Page 33 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

JAXON

I wipe at my tired eyes, my skull throbbing like I took a baseball bat to the head at some point after the game.

Hell, with how fuzzy last night feels, I just might’ve.

Stretching across the bed, I cover my yawn with my forearm and force one eye open.

Light filters in through the hotel window, proving it’s well past my usual wake up time.

Where’s Poppy?

Sitting up, I search the room for her crib, but it’s missing.

What the hell?

Babbling sounds from the main area, and I wipe at the corner of my eye, attempting to piece together what happened last night.

We lost. It sucked. I gave my two cents during the post-game interviews, fought the urge to throw a chair at one of the reporters, then went to the bar with a few of the players.

After that, it’s fuzzy at best. I scrub my hand over my face, trying to piece shit together.

What happened after the bar? Let’s see. I came back to the room, and…

shit. Nausea swirls in my stomach and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

I kissed Rory. I climbed into her bed, rambled for who the fuck knows how long, kissed her, felt her up, then fell asleep on top of her.

Shit!

My body feels like I was hit with a truck, but I force it to move anyway.

Rolling out of Rory’s bed, I pad to the doorway and lean against the doorjamb when Rory and Poppy come into view.

They’re on the couch, reading a book about all the animals on a farm when Hades lifts his head from the ground, triggering Rory to look up at me.

“Oh.” She smiles at me. “Hey. Good morning.”

Good morning? That’s all she has to say? Did I dream it? Last night? No, I literally woke up in her bed, so it’s not possible I dreamt it. Not this time, anyway. But she’s acting…normal. I think? Shit, I don’t know.

“How are you feeling?” she prods.

Confused as shit is how I’m feeling. And guilty, and hung over, and…

I pinch the bridge of my nose again in hopes of easing the pounding behind my eyes, but it doesn’t do shit.

“I’m gonna brush my teeth,” I mutter before striding into my side of the suite without a backward glance.

Grabbing my toiletries from my bag, I squeeze some toothpaste onto the brush and start brushing while trying not to lose my shit.

I can’t believe I screwed up like this. I’ve done stupid shit before.

A lot. But nothing compares to this. I’m her employer for shit’s sake.

And her family friend. And her dad is my boss.

And she just got out of a relationship. And she’s kind of dating one of my players.

Or maybe not, since she confirmed they never kissed.

Or did I imagine that part? Fuck, I dunno.

Not that it matters. What the hell was I thinking?

I lean over the sink, spit the minty foam into the swirling water, and rinse my mouth one more time in hopes of eradicating last night’s alcohol still lingering on my tongue.

Can’t believe I kissed her with this mouth. I probably tasted like ass to her. How could I be so stupid? Scrubbing my hand over my face, I force myself to turn off the bathroom light, well aware I can’t hide in here forever, not when my baby girl’s in the other room.

They haven’t moved from the couch. When Poppy notices my presence, her arms bob in the air as she reaches for me, so I close the distance and pick her up, kissing her forehead.

I can’t believe I slept so late. That I didn’t hear her when she woke up.

Add it to the long list of mistakes I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours.

How could I mess up so badly? And how do I make it right?

Shoving aside my self-loathing, I murmur, “Thanks for waking up with her.”

“No problem,” Rory answers. “I was awake anyway and figured you could use the rest.”

A huff of amusement escapes me, and I kiss Poppy’s nose. “Guess you could say that.”

“I ordered room service a little while ago,” she adds, pointing to the small kitchenette. “It’s over there.”

“Thanks.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Listen.” Shifting Poppy to my other side, I take a deep breath, refusing to sweep last night under the rug no matter how much I want to. “I want to apologize.”

An adorable furrow forms between Rory’s brows as she peeks up at me from the couch. “Apologize?”

“I fucked—messed up,” I say, correcting my shitty language in front of Poppy, despite knowing it doesn’t quite matter. Not yet, anyway.

Rory’s lips press together, but she doesn’t reply. It only feeds my guilt.

“I shouldn’t have climbed into your bed, let alone kissed you. That was messed up. I don’t know what I was thinking. Actually, I wasn’t thinking,” I clarify. “I was drunk and pissed over the loss and…I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” she repeats, though it isn’t a question. No, she’s processing.

