Chapter 14 – Jaxon
FOURTEEN
JAXON
Growing up, I always wanted a sibling. I used to beg Mom and Dad for one, fully convinced that all they needed to do was go to the baby store and adopt one.
Gran had taken me to the humane society, and within two hours, we were driving home with a senior citizen, three-legged lab mix. Weren’t kids the same?
When they burst my bubble, in the worst version of the birds-and-the-bees, they informed me babies do not come from stores. So I moved on to Santa; the big man up north would easily grant my Christmas wish if I behaved.
That first Christmas, I asked for a little brother. A rambunctious mini-me—maybe with volume control built in—that could chase me around on skates, break out in wrestle-mania, and be the scapegoat for whatever nonsense (trouble) we found ourselves in.
Or a little sister. A little princess—someone like Madeline.
I’d let her paint my nails and put colorful butterfly clips in my hair.
Sing along to whatever Disney princess movie is her current obsession while dressed up and having a tea party.
Terrorizing any boyfriend or girlfriend she’d have would be a given, because no one would be worthy of her.
Jaxon and big brother pair as well as milk and cereal.
And I suppose I am a big brother for all intents and purposes. Luka is ten months younger than me, and Amelia is two years. The divorce sucked, but at least I came out of it with a brother and sister, if that’s what you’d call them. Neither of them consider me a brother.
I think it’s why I go all-in on friends, and why I couldn’t wait for college.
Cooper was a semi-random roommate assignment freshman year. Coach randomly selected players and paired us up together—it’s how Chase and Dawson ended up paired together. Beck’s roommate quit before the season started and transferred after the fall semester.
A shoebox would’ve been bigger than the dorm Cooper and I shared. From our twin-sized beds, we could hold hands. The floor space enough to fit an obstacle course of a mini-fridge, gear, and clothes that should’ve been in our laundry baskets.
I know I push my roommate’s buttons—sometimes I do it on purpose to rile them up or for the sneaky smile underneath an annoyed eye roll—but I’m confident in calling them my best friends, my brothers.
Cooper zips around me on his rollerblades. “Eat my dust.” He cackles before having to swerve around two moms pushing strollers, a dog leash attached to one of their hips.
I seize the opportunity to speed up, catching his elbow to steady him from falling off the path. We’re on our Friday route, even though it’s Saturday, a four-mile loop around the lake and then through downtown to pick up coffee and a sweet treat from The Mean Bean.
Today though, we’re heading to Elliot and Sutton’s new apartment complex. They moved out of their campus-owned two-bedroom into one closer to downtown Bensen. The resort-style pool my final destination.
“Sutton has towels and sunscreen for us, if we want to go straight there.” Cooper looks over at me. “Or we can stop at home on our way.”
“Up for whatever.”
“Let’s just head there then.” He pulls out his phone as we come up to a red light. “I’ll let her know we are on our way.”
I fish mine out, happy to see a message from Jordan waiting for me. I had to change her contact because we’ve been texting more recently; mainly about her training, but she’ll occasionally respond to memes or videos I send her. Yesterday, she sent me a funny video that made my whole year.
Blue
guess who pr’d their deadlift
by 25lbs
The light turns green, and Cooper bolts through the crosswalk, shouting something I don’t make out because I’m mid-text. Picking up my gaze, there’s already a flashing hand.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, quickly shutting off my phone and dropping it back in my pocket. Pushing off one skate, then the other, I speed across the street and weave around people to catch back up to Cooper.
It takes us another ten minutes to reach the apartment complex. We take the sidewalk path around back to the courtyard. Sutton’s waiting for us at the gate, holding it open as we come to a stop. Cooper drops a kiss to her mouth before unlatching his blades.
I pretend to lean in to kiss Sutton. “My turn.” A death glare is shot in my direction, and just to push his buttons I keep leaning in, skirting last minute to pretend to kiss her cheek. Sutton giggles, and it’s freaking cute.
