9. Della
DELLA
Iwake up to a beeping alarm coming from somewhere in the cabin, and Jaxon stirs, mumbling fuck as he turns over.
My mouth goes dry as I watch him climb out of bed and make his way to the dresser.
This man is sculpted from marble, and rocking a serious case of equally hard morning wood.
Every hour, I feel like I have something new to enjoy.
I saw all of his tattoos when he was shirtless at the mechanic’s shop, but I was too distracted to fully appreciate them.
Now, I’m unable to look away, and possibly drooling.
He rakes his hand through his hair as he looks back at me.
“Good morning, Crash,” he says with a silly grin. That makes me sit up in bed.
“What?” I say, cocking my head, confused.
“You crashed into this bedroom last night… and then crashed out, falling asleep almost immediately. Which is wild because my adrenaline was shot to outer space, and I was stuck staring at the ceiling. Della, you were speaking in tongues,” he laughs.
“So I thought about my day and remembered how you crashed into my truck at the lodge. It has a nice ring, don’t you think? ”
“Okay, first off, I had only been asleep for about twenty minutes before the cougar murder sounds. I don’t know if you nap, but sometimes when you wake up from those, you feel like you’re in a different dimension.
That was me. Second… the car. Well, that was unfortunate, but I told you I’d cover it! ”
He laughs, and I watch his abs flex again before tracing my eyes farther down to his Adonis belt.
The man still appears to be hard as a rock, and I feel my cheeks blush because I’m staring at a guy’s dick with a dangerous heat unfurling low in my stomach.
I certainly felt him last night, and there was something incredibly powerful about knowing that he was having a physical reaction to me.
“Would you rather me call you Sherlock or Gumshoe? What names do they use on your detective shows? Which, by the way, I know I don’t have the right to tell you this, but you gotta stop that shit.”
I laugh at the scolding and at the thought of him calling me either of those. “You wouldn’t call me Gumshoe,” I say.
“You’re correct,” he says back, leaning to a half-sit on the dresser by the door, unbothered by the alarm that is still beeping. His confidence to be standing there, just talking to me, with a lead pipe in his pants, is impressive. He has to feel that, right? Maybe he’s just showing off.
“I wouldn’t say gumshoe. I’d shorten it to Gummy, and there are too many gross implications there. Like a good ol’ blowjob sans teeth.”
“Oh my God, what?” I say, throwing a pillow at him. “Go stop that alarm! Why is it downstairs anyway? Who doesn’t sleep with their phone on them?”
“I needed a midnight string cheese and forgot it,” he shrugs.
Yes, the alarm is annoying, but I also need him out of here because I just got caught thinking about his dick, and now with a blowjob reference, my face is flushing again.
The times Tripp allowed me to go down on him, it ended with him making me feel like shit.
Honestly, he made me feel like shit in all bedroom activities.
When he leaves the room, I take stock of what I’m wearing.
My C cups are spilling out of the too-low tank.
He sure got an eyeful last night. And my shorts are old shorts I used to play volleyball in, so tiny spandex.
If I hadn’t been in hysterics, I would have been more self-conscious about it, but in my heart of hearts, I thought someone was being killed.
Then my mind flashes back to when he kissed me, and I close my eyes to relive it.
It was soft and tender, and I swear I could feel the effort it took for him to keep it that way.
Quinn said he’s a player, so I imagine that he’s an expert.
But that kiss felt different. Too special to be something he gives away without a second thought.
Then again, maybe that’s just what a good kisser does, and it’s been too long for me to remember.
Regardless, I wanted to do it again just to feel that rush.
Sitting with my eyes closed, the tears start to build.
How could I have been so willing to set myself up for such a shitty life?
Based on the texts and voicemails I’ve received in the last twenty-four hours, my dad had to know what he was doing.
He and Tripp’s dad had been friends forever.
The fact that I’m thinking about how a soft kiss from a stranger had more impact on me than anything I’ve felt in years affirms that running from my wedding was for the best, but it doesn’t take away the sting.
The tear escapes, but I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear Jaxon as he returns.
“Del?” he says, cupping my face. The touch makes me jump because I didn’t even realize he entered the room. “You okay?” he says, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.
