Page 25 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

RORY

J ust like we discussed, Jaxon’s assistant booked us a suite.

It has two separate rooms, a small kitchenette, and a shared living area with a television and pull out couch.

Poppy woke up by the time we got to the room.

While I ordered room service, Jaxon changed her diaper on the bed in his room.

It’s kind of strange. Knowing only a wall separates us.

The familiar buzz of the television cuts through the silence, and a few minutes after, the smell of Jaxon’s steak hits my nostrils.

I opted for a Cobb Salad, though regret swells in my stomach as I enter the main living area, finding Jax balancing Poppy on one knee while shoving a bite of steak into his mouth.

He lifts his chin toward the second tray, and I take the lid off, my expression falling. I mean, it’s a fine salad. All the usual fixings. But it’s not a thick, juicy steak.

Chuckling, Jax offers, “Wanna split?”

I collapse onto the chair beside his and shake my head. “No, I’m good.”

“Liar.” He reaches for my plate and scoops half the salad onto his before cutting the steak in two and sliding the bigger half onto my own. “Here.”

“Jax—”

“Veggies are good for me.”

I give the broccoli that came with his meal a pointed stare.

“Eat up, smart-ass.”

So, I do because who likes cold steak, anyway?

Once I’m finished with my meal, I twist my fingers in my lap, unsure what to do or where to go. See? This is the part that’s weird. The part where I don’t know if I’m still on call or if I have the rest of the night off or if?—

“Stop tapping,” Jaxon orders.

I frown. “What?”

He sets his fork down and reaches beneath the table, stopping me from tapping my fingers against my thigh.

Shit. When did I start doing that?

My muscles freeze, and he squeezes my hand softly. Sometimes I forget how well he knows me. My quirks. My anxiety. My history.

“Hey, Rore,” he says. It’s like a welcome back but not in a condescending way, more like he knows I was lost in my own head and needed a push back to reality. He’s not wrong.

Forcing a smile, I reply, “Hi.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing—”

He squeezes my hand again.

The locked and loaded excuse dies on my tongue, and my mouth bunches to one side.

Sometimes I really hate how well he knows me, and it doesn’t help that his hand is still on my thigh, burning a hole through my jeans.

It doesn’t help that we’re sitting close.

Maybe a little too close, considering I have a fake boyfriend and all.

As if only now realizing he’s still touching me, his fingertips press into me one more time before he oh so slowly lifts his hand and presses his palm onto the table.

His nails are trimmed short, and there’s a light dusting of hair along the back of his hand, his veins popping and his fingers spread wide.

I never thought hands were sexy. And maybe they aren’t.

Maybe it’s because they’re connected to Jaxon.

My family friend. The reminder of how he introduced me to Crowther shatters my daydream of what it would feel like to have his hands on me, roaming my skin, leaving me hot and tingly and wanting.

Ooookay. Down, girl.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he mutters.

“It’s really nothing,” I say. “I was only thinking about whether or not I’m officially off the clock or…”

“I got Poppy for the rest of the night.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, Squeaks, er, Rore.” He hesitates. “Sorry, I know you don’t want me calling you Squeaks. It’s a hard habit to break.”

Caving, I say, “It’s okay if you call me Squeaks.”

“Nah, you asked me not to?—”

“I was angry and overreacted.”

“Yeah, and that’s usually the only time you speak your mind,” he argues dryly. “When you’ve been pushed over the edge. Rory .” His mouth lifts, softening the blow of his assessment. “Can I ask you something, though?”

“What?”

“How long have you hated the nickname?”

If only he knew how complicated the question is.

Avoiding his gaze, I mumble, “I don’t hate it. I actually really love it, all things considered.”

“Just not when I say it,” he assumes.

I shake my head. “That’s not it, either.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I don’t know. I guess, it made me feel like, after everything we’d been through, you were able to just sweep everything under the rug, and I wasn’t able to, you know?”

“Never wanted to sweep everything under the rug,” he murmurs. “I only wanted to make you feel comfortable, and if not addressing the fallout was the best way to do it, I was game.”

My mouth quirks. “And you say you’re not perfect.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start that again.”

“Just so you know, now that we’ve talked everything out and we’re friends again, I’m okay with the nickname every once in a while.”

“All right, Squeaks ,” he emphasizes. “Enjoy your night off. I’ve got Poppy.”

“You’re sure?” I ask.

“I’m sure.”

“Like, totally positive?”

“She’s my kid, and I’m done working for the night, so yes. I’m positive.” His lips quirk up on one side. “Go. Read a book. Call Dodge. Take a bath. If your tub is anything like the one in my room, it looks nice.”

I preen at the options I hadn’t even considered. “A bath, huh?”

“Unless you’re not a fan of baths anymore.” His brow arches.

Damn. The man knows me too well.

I love baths. Give me the bubbles, the heat, the constant trickle of water against my toes from the faucet. It’s cleansing and cathartic in a way I can’t explain and sounds like the perfect way to end my night.

“The rest of the night’s yours,” he adds, “but I’ll be out by six a.m., so you’ll have the morning with Poppy. Is that okay?”