“We’re on the opposite side. Chase and Beck are already here,” she informs us.
“Can you take these?” I pass off my rollerblades to a confused Sutton, my sweaty tube socks sticking out from the top. She takes them reluctantly and I don’t waste any time.
No lifeguard, no rules.
I take off, sprinting across the concrete, rounding the corner closest to where our friends are sitting, and shout my warning at the last second, “Cannonball!”
Water sploshes over the side as I submerge beneath the surface, the water refreshingly warm.
Practically bath water at this point in the summer.
My butt hits the bottom of the deep end, and I push up off the floor and remerge.
Smiley, I shake out my hair, the ends starting to curl, meeting the gazes of Elliot, Chase, and Beckett.
Leave it to Beckett to ruin the fun. “Phone in your pocket?”
Sure enough, it’s the rectangle in one pocket.
The square in the other is my wallet. I swim to the edge and pull myself out.
Beck hurls a towel my way while I fish out my phone, shaking the excess water droplets from the device.
I set it on the towel, working out my wallet next.
There’s not much in it, but I still pull out the five cards—a debit and credit card, Lakeland ID, driver’s license, and a coffee rewards punch card, which is ruined—drying them off.
Testing my phone’s fate, I click the button on the side, delighted to find it lights up to my lockscreen. An image of the five of us, heads stacked like a totem pole, from the summer at Cooper’s lake house in Michigan.
Spinning it around, I show Beck. “Still works.”
He fixes his sunglasses, picking up his notebook.
Dried off and lathered in sunscreen, Chase tosses me a beer and a bag of limes from the cooler he brought. The Mexican lager goes down too easy and I finish it quickly, grabbing another, and a sandwich while I’m at it.
The girls prepared a smorgasbord of food. With zero responsibilities on the horizon and classes starting Monday, I foresee us spending the remainder of the day here.
“Remind me why you two didn’t move in here earlier?” I ask around a mouthful of ham and cheese.
“I ask myself that every day,” Elliot responds from where she’s lounging on the pool edge, feet in the water, her arms keeping herself propped up. “Probably for the best, otherwise my ass would be indented with concrete and the chairs the shape of my body.”
Sutton adds a realistic touch. “Availability.”
“A one-bedroom opened up in June and July.”
“You want to share a room?” Sutton sits down next to her sassy roommate.
“I was just saying.”
“Then you should’ve convinced the guys to move you.” They glance over their shoulders at the table we took over, in the middle of an intense game of poker using Goldfish and pretzels. Collectively, we all shake our heads no. Moving them once was enough.
I’m about to make a snarky joke about that when the words dry up on my tongue. I think all the air inside my lungs does too because I can’t breathe. I catch the movement of her overstuffed pool bag as she opens the gate.
Unbuttoned, frayed denim shorts barely hit the tops of her quads, muscles rippling with each step she takes.
Strings from her bikini bottoms hang over the waistband, and I instantly want to untie them with my teeth.
Find out how her smooth, salty, sunscreened skin would taste.
How her sun-kissed legs, strong and powerful would feel over my shoulders, heels digging into my back and hopefully hands gripping my hair.
I clamp my jaw as if that’ll shut up the urges.
Spending more and more time with her, getting to have her in my hands—because the girl now demands hands-on corrections, not that I’m complaining—and peeling back her layers has my mind drifting more into what-if land.
It’s becoming harder to remind myself that she’s off limits and not the girl that’s plagued my dreams and fantasies for the past three years.
Her top is nothing more than two triangles held together by a flimsy string. Jordan’s blowing smoke when she claims to have small boobs—information I learned eavesdropping on the girls one time. The suit pushes them together, giving her an ample, and lickable cleavage.
Lickable? Geez, Greene, get it together.
When our eyes lock, they hold for a beat. More gray today, but they bring me to life, forcing my lungs to work.
