip-hop, cheery little ditty must be adding to his impatience. That or how slowly the time passing is.
I smile at the big guy’s patience being tested and bite my cheek when he catches me gloating from across the room. Mason narrows his eyes at my amusement. I return the glare with one of my own. My attempt isn’t nearly as effective. He laughs first. Then I follow.
Jaxson looks down, his eyes wandering over my playful expression and he smiles. “Jesus, you’re such a shit.”
“I am,” I adamantly agree. “Now you wanna answer my question?”
“What question was that?” he presses.
“College boy doesn’t have anyone to dance with?”
Shaking his head, he returns his regard to the happy couple. “Haven’t found a girl in this place I’d consider asking.”
“Well, I guess the guy standing next to the water cooler has potential,” I play.
Jaxson and I both study the poor sap wiping the sleeves of his jacket from water. The pool of it sits at his feet, his cup empty.
“Shut it, asshole,” he returns, slighted.
I’d dance with Jaxson if he asked. I’d go back to the lake right now and let him dunk me in the water again, even in the cold of spring if he wanted. Heck, I’d follow him off the face of the earth if he’d let me.
Over the last nine months, Jaxson and I have texted more than a few times.
In the beginning, on the rare occasion I’d catch one of his calls to Mason, I’d pick up. Rather than give the phone away, as I should’ve, I made it a point to drag out the conversation much longer than necessary. I’ll say, Jaxson never seemed annoyed by this at all. At least he’s never told me he was.
After our first meeting, where he tossed me in the lake, then gave me a piggyback ride back to the house because I was complaining about a feigned ankle injury, conversation and interaction between us was easy.
Those first three weeks with Jaxson were filled with late mornings, walks to the beach, swimming, soccer games and practices, and late-night talks. We saw one movie together and it was a bust. Jaxson hates romance of any kind. I do too, but it was fun to watch him suffer through two hours of sad goodbyes.
Since, whether it be an occasional phone call or text, we’ve stayed in touch. Our discussions are a lot of the same.
He’ll talk about school, what it’s like to have to study to keep up his GPA.
I’ll talk about soccer, adding how I can’t stand half the snarly bitches on my team.
He’ll ask if I ever found a boy with enough patience to like me.
I’ll ask by what name they call the lucky fella he’s currently dating.
We’ve settled into an easygoing, laidback friendship. One that I surprisingly have found I can be myself in.
Jaxson doesn’t judge my level of excitement over stupid things, such as soon-to-be released movies or how much of Mason’s money I spend at the Dairy Lot. I don’t make fun of him for being nervous about what he’ll do after college or for being annoyed at his flighty mom—which happens a lot.
“So, you got no one to dance with, huh?” I jab further, aiming to keep my hint subtle.
Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, Jaxson smiles as I tense. He smells good, better than I remember when he stayed last summer. He’s gotten bigger and broader too, if that were possible. He’s also taller than I recall.
Bending his neck, he gets in my face and queries, “Averie Marie, are you asking me to dance with you?”
Yes! Yes! Yes!
“No,” I blatantly deny.
Shaking me in his hold, Jaxson brings my front further into his chest. My hand splays across the contours of his muscles, and I grip his dress shirt to keep from falling. I’ve never been this close to another person, let alone a man. I’ve hugged my parents, sure. Even Mason when the situation or mood strikes. But a boy I’ve secretly crushed on for nearly a year? Never.
“All you have to do is ask,” he pressures, then adds, “but you have to ask nicely.”
At this, I scowl and use my elbow to jab him in the ribs.
“You’re cute as hell, but annoying as fuck,” he tells me, laughing and faking a pain where I’ve struck him.
Cute? Why can’t I be beautiful like Mason always tells Mom she is. Kittens are cute, goddamn it. I’m not a kitten.
“And you’re still a stupid boy,” I argue back.
Jaxson’s smile falls as his gaze moves over my shoulder. This is where I turn to find Amelia headed our way.
She’s wearing a small black and white checkered dress, which makes her look my age and not her own. She’s in high school and doesn’t let a day go by without reminding me. She can also drive now. Christ, but I’m certain there are times I can walk faster than she gets us to where we’re going.
Right now my evil sister looks determined. Totally figures she’d come ruin my moment alone with Jaxson.
“Mom wants you to go to their room and take the rest of her things to the car so she and Mason can take off,” she states once she arrives.
“And you can’t do this for her, why?” I argue, keeping my voice low.
Amelia and I don’t speak. Not unless we’re forced. We both realized a long time ago, it’s better that we don’t converse on any level. We’re polar opposites. We’re both dramatic of course, but Amelia is whiny, calling up real tears if she doesn’t get her way. I’m outspoken. I say what’s on my mind because if I don’t, my head may explode.
“Just do this for her, will you?” Amelia presses. “This is Mom’s big day.”
When I chance a look to Jaxson, he’s staring at her face. Then his gaze drops over her neck, chest, and body. His jaw tenses as if he’s annoyed by her interruption, or he’s taking in how much she’s changed in the little time that’s passed since he’s seen her.
My stomach plummets, along with my hope of him ever looking at me the same way.
Amelia may have the fashion sense of an exhausted gnat, but this isn’t to say my older sister isn’t pretty. In her own studious librarian sort of way, she’s probably appealing to some. But damn it, she’s not that pretty. She’s not Jaxson Joseph Cole pretty.
Ugh.
“Whatever,” I turn to walk away.
“Hey!” Jaxson calls.
I stop to look back. He’s smiling as he stands next to Amelia. She’s looking up at him, astonished. I understand her reaction as I have it anytime he’s close.
“What?” I snap, one half-pissed I’m forced to leave. One half-pissed I can’t hide my annoyance.
Jaxson’s eyebrows raise as he asks, “Save the next dance for me?”
Shrugging, I turn back around and start to walk away.
Jaxson can’t hear me, but I still promise, “I’ll save them all for you.”