32. Paxton
32
PAXTON
I swallow the bite of bagel in my mouth as the cool water laps at our bare feet. I’m still surprised Tatum said yes when she met me in the kitchen after her shower. That she agreed to let me buy her breakfast at the little bakery down the street from my place. That she didn’t demand to be taken straight home after spilling her life story and the real reason behind every shady action since we first met. To be fair, she said she’d let me buy her breakfast because Rory hadn’t responded to her message yet, and she didn’t want to get stabbed by entering her apartment before her best friend was ready to see her, but I’m not complaining.
“This is good.” Tatum lifts her bagel into the air and takes another bite.
“I know it’s no lobster roll, but I’m glad it’ll suffice.”
She smiles around her bite before wiping some excess schmear from the corner of her mouth. “I’m impressed you remember that little tidbit.” Her gaze flickers to the calm water. “You got the ocean part right, though.”
“Glad you approve,” I return.
“I do.” She pauses to squish her bare toes in the sand. As soon as we got here, she left her shoes by a random log, so I did the same. It’s been nice. Going slow. Enjoying our morning. Walking lazily down the coast. It’s been really nice, and I wonder if she’s liked it, too.
“So,” she continues, “after my little mental breakdown last night, I think you owe me.”
“Oh, I do?”
“Yup.”
“I did buy you a bagel,” I point out.
“I meant you owe me information,” she clarifies.
“Such as?”
“Let’s see…” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “For starters, what brought you here?”
“Here?” I look around the empty beach, grateful there isn’t another soul in sight, thanks to owning most of it.
“I mean to Harden Heights,” she clarifies. “If you’re not close with your band, why’d you decide to settle here while you wait for the band’s hiatus to end?”
With a shrug, I take another bite of bagel and draw a smiley face in the sand with my big toe. “I’m from here.”
Her jaw drops in surprise. “Seriously?”
“About thirty minutes south,” I explain. “I grew up in The Drift.”
“What’s The Drift?”
My head snaps up. “Fuck, you’re really not from around here, are you?”
“Not even close.”
“The Drift is a strip of land where all the poor people live. It isn’t close to the water or the country clubs or the university. It’s where the lackeys and blue-collar folk stay. It’s also where the drugs are, and the gangs are, and every other…potentially unsavory class of individuals likes to congregate.”
“Congregate, huh?” She smiles, kicking a bit of sand toward me. “You sound like a textbook.”
“You’re the one needing a geography lesson,” I return dryly.
She smirks. “Okay, so if you’re from here, what’s the rest of the band’s excuse?”
“Where Judge goes, Dodger goes, and Judge is from here, too.”
Surprised, she asks, “He’s from The Drift?”
“Nah, he’s from the rich side of town. His family founded the university and basically owns the entire place.”
“Really?” She takes the last bite of bagel, then licks the excess cream cheese from her thumb. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t really know the guy, but he kind of puts off more of a Drift vibe.”
I chuckle softly, knowing she’s not wrong. “That’s ‘cause he hates his family.”
“Aw, noted.” She taps her forefinger against her temple. “So why did you all come back?”
It’s a difficult question, and I hesitate before answering. Not because I don't trust her, but because I know the guys like to keep things close to the chest, and whatever’s going on with Judge’s family is making him even more guarded than usual.
“It’s complicated,” I finally admit.
Reading between the lines, Tatum says, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
I break the last of my bagel into small pieces, tossing them one by one into the water. “Judge’s family is close, even if they do hate each other. When his nephews started stirring up shit, Judge’s brother, Titas, called him home to keep the boys in line.”
Her brows pull. “Aren’t the boys adults?”
“In age, yeah,” I reply. “But they’re also loose cannons, and since they’re expected to take over the family business once they graduate, their personas matter.”
“And they aren’t meeting their father’s expectations,” she concludes.
“Exactly. They’re too busy fucking shit up, which is why Judge is here.” I hesitate. “It’s why I’m here, too.”