“So sorry.” Sutton pops up from the pool deck. “I could’ve came and gotten you if I knew you were here. Was it easy to find?”
“Yeah, figured out why the place sounded familiar. Remember that—” Jordan cuts herself off, noting the peanut gallery and leans in to whisper in Sutton’s ear.
Sutton laughs. “I can’t believe that happened.”
“Unfortunately, I can.” Jordan pulls out a can of spray sunscreen that ends up being empty. “Do you have any I can use?”
I’m pulled away from eavesdropping when Cooper reminds me it’s my turn. “Fold or call, Jax.”
“Fold.” I push the pair of nines to the center of the table. Cooper’s terrible at bluffing, I know by the way he’s holding his cards he has a full house or a three-of-a-kind. Beck catches it too, but instead of folding, plays with Cooper’s head getting him to almost go all in.
By the early afternoon, every chair is filled, the perimeter of the pool littered with towels and coolers, with people enjoying the cloudless sky. We’ve been in and out of the water for hours, behaving more like my elementary campers this summer than college seniors.
“Here.” Elliot holds out a speaker. “Put something on that’s better than this.”
“Drop it on my chair.” I move to the ladder, well aware of the eyes on me as I climb up each rung. Water droplets working their way down my chest like a waterslide evaporate under her heated gaze. Sunglasses aren’t doing shit to mask who she’s staring at.
I shake out my hair as I reach the chairs, leaning forward to snatch up a towel as a smirk crawls across my face. Droplets land on Jordan—potentially on purpose. From my peripherals, she pushes down her sunglasses, eyes narrowed on me.
“You’re worse than a dog.”
“Woof.” I wink and her cheeks darken.
“Jaxon. Music, please,” Elliot requests, exasperated, and I don’t blame her.
I turn up the volume—my phone working, which I made sure Beck is well aware of—to rival the classic rock and screamo coming from the opposite end of the pool. Loud enough to warrant a couple of eye rolls from the guys sitting on the edge drinking wine coolers.
I drop into the sun chair next to Jordan, legs straddling the sides.
She’s reapplying sunscreen, rubbing it into her shoulders despite her focus locked in on her crossword.
Her brows pinch, nose scrunching as she thinks.
The slight, excited lift her entire body does and the rush to wipe her hands off and scribble down an answer.
“Can I help you?” she asks, continuing to reapply sunscreen.
“You missed a spot.” Not really, but I use it as an excuse to touch her, move closer to her when she asks where. “Here.” I rub the make-believe spot on her shoulder, my callouses catching on the strings, running off the ridge of her shoulder blades. Jordan shivers. “You’re ignoring me.”
“Aren’t I always ignoring you?” Her tone, despite her body’s physical reaction to my proximity, is sarcastic.
“No.” She turns her head, our faces close enough I can see the light scattering of freckles across her cheeks, eyes heavy with something. “What’s going on?”
Jordan releases her cheek and a swallow works down her slender throat.
“You didn’t respond to my text.” She barely finishes her sentence before she’s dragging a hand down her face, hiding herself.
“Saying it aloud sounds so stupid. I’ve never been a pick me girl.
Please forget about this and go back to your—”
“Jordan,” I interject, disappointed in myself. “I checked my phone at a stoplight and it turned green and your brother was there—”
“I get it.” The disappointment I feel is apparent in her tone.
“What’d you do to celebrate?” The question is careful, but genuine.
I’ve learned a lot about Jordan recently, tidbits I’ve pocketed away for a rainy day like this.
Jordan loves any excuse to treat herself—pick up a bag of gummy worm or another specialty latte.
A new matching workout set or crossword book.
Her knack for celebrating applies to friends too, even if she doesn’t realize it.
“Texted you.” Words are muffled behind her hands.
“Lame,” I sing-song, reaching to pull her hand away from her face, fingertips trace her palm, an idea prickling at the nape of my neck. “We both know that doesn’t count. Which means…we have to celebrate now.”