Page 1 of Jessa & Jaxon (What Happens In Vegas #1)

Vegas never quiets down, does it?

Even after three full days of bottomless mimosas, poolside cocktails and afternoons of Meesha dragging us through boutique after boutique, the city still hums with relentless energy.

Slot machines chime, laughter spills from every direction, and somewhere nearby, the deep bass of a club pulses through the walls like a second heartbeat.

Though Meesha’s wedding is still two months away, we decided to celebrate her bachelorette during spring break while I’m off from school. Four days in Vegas is the perfect escape from lesson plans, mediating recess rivalries, and the never-ending snowstorms back in Winter Bay.

I swirl my drink, watching the deep red hue. The first sip confirms it needs more cranberry juice.

“Jessa! You’re not even listening.”

Meesha’s voice cuts through my musings, her perfectly manicured finger tapping impatiently on the rim of her martini glass.

“Fine, you caught me.” I smile at my best friend since kindergarten. “What about the wedding?”

Meesha rolls her eyes dramatically, and I meet her look with one of my own. Twenty-one years of friendship means Meesha has learned to deal with my quirks.

“What? I multitask,” I say unapologetically, straightening the cocktail napkin under my glass.

She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “You are so lucky I love you.”

Meesha’s all spontaneity and surface sparkle, while I assess and execute. She brings the sparkle; I bring the structure. It’s why we haven’t killed each other.

“I love you, too.”

Something flickers across her face. My teacher-radar immediately pings.

“Do you girls think Connor and I are moving too fast?”

“Fast? You’ve been together since you were sixteen?” Jasmine, our third musketeer, glances up from her phone.

Her perceptiveness never missed a shift in mood, even when she seemed absorbed in something else. It’s the same intuition that’s made her five romance novels shoot to the bestseller lists. She understands people’s desires better than they understand themselves.

Meesha and I met Jasmine during our freshman year of college when we discovered we were dating the same guy.

Instead of fighting, we teamed up and broke into Chad’s dorm room, covered his entire floor with a layer of uncooked rice mixed with glitter and corn syrup, replaced his shampoo with pink hair dye, and plastered every surface with printed screenshots of his three-timing text messages.

The campus security footage of him discovering our handiwork mysteriously made its way to the university’s social media page, courtesy of Jasmine’s roommate in the IT department. We’d earned a disciplinary warning and a lifetime sisterhood in one fell swoop.

“But he’s the only man I’ve ever kissed.” Meesha’s voice drops to a whisper in the noisy restaurant. “The only one I’ve ever...” She doesn’t finish and doesn’t need to. “I can’t help feeling like I’m missing out on something.”

Jasmine and I exchange glances.

I want to grab Meesha’s shoulders, shake sense into her.

I’ve watched them grow together. Connor bringing her soup during the weeks leading up to her nursing exam, holding her hand at her grandmother’s funeral, looking at her like she hung the moon and stars.

The devotion between them is what other people dream about—what I secretly dream about.

“That’s ridiculous, Meesha. You’ve found what most people spend their lives searching for. Don’t throw it away on a whim.”

“Have you told him how you feel?” Jasmine asks.

“It was hard enough admitting it to you two.” Meesha blinks rapidly, fighting tears. “I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful. I love him, I do. I just—” She swallows hard. “I wonder if I should test the waters before diving all the way in.”

How can anyone want to test other waters when they’ve found their ocean? Isn’t that the dream? To have someone who loves you so completely they’d call just to hear your voice, who looks at you like you’re the answer to every question they’ve ever asked?

The vibration of Meesha’s phone cuts through my thoughts. Her screen lights up with Connor’s smiling face.

“It’s him,” she murmurs, already reaching for it. “I should take this.”

She slides from her chair, phone pressed to her ear, voice instantly brightening as she weaves through the crowd. “Hey, baby...”

I turn to Jasmine. “Do you think she’s okay?”

Jasmine’s brow furrows as she gathers her sleek leather purse. “I’m not sure, but I hope she doesn’t do anything to mess up her relationship.”

“I’ll be in the suite!” Meesha calls over her shoulder, already halfway to the elevators. “Connor wants to see the room!”

Before we can respond, she’s gone, leaving behind the weight of her confession.

“So,” Jasmine says, smoothly steering us away from the emotional iceberg we narrowly avoided, “I’ve booked that contemporary art tour for this evening. You want to join?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Hard pass. I’m on vacation from educational activities.”

An hour later, I’m freshly showered and wearing a thigh-length dress. Meesha’s still locked in her room and Jasmine’s gone off to the exhibit.

It’s our last night in Vegas, and after three days of partying, spa treatments, and excursions, this isn’t how I pictured it ending.

Some bachelorette weekend.

Boredom drives me back downstairs to the hotel bar. The massive space buzzes with energy. Laughter and conversation flow as freely as the alcohol. I claim one of the empty bar stools and order a Cosmo.

“That’s how you make a proper Cosmopolitan,” I say after taking my first sip.

I let my eyes wander, taking in the scene. A couple laughs drunkenly near the corner, their heads tilted close together. A woman in a sequined dress gesture wildly to her friend, her oversized margarita sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the glass.

And then I see him.

Jaxon Jamison.

My brother’s best friend. My personal nemesis.

If arrogance were a currency, he’d be a Trillionaire. If there was a way to annoy me, he finds it, perfects it, and patents it.

Jaxon spent most of my teenage years tormenting me with his stupid nicknames. And yet, somehow, he’s grown into that cockiness, wearing it like a finely tailored suit.

He is laughing at something the sleek blonde beside him said, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. The blonde is stunning—red lips, perfect hair, manicured nails resting on his forearm. She leans in, pressing her breasts closer to him.