Like the little detective she is, she tilts her head, collecting more pieces than I’m putting down, despite my intentional ambiguity. “And what do you have to do with Judge’s nephews?”
“Judge’s family is hoping the extra publicity from the band will be enough to keep the boys’ sideline shit where it belongs—on the sidelines and out of the public eye.”
She bites back her scoff. “They really think that’ll work?”
I shrug. “It’s Judge’s family, not mine, although it doesn’t hurt that we’re killing two birds with one stone, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“If we’re able to stay relevant in the gossip magazines, it’ll help our fans not forget about us. Or so I’m told.”
“That’s a thing?”
“You have no idea.” I shake my head. “Mindy, the band’s publicist, insists all publicity is good publicity.”
“Oh, then I’m sure you’re her favorite,” she teases.
I scratch my temple. “I dunno. Dodge and Tuke put up a pretty good fight for first place.”
“Not Judge?” she assumes.
“Not even close,” I admit with a laugh.
“Well, I still think you win first place on that front,” she replies. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the paparazzi outside your gate, anxious to catch a glimpse of the infamous Paxton Six.” She pauses. “Which I assume is not your real last name, right?”
“Turner,” I tell her.
“Turner. Got it.” She hesitates again, as if making a mental note, then clears her throat. “Although, Paxton Turner, the photos of you walking into the salon with green hair are probably my favorite leaked photos to date.”
My eyes widen. “You saw those, huh?”
“Yup.” She brings her fingertips to her mouth and kisses them. “They were chef’s kiss, let me tell ya.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she returns shamelessly. “But my point stands. Seems you're good at creating buzz just by being here.”
“I’m trying.” I shrug. “But I’ve been a little preoccupied pursuing my maid, so…”
She beams at the thought before it turns sassy, and she counters, “Sounds very boring.”
A bark of laughter escapes me. “Hardly.”
She joins in, the lightness of her laugh acting like a cool glass of water on a hot day. To be honest, after last night’s spiral, I wasn’t sure I’d see this side of her again. The glimpse is refreshing. And more addictive than I want to admit.
“So, what does the great and powerful Pax do when he isn’t playing rockstar, or trying to keep the public eye on him instead of his bandmate’s nephews?” she prods as we make our way down the coastline.
“Lately?” I pause. “Stalking my maid is pretty fun.”
“And reading The Count of Monte Cristo ,” she adds.
“And playing the guitar.”
“And working out,” she continues. “Excellent work, by the way. Although, the random bruises are an interesting addition.”
“You noticed, huh?”
Looking unimpressed, she shoves me playfully. “I mean, they’re kind of hard to miss, Pax.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” She quirks her brow, shamelessly checking me out. “They clash with your pretty face.”
I laugh even harder. “You think I’m pretty, huh?”
“I think you’re looking for me to stroke your ego, which—as we’ve previously discussed—is already big enough as it is, thank you very much.” Pulling her hair over her shoulder, she adds, “But seriously. What’s with the bruises?”
It’s a good question, and honestly, I’m flattered she’s noticed. After meeting Jagger a couple weeks ago, we exchanged numbers and meet up a few times a week to train. He said it was so I wouldn’t embarrass the family for giving me a slot. Even though I’m pretty sure he’s going easy on me, I’ve appreciated the extra help. But the bruises? Not so much.
“I’ve, uh,” I scratch my temple, “I’ve been sparring with a few buddies lately.”
“Sparring?” She digs her heels into the sand. “As in, fighting?”
I nod.
“Well, damn.” Biting her bottom lip, she scans me up and down with newfound appreciation. “That’s hot.”
A rumble of amusement escapes me. “Glad I have your approval.”
“Any other hobbies?” she asks, surprising me with her interest.
“I like to travel,” I offer.
“Yeah? Me, too. What’s your favorite place you’ve ever been to?”