“I don’t want to lose you as a nanny, not yet?—”

“Wait.” She lifts her hand to stop me. “Are you sorry you kissed me because you’re afraid I’m going to quit before the month is over or are you sorry you kissed me at all?”

I frown, unsure how to respond. Why do I feel like I’m walking on eggshells? Why do I feel like one wrong move will make or break this conversation and all the progress we’ve made since the wedding?

“Uh,” I lay Poppy on her elephant blanket and hand her a small stuffed animal from beside Hades. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Got it.” Rory’s nod is slow and jilted. “I’m going to…shower.” She pushes to her feet, refusing to look me in the eye.

It only makes me feel guiltier. Clearly, I fucked up.

Again. Though I can’t figure out how. I apologized.

I didn’t sweep it under the rug. I owned up to my mistake.

I didn’t justify it or pretend it never happened.

So, why is there a shift in the air? She seemed fine before I brushed my teeth.

She seemed fine when I grabbed Poppy from her. What did I do?

As she moves past me, I grab her arm, preventing her retreat. “Look, I really am sorry?—”

“So you already said.”

“Yeah, but clearly not enough,” I argue. “You’re mad at me.”

Tearing her attention from where I'm touching her, she glares up at me. “Are you seriously this dense?”

I pull back, surprised by the animosity in her voice. “What? ”

“I’m not mad at you for kissing me. I’m mad at you for apologizing for it.”

Letting her go, I rest my hand on top of my head in hopes of stopping myself from reaching out for her again. “What?”

She scoffs and starts to move past me again. “Forget it.”

“Rore,” I beg.

Turning on her heel, she faces me. “Explain to me why I am so undesirable that not only do you have to get drunk to kiss me in the first place, but you also feel the need to apologize afterward.”

What?

Like, seriously. What?

There are so many things I want to address in her statement, but one of them stands out more than the others. It consumes me completely as I tilt my head, studying the woman in front of me. “You think you’re undesirable?”

She shakes her head, but the blood drains from her face, proving she let something slip that she had no intention of revealing. “That’s not the point?—”

“Rory, you were dating a rockstar less than a month ago, and you think you’re undesirable?” I push.

Rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms, she mutters, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t?” I laugh, though there isn’t any humor in it.

“Because I’m pretty sure there are hundreds if not thousands of women who would kill to be dating a rockstar, but you’re just gonna brush it aside?

” Jealousy knots my gut, but I push forward.

“Bullshit, Rore. I’m not gonna let you play the pity card or ignore the evidence right in front of your nose. Clearly, you’re desirable?—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about?—”

“Oh I don’t?”

“No,” she snaps, “You don’t.”

“Pretty sure the evidence proves?— ”

“We were never dating, Jax.”

“What?”

Her mouth clamps closed, and she stares at the ground, proving she let something else she had no intention of telling me slip past her lips, all because she’s fired up. But it’s too late. The cat’s out of the bag. Even so, I swear I misheard her. There’s no way.

Is there?

Moving forward, I push, “What did you say, Rore?”

“I said…” Her tongue darts out between her lips, moistening them. “I said we were never dating.”

Blindsided, I step even closer and cock my head as I stare at the woman in front of me.

The woman who lied to me about dating a rockstar.

So I didn’t mishear her. The realization doesn’t make the truth any less murky.

It makes no sense. Why lie about something like this?

Especially when none of her family cares.

Not really. All they want is for her to be happy.

No one even batted an eye. No one but me, though I’m taking it to my grave.

“Why’d you tell everyone you were dating Dodger if you weren’t?” I demand.

“Because…”

Her bottom lip trembles, and I nudge her chin with the edge of my knuckle, forcing her to look at me. “Because what, Squeaks?”

Animosity shines back at me in her pretty gaze, proving I’ve pushed her too far. She spits, “Because the idea of seeing you again without a boyfriend or really any dating history in general felt about as pleasant as what you clearly experienced last night.”

My brows wrinkle, and I swear I’m still drunk because the woman’s talking in riddles. “What?”

“If the first words out of a guy’s mouth after he kisses you are, I’m sorry, that was a mistake , it probably wasn’t a very pleasant experience, am I right?”

Yeah, the girl’s definitely talking in riddles.

