Crave (Crave Series)

by Tracy Wolff

  Jaxon: Do you KNOW what lucky means?

  The laugh hits me so unexpectedly that I nearly snort. Then slap a hand over my mouth in horrified amusement, even though there’s no one around to hear.

  Me: I walked away, didn’t I?

  Jaxon: eye roll emoji

  Jaxon: Pretty sure I carried you away

  Me: Oh. Right. Thanks again for that.

  Jaxon: All the eye roll emojis

  Now that he’s got me thinking about it, I’m curious how my ankle is, too. So I throw back the covers and try to climb out of bed—only to whimper the second I put any weight on my right foot. Well, that answers that. With the added problem that I really have to pee.

  Jaxon: What are you going to do today?

  Me: I think I’ll lie in bed and feel sorry for myself

  Jaxon: Good times

  Me: Yeah, well, turns out the ankle hurts a little bit

  Jaxon: You ok?

  Me: Of course

  Me: brb

  I use the promise of Advil to propel myself across the room to the bathroom. When I’m done, I wash my hands and grab two of the little round pills and a bottle of water before hobbling back to my bed. I force myself to take the pills before I pick my phone back up again, but it’s hard. I’m dying to know if Jaxon texted me back.

  He didn’t. Which is cool, I tell myself. I mean. I’m the one who cut our conversation off so abruptly.

  Me: I’m back

  No answer.

  Me: Sorry that took so long.

  Still no answer.

  Ugh. I blew it.

  I’m pissed at myself for stopping our conversation. And just as angry for being pissed off. Jaxon showed me more of himself in the last fifteen minutes than he has since I got here. What do I have to be annoyed about that he stopped texting?

  Absolutely nothing. I mean, the boy does have to go to class, after all.

  Somehow, telling myself that only makes everything worse. Well, that and the fact that I’m starving, and the peanut butter is all the way across the room. Of course.

  I lie back against my pillows and fire off a couple of messages to Heather. Then I check Snapchat and Instagram and even play a couple of rounds of Pac-Man—all while telling myself that I’m absolutely, positively not waiting for Jaxon to text again.

  But eventually my stomach starts growling, and I toss my phone aside. A girl can’t live on peanut butter alone, even if right now I’m hungry enough to give it a try.

  I start to hobble toward the fridge but get distracted halfway there by a knock on my door. For a second, just a second, I wonder if it might be Jaxon. Then common sense kicks in. It’s probably Uncle Finn coming to check on me and my bum ankle.

  Except when I answer the door, it’s not Uncle Finn. And it’s not Jaxon, either. Instead, it’s a woman carrying a heavily loaded food tray.

  “Grace?” she asks as I step aside to let her in.

  “Yes.” I smile at her. “Thank you so much. I’m starving.”

  “Anytime.” She grins back. “Where do you want me to put it?”

  “I can take it.” I reach for the tray, but she shoots me a look that says to give her a break. “Um, the bed is fine, I guess.” I gesture toward my side of the room.

  She crosses to my bed and puts the tray down toward the foot of it. Then asks, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  I have no idea, considering the food is under two of those silver dome things to keep it warm. But since I’m hungry enough to eat almost anything—and I’m not in the habit of having anyone wait on me—I answer, “No, this is perfect. Thank you.”

  Trust Macy to think of me even when she’s in class. My cousin is a goddess.

  Except, as I settle back onto the bed, I realize there’s a small black envelope on the tray. One that has my name written on the front in a masculine scrawl that definitely isn’t Macy’s.

  Uncle Finn, I tell myself, even as my heart beats triple time.

  Because it can’t be Jaxon, I figure as I reach for the envelope with trembling fingers.

  Can’t be Jaxon, I think again as I slide out the simple black card.

  Definitely can’t be Jaxon, I tell myself one more time as I open up the card and search for a signature.

  Except…except it is from Jaxon, and my heart is actually threatening to burst out of my chest.

  I don’t know what you like yet, but I figured you were hungry. Stay off that ankle.