Something unexpected twists in my chest. Not jealousy. Just... irritation. Annoyance. That’s all.

I force my gaze back to my drink, willing the tightness in my chest to disappear. I hope—no, pray—he won’t notice me.

A strange heat prickles at my skin, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. I tell myself not to look. Will myself to focus on literally anything else.

But the pull is irresistible.

When I finally cave, my gaze collides with his. Hazel eyes lock onto mine, amusement flickering in their depths. My pulse betrays me, hammering against my ribs as his lips curl, like he can hear the effect he has on me.

Jaxon gets up from his seat and saunters toward me, his long legs eating up the distance with ease. I immediately flag down the bartender.

“Check, please.”

Too late. Jaxon stands beside me. The faint spicy scent of his cologne hits me, and I curse the throbbing between my legs.

“JJ,” he drawls, his deep voice wrapping around the nickname I hate as easily as a silk scarf.

“Jaxon.” I make my voice as cold as the condensation dripping down my glass.

His eyes flick around the room, assessing. “Where are Jasmine and Meesha?”

“None of your business,” I snap, tilting my chin higher, hoping to shut this down.

Jaxon chuckles, the sound sending heat licking up my spine.

“In that case,” he says smoothly, “I’ll keep you company.”

Without waiting for my invitation, he drags a stool closer to mine with annoying self-assuredness, shedding his blazer and rolling up the sleeves of his crisp blue button-down like he has all the time in the world.

“Did I ask you to sit here?”

“No,” he says.

“Great. Then you can take your over-inflated ego back to your table.”

“I’m waiting for Antonio,” he says, like I give a damn. “He’s running late.”

Antonio is my brother’s other best friend. The two of them, along with Jaxon, run a multimillion-dollar gaming company.

“This music is terrible,” I mutter under my breath as some EDM remix comes on.

“Holding out for Conway Twitty, JJ?”

“Only if you promise not to cry this time.”

“It was George Strait, and I was twelve,” he says stiffly. “And Mom had just died.”

I glance at him, surprised. “Right. Sorry.”

“She used to sing country songs while cooking,” he adds, softer now. “Still can’t hear Amarillo by Morning without thinking of her.”

Sometimes I forget the cocky tech mogul and my childhood nemesis was a boy who lost his mother too soon. And for reasons I don’t care to examine, it sits with me longer than it should.

I take another sip of my drink and feel the heat of a glare searing into the side of my face. The blonde. She is still at their table, watching me, her red lips pressed into a thin, irritated line.

“Your friend looks like she wants to stab me.” I set my glass down. “Should I be worried?”

Jaxon follows my gaze, then lets out a low, amused laugh. His eyes return to mine with an intensity that makes my skin tingle.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“She’s mentally plotting my demise.”

“I met her ten minutes ago.” He dismisses her with a casual wave of his hand, then leans in slightly. “So tell me, JJ. What have you been up to in Sin City?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Actually,” he says, leaning closer, “I would.”

The next hour passes faster than I expect. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact that Jaxon’s “civil” mode isn’t half bad. We talk about Vegas, politics and a weird story about a guy who did plastic surgery to become a dog.

Somewhere along the way, I feel myself relaxing and laughing more than I should. The Jaxon I know—the arrogant, insufferable one—is still there, but he isn’t as unbearable tonight.

“Let’s play a game,” I announce. “We are in Vegas, after all.”

Jaxon raises a brow. “What kind of game?”

“Never Have I Ever.”

I dig through my bag for my phone, struggling to grab it as it keeps slipping through my fingers. Finally, I pull it out like unearthed treasure.

“Okay, here we go. I’ll read the statements, and if you’ve done it, you drink. Got it?”

“Game on,” he says, leaning back.

I scroll through the list and read the first one.

“Never have I ever gone streaking.”

Jaxon laughs and takes a drink.

My jaw drops. “You? Streaking? You’re too uptight for that.”

“College,” he says with a shrug. “That’s all you’re getting.”

“Boring,” I tease, but I can’t hide my amusement.

“Next,” he says, clearly eager to move on.

I click again. “Never have I ever had a one-night stand.”

Jaxon raises his glass, his smile turning cocky.

I hesitate for a beat, then raise mine too.

Jaxon’s glass pauses in mid-air, his hazel eyes darkening. “You?”

“What about that surprises you?”

One-night stands are safe. Physical without emotional entanglement. No expectations, no disappointments, no handing over the keys to my heart only to watch someone carelessly drop them down a drain. Just pleasure without the pain that inevitably follows.

His jaw tenses. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

“What type is that, Jaxon?”

His gaze locked onto mine like he’s trying to figure out if I’m bluffing. “Who was he?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

There’s a flicker of irritation in his expression before he masks it. “Nah. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

I giggle, scrolling for the next statement.

“Never have I ever slept with someone twice my age.”

Jaxon arches a brow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were targeting me.”

“I’m not!” I say, laughing. “Drink up.”

The game continues, the drinks flowing as easily as the laughter. We both loosen up more than I expect, leaning into the conversation and forgetting any pretense of civility.

At one point, I catch myself watching his lips as he speaks, but look away before he notices.

“Never...” I slur, holding back laughter, “have I ever... married.”

We lock eyes for a moment before bursting into uncontrollable laughter, the kind that makes my stomach hurt.

Jaxon leans forward, resting his elbows on the bar as he tries to catch his breath. “We’ve got one shot left each. Who’s winning?”

“I don’t know, but maybe we could do something about this last one,” I say, half-laughing, half-slurring. “Then we’d both win.”

Jaxon’s smile doesn’t fade, but the air becomes darker, more dangerous. “Careful what you suggest, JJ.”