Page 3 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

“So, what are you going to do when you run out of blank skin?” Ophelia chimes in. “Seems like you’re already close to it.”

Everett’s smile widens. “There are still a few places she can mark.”

Smacking his chest, Raine rolls her eyes. “And on that note, I’m going to take a dip in the pool. You coming?”

“Hell, yeah,” Everett returns .

“Me, too,” Finley decides, turning to Lia. “As long as you’re good with holding Callie for a little longer?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Lia answers.

“Thanks. You’re the best.” Standing up, Finley jumps in next to her husband, stealing Macky from Griffin’s grasp. As her fingers dig into her toddler’s sides, Macky squeals in delight.

“You comin’, Rore?” Raine asks me.

I look at the cool blue water, then decide, “I’m going to use the restroom first, but I’ll be back.”

“Sounds good,” Raine replies. “Don’t be long. I’ve missed you. We need to catch up.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I return. And she’s right.

Living outside of Lockwood Heights when everyone else is very much inside Lockwood Heights—even if it’s only metaphorically for certain individuals—has a way of keeping distance.

Despite always saying it’s for the best,—the less opportunities for uncomfortable encounters with Jaxon, the better—it does make gatherings like this feel a little like you’re the third, er fifteenth, wheel sometimes.

Making my way up the steps, I run into a very pregnant Dylan, her husband, Reeves, and their two little boys, Eli and Parker.

Trailing behind them are my mom, my dad, Aunt Kate and Uncle Macklin.

Pretty sure hugs are like confetti at this point as I pass them around until finally reaching the blissfully empty kitchen.

Resting my back against the closed sliding glass door, I take a deep breath, reminding myself this is only the beginning of a very jam-packed week.

I love everyone more than anything, but it’s…

a lot. Pretending like everything’s okay.

Like a simple run-in—hell, it wasn’t even a run-in—with a certain someone isn’t enough to knock me on my ass or leave me feeling completely off-kilter like I do right now despite my best attempts to act normal and unaffected. I wonder where he is now .

Don’t think about him.

It doesn’t matter.

Heading to the restroom, I do my business and wash up in the sink. The cool water feels good against my hands, and I bend forward, splashing it against my face.

I wonder if Tatum saw right through me. If she could feel how distracted I was after my little…

whatever the hell it was with Jaxon before he disappeared.

Was he upset to see me? Can I blame him if he was?

Probably not. One thing is very clear. This is even harder than I thought it would be, which is kind of ridiculous, all things considered.

Instead, here I am. Hiding in the bathroom.

Terrified that, by the time I make it back to the pool, he’ll be there.

With his wife. And I’ll be…I’ll be the same pathetic girl who ran out of Lockwood Heights all those years ago.

Don’t think about him.

With a deep breath, I pick up the soap bottle, rinse it under the faucet to get rid of any potential soap scum build-up, then set it back down.

I shouldn’t. I know it’s a compulsion. But it’s one of the few I don’t fight, well aware that, in the big scheme of things, it ranks low on the totem pole in regards to my obsessive compulsive disorder.

After drying my hands, I grab my swim towel from beside the sink and open the door, stopping short.

“Shit,” I breathe out.

“Sorry.” A shy Jaxon stands in front of me squeezing the back of his neck. “I needed to?—”

“Yeah, of course.” Stepping aside, I give him space to enter the bathroom, but he doesn’t budge.

Of course, he doesn’t.

He looks good. Really good. Older, yeah, but not in an old-man, the poor guy’s let himself go kind of way.

Nope. That would be way too convenient for me.

Instead, he looks like a man who’s finally grown into himself.

His dark hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it, and his white T-shirt stretches across his chest and broad shoulders, proving his affinity for wellness and an active lifestyle wasn’t a phase, rather a lifelong goal.

One he’s clearly committed to. Honestly, it isn’t even fair.

“It’s good seeing you again,” Jax murmurs.

My attention snaps from his broad chest to his stupidly attractive, and as vibrantly dark green as I remember, eyes. Did he most definitely just catch me checking him out? Why, yes. Yes, he did.