  Jaxon

  Oh my God.

  OmigodOmigodOmigod.

  Oh. My. God.

  I mean, it’s not the most romantic note in the world, but that doesn’t even matter. Because Jaxon sent me breakfast. That’s why he didn’t text me back. He was busy doing this.

  I grab my phone and fire off a quick text to him.

  Me: Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!! You really are a lifesaver

  He doesn’t answer right away, so I start poking around the tray, seeing what he had the cafeteria bring me. The answer is everything.

  There’s a cup of coffee and another one of tea. A bottle of sparkling water and a glass of orange juice. There’s even an ice pack for my ankle.

  I lift up the domes to find one plate loaded with eggs and sausage and a giant cinnamon roll that smells amazing. The other has a Belgian waffle on it, topped with strawberry compote and what looks to be freshly whipped cream…in the middle of Alaska. In November.

  I’m so touched, I think I might cry. Or I would if I wasn’t so hungry.

  Still, there’s no way I can eat all this, and I should feel bad about wasting the food. But right now, I’m too busy smiling to worry about anything else.

  My stomach growls again, louder this time, and I dig in, starting with the waffle. Because whipped cream plus syrup plus strawberries equals nirvana.

  I’m halfway through the whipped cream covered deliciousness when my phone finally dings again—and I nearly upend the whole tray trying to get to it.

  Jaxon: Sorry, taking a test

  Jaxon: Waffles or eggs?

  Me: Waffles all the way

  Jaxon: I figured

  Jaxon: Use the ice pack

  Me: Wow. Bossy much?

  Me: I am using it. I can take care of myself, you know

  Jaxon: Now who’s being bossy?

  I’m not sure if I should be offended or not by that latest crack. I probably should be, but a waffle this good gives the guy a little extra leeway. Plus, I maybe, possibly deserved it.

  Me: How about you? Waffles or eggs?

  Jaxon: Neither

  Me: So what do you like to eat?

  As soon as I hit Send, I realize what a bad idea that last text was and start freaking out. Because oh my God, that sounded way more suggestive than I meant it to be. Damn it. He’s either going to think I’m a freak or he’s going to respond with something really gross, and I don’t want either of those things to happen.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve texted/flirted with a boy, and I’m not ready for it to end.

  I’m certainly not ready to stop talking to Jaxon, who’s witty and sexy and makes me feel things no one else ever has. Plus, it’s so much easier to talk to him like this than in person, when he’s all dark and broody.

  Several seconds pass without a response, and I contemplate throwing my phone across the room or drowning myself in the leftover maple syrup.

  In the end, I do neither. I just wait impatiently for him to answer. And when he finally does, I hold my breath as I swipe open my screen. Then burst out laughing because:

  Jaxon: I don’t think we’re there yet, but I’m sure you’ll let me know when we are

  Way. Right. Answer.

  25

  Truly,

  Madly,

  Deeply Bitten

  I spend the re
st of the morning lying around, waiting for Jaxon to text whenever he can. Which is so not a badass feminist move, but I’ve given up controlling my brain when it comes to this boy. Plus, it’s not like there’s anything else to do. I’ve read everything on my Kindle, and I can’t watch any more episodes of Legacies without Macy. Add in my bum ankle and the fact that I can’t go anywhere and that leaves…

  Jaxon: What’s your favorite movie?

  Me: Atm? To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before

  Me: Of all time? Some Kind of Wonderful

  Me: Yours

  Jaxon: Die Hard

  Me: Seriously?

  Jaxon: What’s wrong with Die Hard?

  Me: Nothing

  Jaxon: Jk. It’s Rogue One

  Me: The Star Wars movie where everybody dies????

  Jaxon: The Star Wars movie where people sacrifice themselves to save their galaxy

  Jaxon: There are worse ways to die

  It’s not the answer I’m expecting, but now that he’s said it, I can totally see how that movie would appeal to this guy who has gone out of his way to rescue me over and over again. Even Die Hard makes sense when I put it in that light. A main character who’s willing to die if it means keeping other people safe.