“Croatia, probably, but Thailand was pretty sweet, too.”
“I’ve been to Thailand!” Tatum gushes. She shoves me playfully. “Did you do the fish pedicure thing? Where you stick your feet in the water and the baby fish eat all the dead skin off?”
My stomach rolls at the thought. “Gross.”
“Yeah, but it left my skin so smooth, you wouldn’t even believe it.”
“Your skin is already pretty damn smooth, Birthday Girl.”
A soft pink tinges her cheeks, and her attention drops to the sand beneath her feet. “I think you’re being too kind.”
“And I think— Fuck! Shit!” I jump up and down, my foot burning with a vengeance.
Joining my meltdown, Tatum drops the last of her bagel in the sand and jolts back, staring as I lose my ever-loving shit.
“What’s wrong?” she screeches. “What happened?”
Balancing on one leg I lift my foot into the air, finding the skin on the bottom of it hot, red, and angry. “Jellyfish. I stepped on a?—”
“Jellyfish!” She flaps her hand behind us toward a translucent blob on the sand. “There’s a jellyfish!”
“No shit,” I say, caught between barks of laughter and groans of excruciating pain.
Moving closer, Tatum suggests, “Here. Use me for balance. Let’s take a look.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t be a tough guy.” She pats her shoulder, urging me to lean into her. “I got you.”
Giving in, I grab her shoulder to keep from falling on my ass and lift my foot a little higher into the air. A tiny divot forms between her brows as she assesses the damage, gently dragging her fingers along the raised flesh before grimacing. “Ouch.”
“Stings like a bitch.” I try not to flinch away from her soft touch, but fuck, it throbs. I feel like my foot was dipped in a vat of acid or is sitting in a barrel of hot coal, and it isn’t getting better. No, it’s getting worse. A lot worse. “Fuuuuck,” I seethe.
“Do you want me to…” Her eyes lift to meet mine, and her nose wrinkles. “You know.”
“What?” My forehead pinches as the angry sting hits a new level. Fuck, this hurts. It really hurts. Seriously. Do they do amputations for shit like this? Because I haven’t been in this much pain, since…shit, I don’t even know when.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, Tatum explains, “I heard that if you…you know, it makes the sting go away.”
Distracted by the blinding pain crawling up my ankle, I grit out, “Gonna have to spell it out for me, Birthday Girl.”
“Pee on it. Do you need me to pee on it?”
My eyes bulge, and I tear my attention from the bottom of my foot to the girl who just confirmed I’m hallucinating because there’s no chance in hell she said what I think she did. “What did you say?”
“I said, I heard peeing on a jellyfish sting helps the pain go away,” she blurts out.
“You’d pee on my foot for me?”
Shimmying away from me, she bounces on the balls of her feet like I’m the one who suggested it when we both know it was her.
“Don’t make it weird,” she starts.
Despite the pain, I throw my head back and laugh even harder, caught off guard by the ludicrousness of the situation. But fuuuuck, this hurts like a bitch!
“Okay, seriously. Come on, big boy.” Wrapping her arm around my waist, she helps me hobble to the side of the beach and away from the water.
“Fuck,” I grit out, trying not to black out from the blinding pain. “No, I’m fine.”
With a gentle shove, she tips me over, and I collapse onto my ass, barely catching myself with my hands at the last second. My foot hovers a few inches from the ground as I grind my teeth to keep from crying like a baby.
“Okay, so here’s the deal,” she announces. Glancing left and right, she reaches for the drawstring on the gray sweats I let her borrow before turning her attention back to me. “What happens at the beach, stays at the beach. We clear?”
I glance up at her. “You talking about when you sucked me off or?—”
“All of the above. Now, lay back and close your eyes because this is not allowed to be used for your spank bank on the off chance you have a kink I don’t know about.”
I burst out laughing again and lay back on the sand, tossing my forearm over my eyes to cover them. “Not into that kink, Tate. Sorry, if it’s disappointing.”