I keep my eyes closed because I don’t want to look at him, but I nod my head.
“Good. Get your ass up and get dressed. You’re coming to do barn chores with me. Well, first we’re going to get coffee, then we’re heading to the stalls.”
At that, my eyes shoot open. “I’m sure you know that I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s five in the morning.”
“Yeah, we’re already behind. But seeing as I left your side for ninety seconds and the tears returned, I’m dragging your ass with me.
You’re going to want something thicker than the yoga pants; it’s chilly in the morning.
If you don’t have anything, I’m sure Hazel does, and you guys look like you’re about the same size.
Her house is next to mine, so I can have her leave something out.
I have to go up there to change, anyway. ”
He’s talking fast, and I’m trying to keep up.
“Jaxon. I’m not sure what part of me looks like I’m going to be doing barn chores,” my finger gestures around my face, “but you are going to double the workload if you drag me along.”
“Giddy-up, Crash,” he says, grabbing my hands and pulling me up.
I don’t miss the way his eyes look down at my barely covered chest. “Maybe leave that on, in case you, you know, get hot.” He winks at me, acknowledging he just shamelessly looked at, and appreciated, my cleavage, and walks out of the room like he knows I’m going to follow him.
But after a moment of stunned silence at the not-so-subtle gesture, I grab a handful of layers and do exactly that.
“So each luxury condo gets use of a complimentary golf cart with their stay to make their way around the property,” he says when I make my way down the stairs. “I figure you can use it too. Have you driven a golf cart before?”
For the first time since arriving in Amberheart, I can confidently shake my head yes to something. I’ve played a lot of golf.
“Perfect. How about I ride with you to help you with the lay of the land? Then I’ll grab my car later?
” He’s waiting at the door, and it tells me that I need to hustle, but I can’t help the smile of satisfaction that crosses my face because I’m not ready to separate quite yet.
What kind of disaster jumps right into enjoying flirting with another person this quickly? Me, apparently.
When we step into the morning chill, he grabs a jacket and winter hat from his truck, threads my arms through it, then sits me down in the golf cart before putting a blanket over my lap.
After jumping into the driver’s seat, he takes off, and I ask the question that’s been simmering in my mind since he told me the plan.
“Jaxon,” I venture, “without sounding like that person, don’t you hire people for barn chores?”
“Oh, yeah, lots,” he responds. “I lost big during a poker night, and barn chores became mine for a few weeks. It spiraled quickly, I tell you,” he laughs, and the sound makes me grin.
“You’re close to your family,” I state, noting how he mentioned his sister is his neighbor, and that everyone showed up for my arrival last night.
“Yeah, for better or for worse, we are. Mostly, we’re lucky because we have a great thing going.
Working here was something I knew I was supposed to do.
Stepping into the PR and HR role was always my future when we realized I was better with people than numbers.
It was seamless, but when I first took over, I wondered if I’d always have my eye on something else, like the garage I’m obsessed with.
But I’ve been doing this job for six years, and I love it.
There is nothing I would change. Plus, now the work I do at the shop is for fun. ”
I love how open he is. “I didn’t see anyone else there. Do you run it solo? That’s a lot.”
“Oh no, it’s not functional to the public. I take project cars for people I know, and have my own projects I tinker with, but it’s not open. I’m shocked that you ended up in my parking lot.”
“What?” I ask in surprise. “But someone told me to check the repair shop. It came up on Google!”
“Really?” he says. “I thought that had been removed. I’ll have to look again. But there is a repair shop you had to pass to get to me.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry…”
“Sorry?” he cut me off. “For a great night? I’m glad you ended up where you did. Mostly because you’d probably be stuck in the mountains right now.”
I look at him with a silly grin. His eyes are forward, navigating the twists and turns, dropping that sentiment like I didn’t just tornado into town and become a burden.
There is something so endearing about how he’s interacting with me.
Obviously, he’s hot, but he’s this mix of sweet confidence that I can’t get enough of.
Turning his head to look back at me, he flashes a grin that I’m sure he’s used on so many women before putting his hand on my knee.
Even though I have layers on, I swear I can feel it.
“I’m glad you’re not stuck in the mountains, Tatroe. ”
“Me too. I’d be cougar food.”