  There’s a lot more to Jaxon than the person I met at the bottom of the stairs my first day here. I mean, he’s still the jerk who told me not to let the door hit me on my way out. That’s not something I’m likely to forget any time soon. But he’s also the guy who saved me from Marc and Quinn. And the guy who carried me all the way back to my dorm room last night. That has to count for something, right?

  Plus, I can’t believe how different he is when there’s no one else around. When it’s just the two of us texting and he’s not so busy trying to convince me that he wants nothing to do with me…and, more, that I should want nothing to do with him.

  I wish I could ask the real Jaxon Vega to please stand up, but the truth is, I’m kind of hoping he’s the guy who’s been texting me for the last two hours. And if he’s not…well, I guess I don’t want to know that yet.

  Me: Favorite ice cream flavor?

  Jaxon: Don’t have one

  Me: Because you like them all???

  Me: Which, btw, is the only acceptable answer to not having a favorite

  Jaxon: I think we both know there are a million different reasons I’m unacceptable and ice cream choice barely makes the list

  That line shouldn’t make me swoon. It shouldn’t, especially when it’s so obviously a warning. But how can it not when it’s delivered by the same boy who said Rogue One is his favorite movie?

  It’s pretty obvious Jaxon is the villain of his own story. I just wish I knew why.

  Jaxon: Favorite song?

  Me: OMG, I can’t choose

  Jaxon: What if I said you had to?

  Me: I can’t. There are too many

  Me: You?

  Jaxon: I asked you first

  Me: Ugh. You suck

  Jaxon: You have no idea how much

  Me: Okay, fine

  Me: Atm, Niall Horan’s Put a Little Love on Me and anything by Maggie Rogers

  Me: Of all time? Take Me to Church by Hozier or Umbrella from Rihanna

  Me: You?

  Jaxon: Savage Garden Truly, Madly, Deeply

  Jaxon: Anything by Childish Gambino or Beethoven

  Jaxon: Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” is my new favorite, though

  I drop my phone because…what do I say to that? How am I not supposed to swoon over this boy? Like, seriously? How am I not supposed to swoon? It’s impossible.

  I pick my phone back up with shaking hands. He hasn’t texted anything else, but to be honest, I don’t expect him to for a while. That was…a lot.

  Instead, I swipe open my Spotify app. And play “Brown-Eyed Girl”…on repeat.

  I’m still listening to it when Macy stops by around noon to check on me. “What are you listening to?” she queries, nose wrinkled.

  “It’s a long story.”

  She eyes me speculatively. “I bet. You should tell me all about—” She breaks off when she sees the remains of my very big breakfast. “Where did you get the waffle?” she demands, crossing the room so she can scoop a little of the leftover whipped cream out of its bowl and suck it off her finger. “It’s not Thursday.”

  I stare at her, baffled. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “It means the cafeteria only makes waffles on Thursdays. And we only get whipped cream on special occasions.” She dives back into the whipped-cream bowl, holds up a finger covered in the sweet, fluffy stuff. “Today is not a special occasion.”

  “Apparently, it is,” I answer with a shrug, and I try to ignore the way her words warm me up all over. “At least for me.”

  Not going to lie, it feels like a special occasion. How can it not when I have texts on my phone from Jaxon right now telling me this is his favorite song?

  “I can’t believe my dad had them make you—” My face must give it away, because she breaks off mid-sentence. “This breakfast didn’t come from my dad, did it?”

  I don’t know how to answer that. I mean, if I try to pretend it’s from Uncle Finn, she’ll just ask him about it and find out the truth. If I tell her it’s from someone else, she’s going to want to know who sent it, and I’m not sure I’m ready to tell her. I kind of like the idea of this Jaxon—the one who tells me vampire jokes and sends me waffles with fresh whipped cream—as my secret. At least for a little while.

  But the look on Macy’s face says she’s not about to be put off. And that she’s got a pretty good idea of where the food came from, even though I haven’t answered her yet.

