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“Jaxon gets off when you finally open that bank vault you call a vagina and—”
Oh, my god.
It all happens at once. Jaxon walking through the door and Simon’s excited shout, all while Bri’s voicerings out loud and clear, the phone’s volume up high enough that it sounds like she’s standing in the kitchen with me. There’s no way he didn’t just hear what she said.
I drop the knife in my hand and it clatters to the floor while I jab my finger at the screen, knocking the phone over. I don’t succeed in turning off the speakerphone, but I do succeed in hanging up on my sister all together. Which is even better. If I could load her and her big mouth into a cannon and shoot her across Lake Michigan, I would.
Back still turned, I listen to Simon, yammering at his brother a mile-a-minute while I beg the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
I have a major thing for Jaxon Bennett. Have had a major thing for him since he and his family moved here when Simon was a baby. I was thirteen and Jaxon was fifteen. Five years is a long time to want something you know you’re never going to get. It was bad enough, suffering in silence. Now that he knows, I might have to fake my own death and join the French Foreign Legion.
My phone keeps ringing. I answer it because not answering feels like some sort of acknowledgment of what my sister just broadcasted. “What?” I mutter, while behind me, I hear the scrape of Simon’s kitchen chair and Jaxon telling him to go wash his hands.
“Was I on speaker phone?” It sounds like she’s moved to a more quiet part of the house. “Oh my god, is he there?”
“Yes and yes.” I turn the heat down on the veggies I have going in the pan. “What do you want?”
“Ice,” she says in a small voice. Bri isn’t the most sensitive person that ever lived, but she’s always been careful with my feelings. Benefit of being her twin, I guess. “I just wanted you to swing by the store on your way home and grab a couple bags of ice... Claire, I’m—”
“Ice. Got it.” Breath catches in my throat when I feel Jaxon move behind me, getting closer. The bowl of pulverized tomatoes appears in front of me. “Jaxon’s back so I’ll be home in a bit.” I hang up the phone, tossing it on the counter, in favor of the bowl of tomatoes he put in front of me. “Thanks,” I say, shooting him a brief smile that I hope like hell says, my sister is an idiot. Actually, I think she might be on drugs. I pour the bowl into the skillet in front of me and give it a good stir before lowering the heat to let the sauce thicken.
He’s still standing next to me, hip leaned against the counter, head lowered just a bit so he can see my face. He’s huge. At well over six-feet, he towers over me. Broad shoulders and chest. Thick, powerful arms. Long, muscular legs. Huge hands. There’s a lot about Jaxon Bennett that gets me hot and bothered but for some reason, thinking about his hands sends a flush of heat rushing over me, from head to toe. God, he smells good. Like sawdust and watermelon. Why does he always smell like watermelon?
“You know...” He turns, bracing his back against the counter beside me so that we’re facing each other. “When I asked if you could start dinner, I didn’t mean for you to go all Martha Stewart on me.” He reaches past me and drags the jar of store-bought sauce across the counter until it’s sitting in front of me.
We’re pretending my sister didn’t announce to the entire planet that I want to tear your clothes off? Okay. Good.
Looking up, I focus on one thing. One feature of his face because that’s the only way I can be present in this conversation. I know from experience that I can’t be this close to him and not hyperventilate without some sort of distraction.
Gaze settled on the bridge of his nose, I shake my head, making a disgusted noise in the back of my throat. “Pssft.” I look down at the jar, reaching out to push it back. “That stuff tastes like wallpaper paste.”
The second our hands connect, I stop breathing. His fingers slide over the back of my hand, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
I watch as his broad, callused hand, very deliberately, turns mine in its grip. “What would we do without you, Claire?” he says in a low tone while the pad of his thumb sweeps over the underside of my wrist. Slow, soft circles that shoot up my arm and down my spine. Lower and deeper until I can feel each stroke of his thumb against every place I want him to touch me.
Oh. I guess we’re not pretending...
I look up at him. The whole Jaxon. Deep brown eyes. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Full mouth. Slightly crooked nose that looks like it’s been broken once or twice, which instead of messing up the aesthetic, makes him even hotter for some reason.
He’s looking down at me, his gaze dark and unreadable and I get the feeling he’s thinking about kissing me, which is crazy.
Guys like Jaxon don’t kiss me.
Correction: guys don’t kiss me.
Period.
Guys kiss Bri. Want Bri. They don’t want me. Plain Jane, jeans and sneakers me. They just don’t.
The most I ever get is a random, I’ve never fucked twins before like that’s enough to get me all hot and bothered. Like I should be eager to give my virginity to some guy who’s just looking to check nailed twins off his pre-college checklist.
No thanks.
He’s leaning into me, his lips hovering, inches above mine, slightly open. “Claire...” My name sounds rough, uneven, his gaze nailed to my mouth.
Ohmygod, he is going to kiss me.
Don’tpassout