“Well, at least we agree on one thing. Now stop moving your leg.”
I force my muscles to stay in place and fight the urge to writhe on the ground, but fuck, it feels impossible. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Don’t. Move.”
The buzzing in my ears is almost enough to drown out the rustle of fabric, but I stand my ground—er, sit my ground—refusing to move as I try to control my breathing.
“Man, this is so embarrassing,” Tatum mumbles.
Warm liquid hits my foot, and I fight the urge to pull away when the blazing fire starts to ebb, being replaced with a softer, more manageable discomfort I can handle.
“Keep ‘em closed,” Tatum warns.
My muscles relax as I rest the back of my head against the sand. Okay, I’m gonna be okay. It’s getting better. I can breathe.
A few seconds later, Tatum announces, “Okay, you can open.”
Uncovering my eyes, I lift my head again, finding a fully-clothed Tatum a good five feet away.
Arms crossed, she stares down at the sand, refusing to look at me with a blush on her cheeks making her look fucking gorgeous. I’ve never seen Tatum shy before. Even when she was puking in front of me and drunk off her ass, she wasn’t shy. But this? This is something for the books, and I clench my fists to keep from reaching out and tugging her into a bear hug.
Shifting her attention to the blue sky above us, she mumbles, “How’s it, uh, how’s it feel? Better?”
With another low laugh, I roll to my knees and push myself to my feet before cautiously approaching her. “I’m good. Are you ?”
“Yup. Happy as a clam.” She motions to the water, still refusing to look at me. “Now, go…wash off or whatever, and never—I mean never —mention this to anyone ever again. We clear?”
I splash in the water, letting it reach my knees and thoroughly cleaning off every possible droplet of…nope. Not gonna think about it. “Thanks again, Tate, I?—”
“I said don’t mention it,” she snaps.
She covers her eyes like a little kid during a scary movie. It’s adorable and strangely…vulnerable, proving she wouldn’t pee on just anyone. The reminder I was the lucky one she helped is enough to wash away whatever lingering embarrassment is still clinging to the moment because yeah, writhing on the ground like a baby is not the impression I wanted to leave this girl with.
Jogging toward a still motionless Tatum, I grab her hands from her face and lower them, forcing her to look at me. “I owe you.”
“You don’t-–”
“Not gonna pee on you,” I clarify.
“Pax,” she groans, shying away from my touch, but I hold firm. When she realizes I’m not letting her get away, she sags a little more and grumbles, “I told you not to?—”
“Thank you.” I kiss her forehead. “Thank you for taking one for the team.” I bend closer and kiss her pretty little scowl. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Swatting my kisses away, she peeks up at me with the cutest fucking scowl I’ve ever seen. “You’re welcome.”
Fuck, she’s pretty like this. She’s pretty all the time, but like this? Peeking up at me through her lashes, the tinge of pink still resting on her cheeks? A glint of curiosity in her pretty gaze? It’s enough to make me kiss her again. And without the teasing. Because I want to. Because I’m stupid enough to hope I can get away with it.
I close some of the distance between us, my fingers itching to wrap around her waist so I can seal the deal when Tatum’s phone buzzes. She takes it out of her pocket, dousing what’s left of our chemistry just as quickly. I can’t help but wonder if it’s her sister again. If she’s going to say something to cause Tatum to spiral again. If all the work I’ve put into making her smile today will be erased with a single message. Fuck, I hope not.
Helpless, I watch as she checks her phone. Her brows are pulled low and her mouth moves as she reads whatever she’s looking at, but I’m still left in the dark, and I don’t like it.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Rory responded.” Her fingers fly across the screen. “Said she could meet me at Grinds in thirty minutes.”
Disappointment flares in my chest, but I ignore it. “Want me to drop you off?”
Looking up from her screen, she gives me a glimpse of her indecision before she nods softly. “Yes, please.”
I guess that’s that.