  Which leaves me with only one option, really. A downplayed version of the truth. “It’s really no big deal, okay? My ankle’s bothering me, and he was trying to help.”

  “Flint?” she asks, eyes wide. “Or Jaxon?” She says the last in a whisper.

  “Does it matter?” I ask.

  “Oh my God! It was Jaxon! He talked Chef Janie into making you waffles. I didn’t even know that was possible—she’s really tough. Then again, if anyone could do it, Jaxon could. I mean, the boy is terrifyingly efficient. And he always gets what he wants.” She grins. “And I’m pretty sure what he wants right now is you.”

  A knock sounds from behind her, and I’ve never been more relieved to have someone come to my door in my life. “Can you get that? My ankle still hurts.”

  “Of course! I want first crack at interrogating Jaxon anyway.”

  “It’s not going to be Jaxon,” I tell her, but just the idea that it could be has my palms sweating a little. I sit up straighter, try desperately to fix the mess that is currently my hair as Macy opens the door.

  Looks like the panic was for nothing, though, because it isn’t Jaxon. It’s a woman, carrying a large yellow envelope.

  I tell myself I’m not disappointed, even as the sudden butterflies in my stomach kind of fall back down with a thud. At least until the woman, who Macy calls Roni, hands her the package. “I’m supposed to deliver this to Grace.”

  Macy whips her head around to look at me even as she takes the large envelope being thrust into her hands. Her eyes are huge, but I can’t blame her. I’m sure mine are just as big.

  I don’t know what else Macy says to Roni to get her out of our room, because every ounce of my attention is focused on the envelope in her hands. And my name written on the front of it in the same bold scrawl that was on the earlier note.

  “Give me!” I practically beg as I push myself to my feet. My ankle still hurts, but for this, I’m willing to suffer.

  Except Macy is in full mother-hen mode, apparently. “Sit back down!” she squawks as she shoos me back to bed.

  “Give me the envelope!” I make grabby hands at it
.

  “I’ll give it to you as soon as you’re back in bed with your ankle on that pillow.”

  And then she glares at me, standing just out of reach, until I do what she says.

  But the second I’m settled, the stern look goes away and the stars come back to her eyes. She thrusts the envelope at me and practically yells, “Open it, open it, open it!”

  “That’s what I’m doing!” I tell her as I tear at the seal. It’s one of those plastic Bubble Wrap ones, so it’s harder than it should be, but eventually I get it open.

  And out falls a large black library book.

  “What is it?” Macy climbs on the bed next to me in an effort to get a better look.

  “I don’t know,” I answer. But then I turn it over and…it’s totally the last book I ever would have expected him to send.

  “Twilight? He sent me a copy of Twilight?” I turn to Macy in confusion.

  Macy gasps as she stares from the book to me. And then she starts to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

  And I guess it’s kind of funny…the idea that a guy like Jaxon would send a girl a paranormal romance, but I don’t think it’s nearly as amusing as Macy is making it out to be. Plus, I’ve always kind of wanted to read it, to see what all the fuss was about all those years ago.

  “I like it,” I tell her a little defiantly. Because I do—almost as much as I like the fact that Jaxon took the time to pick it out for me.

  “I do, too,” Macy says around another fit of giggles. “I swear. It’s super…charming, actually.”

  “I agree.” I open the front cover, and my heart stutters as I see the small Post-it note stuck to the cover page. In the scrawl I’m rapidly coming to recognize as Jaxon’s is this quote from the novel: “I said it would be better if we weren’t friends, not that I didn’t want to be.”

  “Oooooooh!” Macy clutches her hands to her chest and pretends to swoon. “If you don’t kiss that boy soon, I’m going to disown you. Or I’m going to kiss him myself.”

  “I’m sure Cam would appreciate that.” I trace my finger over the individual letters of every word he wrote, one after the other, even knowing it makes me look as starry-eyed as I feel.

  “Hey, Cam’s always talking about doing things for the greater good. Here’s his chance to put his money where his mouth is.”