I check the time on my phone. “Yeah, just leave your bedroom door open so I can hear her when she wakes up. ”

“Sure thing.”

“Good.”

The chair legs scrape against the tile floor as I force myself to stand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you.”

Hades follows me into our room, and I search through my bag for my book and pajamas because there’s nothing worse than being dripping wet while searching for clothes.

Once I find everything I need, I tuck my things under my arm and step into the bathroom when my shoulders fall. Sink. Toilet. Shower. No bath.

Well, that sucks.

And it’s not like I can read in the shower.

Hmm. Tiptoeing back into the bedroom, I peek through the cracked door finding Jaxon with Poppy again.

They’re snuggled on the couch as Jaxon reads her a pop-up book.

My heart melts a little more. Why does he have to be so cute with her?

I mean, I want him to be. Obviously. But still.

It almost feels…unfair. Like, when we were away from each other, I could pretend he wasn’t as perfect as my memory made him out to be.

As if the younger lens I viewed him through had somehow magically created the guy I thought he was, but now that time has moved on, I could see the real, uninteresting and completely less than perfect Jaxon Thorne in all his boring glory.

Instead, I’m left with this. A good guy with a sexy smirk and a big heart.

Perfect? No, despite how much I love teasing him.

Yet even more enigmatic and genuine than I remember.

As if he can feel my gaze, Jax looks up, catching me watching him like a Peeping Tom.

“There a problem?” he asks.

“No, I was just…” Please don’t blush, please don’t blush, please don’t blush. I lift my book into the air. “Putting this away.”

He frowns. “Why? ”

“Change of plans. I’m going to shower instead.”

“No bath?”

“No bath,” I confirm. “Literally.”

Realizing what I’m talking about, Jaxon offers, “You can use mine if you want.”

“No, no, no, I don’t want to impose?—”

“You’re not imposing,” he argues. “Poppy and I are hanging out in here. She had a late nap, so it’s not like she’s going to bed for the next hour or so. That should be plenty of time for you to enjoy a bath and read a book. After watching Poppy all day, I’d say you’ve earned it.”

“You’re sure?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah, no worries.”

“Okay.”

Clutching my pajamas and book to my chest, I stride past them with Hades trudging behind.

Once the water is close to boiling, I strip down and set my clothes on the edge of the bath, placing my book on top so it’s within reach before dipping my toe into the pool of heat.

With a groan of appreciation, I slip inside, letting the scalding water kiss my skin.

Seriously. There’s nothing better than a hot bath.

I’m not sure how long I spend in the achingly delicious water, but I’ve officially enjoyed at least three chapters, and my fingers are pruney.

It’s nice. Escaping into a book for a little while.

Letting my problems drift away until all that’s left is me and a few dragons.

Alas, I should probably get out and give Jaxon his bathroom back.

I reach for a folded towel tucked under the sink, but it’s out of reach.

Stretching a little further, I try to snag the top one when my feet slip out from under me.

Shit!

As if in slow motion, I tumble over the edge of the tub and splay my arms out to catch myself while Hades darts out of the way. With a crack, pain shoots along my shoulder and down my arms, and a scream of agony rips through me. “Ah!”

I cling my hurt arm to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut.

Yup.

Yup, yup, yup.

This does not feel good. This does not feel good. At. All.

“Squeaks?” Jaxon calls from outside the door. Concern laces his raspy voice.

I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter, caught between shame and pain as I lie on the wet tile, naked as the day I was born. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

My bottom lip wobbles as I keep my arm to my chest while trying to ignore the way it feels like it’s literally been ripped from its socket.

Add in needing to shove a worried Hades from licking the side of my face, and I’m seconds from having a full-blown panic attack.

What am I supposed to do? I can’t freaking move!

I try to piece together a game plan or something, but the agonizing pain is too much.

I can’t think straight, let alone piece together a course of action.

I look down at my naked body and zero in on where the pain is sharpest. My shoulder. “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” I whimper.

“Rory?” Jaxon calls. He sounds even more anxious than before. “Answer me. I heard a crash. Are you okay?”

Tears well in my eyes, and I shove Hades’ muzzle from my face again. “I mean, I’ve been better.”

“What happened? Can I come in?”

I reach for one of the towels as a pathetic laugh slips out of me, but it turns into a whimper when another sharp pain shoots up my collarbone. Okay, no towel. I didn’t need it anyway. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Shit this hurts.

“Squeaks, I’m coming in?— ”

“I’m naked.” I let out a slow breath, trying to rein in the excruciating pain. “I’m naked, and I’m pretty sure I broke my arm or my shoulder or my collarbone or…something.” A tear slides down my cheek. “It hurts really bad, Jax.”

“I won’t look,” he promises.

Another pathetic laugh escapes me as I remember our conversation at the bar. How I could be laid out naked in front of him and he still wouldn’t look. The reminder makes my heart pang and my head roll forward in defeat. “Of course, you won’t.”

“What was that?” Jaxon calls.

I bite my tongue to keep from repeating myself, well aware my emotions are all over the place, and there’s no need to add fuel to the fire.

Praying he didn’t hear me, I choke out, “Okay.” Breathe. “You can…you can come in.”