As if he can feel my discomfort, Jax tacks on a smile that makes my knees weak.

And I hate him for it.

How, even now, even after all these years, the bastard still manages to affect me with a stupid off-hand comment.

Is it good to see me? Has he thought about me even once since I left Lockwood Heights?

Not in a romantic way or anything. I’m well aware he still looks at me like I’m a child, but in a we used to talk all the time and then nothing kind of way.

It makes me feel like I’m a little kid all over again.

Like a fumbling preteen who’s never had an attractive guy talk to her or look her in the eye.

Then again, the assumption isn’t completely off-base.

Not really. A burn hits my eyes, and I dig my fingernails into my palms, fighting the urge to tap my thumb against the tips of my fingers, well aware it’ll only feed my OCD.

“You look…” Hesitating, Jax looks me up and down, his attention gliding down my body as my heart gallops faster and faster with every passing second.

The swim towel is in my limp hand at my side, leaving most of my skin available for easy perusal.

It makes me feel even more like a child.

Like with a single look, I’m dragged right back to my preteen years, and I now want to puke.

“Rore,” someone calls .

My body tenses, and I look over my shoulder toward the culprit. In red board shorts, his tattooed chest on full display, Dodger Anders, Raine’s older brother and Paxton’s bandmate, strides toward me with a confidence I can’t help but envy. “Hey. Raine told me you were up here.”

Raising a shoulder, I offer, weakly, “Here I am.”

“Here you are.” His mouth curves up before his gaze shifts to Jax. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Hey, man, I’m Dodge. I think we met at Everett’s wedding a while back.”

“Hey,” Jax returns. “Jaxon. Good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you, too.” Satisfied he’s performed the proper pleasantries, Dodger tilts his head, giving me his full attention again. “You good?”

Snapping myself out of whatever funk from Hell I’ve been in since coming face-to-face with Jax again, I answer, “Yeah. Hi. I was actually wondering when you were going to show up. I was getting a little lonely over here,” I add, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to remind.

Dodger and I are only friends, but after hearing about the engagement and commiserating over our own demons in Lockwood Heights, he offered to be my plus-one to the wedding, and I couldn’t have been more grateful.

Especially now. When my stupid body and emotions have already betrayed me after two seconds of being in Jaxon’s presence.

Seriously. What is wrong with me? Did I honestly think I’d survive an entire week of this bullshit?

Forcing a smile, I lift my arms to hug Dodger before realizing he’s half-naked and so am I.

Is a swimsuit hug weird? I mean, it’s a lot of skin, but would I care if Jaxon wasn’t two feet away?

Honestly, I have no idea. I shouldn’t care.

That much I know. But what about Dodge? If he’s bothered, he doesn’t show it.

Then again, he’s probably used to seeing skin.

Thanks to him being the lead singer of IndieCent Vows, I doubt he would’ve batted an eye even if I’d flashed him fully.

Without missing a beat, he opens his arms and pulls me into a hug, looping his hands around the small of my back and tugging me close. Dodger asks, “You ready to go to the pool?”

Nodding, I end the hug. “Yes, please.”

“Perfect, I’ll join you.” He tosses his arm around my shoulders, preparing to guide me back to the party.

I should probably say something to Jax. Tell him I’ll see him around or whatever, but I’m not sure I can do it.

Force myself to pretend everything is exactly how it used to be when the elephant in the room is so much bigger than that.

Than meaningless pleasantries. He has to see it, doesn’t he?

I mean, I can play nice. It’s the least he deserves.

But pretending our history is water under the bridge when you’re known for wearing your heart on your sleeve? I’m not sure I can do it.

Literally.

It’s like I’m physically incapable.

“We’ll see you out there,” Dodger says to Jax.

“Yeah, for sure,” Jax replies.

Come on, Rore, I tell myself.

Acknowledge him. Show him you’re not the bumbling idiot you once were. You’re not drooling over him anymore. Not again. Not ever. You’ve matured, dammit. So prove it!

Peeking up at Jax, I murmur, “Good seeing you again.”

Confusion swirls in his dark olive-colored eyes, but he gives a jerky nod. “Yeah, you, too.”