“Are we talking about the one—as in singular—instance between you and me, or are you saying that’s a consistent response when someone kisses you?” I challenge.

Staring at her fluffy socks, she folds her arms, her body deflating like a balloon. “Well, since you’re the first and only , I guess I don’t have much to go off, now do I.”

Only?

“What?” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time since I rolled out of Rory’s bed.

“Nothing,” she snaps. “Now, will you please let me go shower?”

But I don’t move. I don’t back away. And I sure as shit don’t step aside so she can slip past me and hide in her room the way I know she wants. “Rory, was last night your first kiss?” Her nostrils flare, and she shifts to her left, but I mirror her movements, blocking her. “Answer the question.”

“Let me go, Jaxon?—”

“Answer the question,” I growl. Because she has to be lying.

She has to. There’s no way a woman like Rory, a woman who looks like her and acts like her and has a heart of gold like her would be a virgin, let alone so innocent she hasn’t even experienced an actual kiss until the sloppy one I planted on her while I was blackout drunk.

Fuck! I screwed up even more than I thought.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I beg. My chest heaves with restraint.

“Tell me it was a shitty kiss and nothing compared to Dodger’s or Crowther’s or any other guy who was lucky enough to have a chance with you over the years.

But don’t, for the love of everything good in this world, tell me that I stole your first kiss and can barely remember it. ”

Peeking up at me, her thick, dark lashes somehow managing to make her already pretty eyes brighter than any I’ve ever seen, Rory whispers, “Don’t make me say it.”

Like a punch to the gut, the air whooshes from my lungs, and I shake my head. “Rore.”

“Please.”

My attention falls to her lips, her perfectly pouty lips, causing my guilt to reach an all-time high.

She’s never been kissed? And I fucking took it from her?

Just like that? How do I fix this? I need to fix this.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” I rasp. “I don’t remember much after I slipped into your bed, but…

” I swallow, sorting through last night’s memory, though it’s just as fuzzy as before.

Not much sticks out other than the realization of how soft and sweet she felt beneath me.

My dick twitches in my sweats, and I fight for control.

Of the situation. Of my own visceral reaction.

Of my not-so-innocent thoughts. All of it.

“It was an honest mistake,” she says numbly.

“Let me finish,” I beg as determination floods my system. “I don’t remember much, okay? It’s messed up, and I wish it wasn’t true, but I’ll tell you what I do remember, all right?”

“Jax, don’t?—”

“Rory, these were the sweetest lips I’ve ever tasted.”

Her expression falls as if my admission hurts her when I was trying to do the opposite.

“You don’t need to flatter me, Jax.”

“Not flattering you,” I growl, desperate to make her understand.

“Of course not.” She swallows and reaches up, patting my chest. “I’m going to…I’m going to shower. Do you have Pops?”

I glance at my daughter on her tummy a few feet away.

Her arms and legs flap back and forth as she pulls Hades’ tail, oblivious to just how badly her father’s fucking up this morning.

With a huff, Hades raises his head, licks her fingers, then rests back on the ground, giving her the side-eye but not bothering to move from his spot next to the couch.

I give Rory a subtle nod, confirming I’ll keep an eye on my baby girl, even though it means Rory’s only obligation for standing in the same room with me is null and void. At least for the time being.

Without a word, Rory steps around me, and this time, I let her, watching as she disappears into her room and closes the door behind her.

I fucked up. The problem is, I don’t know how to fix it. I scrub my hand over my face, reeling. How the hell was that her first kiss? Her first real kiss?

I always knew that moment all those years ago would've affected her, hitting her self-esteem harder than I ever could’ve imagined while knowing I had no choice.

But even then, I never would’ve guessed she’d shy away from intimacy completely.

It’s like she took that one experience of rejection and carried it with her, convinced it was the standard for every potential encounter from there on out, so why bother opening up with anyone ever again?

It’s like she’s still stuck in middle school on my couch.

Her eyes brimming with tears and her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment when I turned her down after realizing what she wanted from me.

It’s why she’s still hurting.

Why my apology this morning cut her so deeply.

Because last night, I gave her hope. I let her believe that a kiss doesn’t have to suck or be followed by shame. And what did I do? I proved how fucking wrong she was all over again.