by S. R. Grey
I’m wearing the same boy shorts and tube top I had on last night. I fell asleep in them and see no sense in changing. I’ll just shower later.
With that decided, I start reading. But not twenty minutes into it, just as I’m getting into a super-steamy love scene, there’s a knock on my door.
“What?” I yell.
It’s Jaxon, of course. “Just checking to see if you’re okay in there,” he says loudly. “Do you need anything?”
That sex scene must be affecting me because I almost yell back, just you and that big glorious cock of yours.
“Cara?”
Jesus, must his voice sound so sexy and suggestive when he says my name? That just encourages these X-rated thoughts.
Or is it the novel making me think these things?
Damn hot book sex.
I should’ve chosen a Stephen King selection. Even creepy clowns are preferable to feeling like I’m about to attack my hot-ass housemate, who I’m back at war with.
Jaxon raps on the door again, and I scream, “I’m fine, I’m fine. I don’t need a thing!”
Except for that hot throbbing piece of man meat I saw the first day I met you.
“Are you sure?” Jaxon yells back. “You sound kind of…funny.”
Great. Nice to know my I-want-hot-sex-from-you-now-Jaxon voice sounds “funny” to him.
I swear some days you’re the windshield, and other days you’re the bug. This is definitely shaping up to be a bug kind of day for me.
Why else would I feel like I was just swatted down by Jaxon Holland?
He really needs to go.
But he sounds like he’s sticking around out there, probably waiting for me to open the door.
Well, drastic times call for drastic measures.
“I have cramps,” I yell extra loud. “My period just started.”
Total silence, as I expected.
No wait, there’s a scuffling noise, probably him backing slowly away from the door.
Ha, period talk works like a charm every time. No man wants to engage in menstrual musings. They just don’t know what to say.
But Jaxon’s no ordinary man. He breaks all the freaking rules. As proven when he yells back, “Aw, I’m sorry to hear that. That sucks. I have some muscle relaxants in my room, though. Would you like one?”
Ugh, this man, thwarting my attempt to throw him off. I’m not even on my period. That came and went days ago. I can pretty much set my clock by my cycle these days. Exactly what I was hoping for when I went on the pill a few months ago. Dealing with irregular cycles really blows!
But back to Jaxon—I kind of do want to see how good he looks today. It’ll be prime fodder to fuel the fantasy I’m planning on re-igniting once I’m alone again.
So, sighing, I call out, “Sure, I’ll take one of those muscle relaxants.”
I don’t add in that I’ll just hold on to it for the next time I really do have cramps.
He yells then that he’ll be right back.
“Cool,” I say.
I then immediately jump up so I can fluff out my hair and make sure my boobs are boosted to maximum cleavage in the tube top. I may as well give Jaxon a little fuel for his own fantasies, right? I don’t want to be the only one living in lust around here.
Though I suspect I’m not.
Ah, the dangerous game we’re playing.
The truce was a bad idea, I know that now. Jaxon touching me last night while I was half-dressed was too much. Coupled with hot book sex this morning, I’m wavering.
I’m even thinking of giving in.
But I can’t.
I’m Mr. freaking Hockeypants.
Jaxon returns and I open the door.
Dammmn.
He looks better than I expected. His body’s all pumped up, like he was working out this morning.
Staring at his ripped abs and firm chest, I blurt out, “Did you find a weight room in the house or something?”
His eyes trail up from where he was doing a little staring of his own.
“Interesting that you should notice,” he purrs. Yes, purrs, people. Purrs! “Guess knocking out a few hundred push-ups on the floor in my room this morning paid off.”
Show-off!
He’s so smug.
He thinks he’s winning this battle?
No way!
“Actually, I only asked because you look a little sweaty,” I reply sugar-sweetly. Scrunching my nose, I add, “Ew, you smell a little off too.”
He’s not sweaty, and he definitely doesn’t smell “off.” He smells delicious. I could just eat him up, if only things were different.
He looks genuinely worried, though, like what I just said might be true.
But after he sees my got-you smirk, he knows this war is just ramping up.
Proving himself a worthy adversary, he snarks, “Hmm, I always heard the sense of smell is heightened when women have their, uh, time.” He falters for a second there but quickly composes himself. “Guess it must be true. But don’t fret, Cara.” He presses the pill into my hand, his fingers lingering. “I’ll head back down the hall now so I can take a long, hot, steaming”—I yank my hand away—“shower.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I cough. “Yeah, you do that.”
“Sure you don’t want to join me?”
Holy hell, I almost say yes. Seems for as much as I hate Jaxon Holland, I really like him.
That’s why I do the only thing I can in order to maintain my last shred of dignity—I slam the door in his face.
I Don’t Smell!
I don’t smell. I took a shower!
Even though I know Cara was just yanking my chain, I feel compelled to check my pits as I’m walking away from the door she just slammed in my face.
One thing for sure—looks like our temporary truce is officially over.
Fuck, she drives me nuts.
She’s so difficult, and not a good liar at all. I mean, come on, does she really think for a minute I bought her my-period-started story?
Riiight.
Like I didn’t see a tampon wrapper in the downstairs powder room just last week? I only went along with her today to fuck with her. And, of course, to let her know I’m not so easily rattled.
Bottom line, Cara needs to work on her tactics. It’s going to take a little more than some not-even-real blood to win a round with me.
Speaking of which, I think I won this one. Her slamming the door in my face is akin to retreat from the battlefield. She may as well have tucked her tail and ran.
I know for sure I won when she remains in her room the whole day.
She doesn’t emerge the following day either.
I get the feeling she thinks she’s punishing me, but I’m not as alone as she’s probably hoping.
First, the housekeeper comes by on the first day of Cara’s exile to do a little cleaning and to drop off a fresh supply of groceries.
I make small talk with the nice, matronly lady. She tells me about her toddler-age great-grandkids and how she loves them, but they drive her crazy some days. I tell her about an adult-age woman who makes me pretty crazy too.
“You have feelings for this woman?” she asks with an all-too-knowing smile.
Do I? “Good God, no!”
“You’re just friends, then?”
I think about Cara locked away in her bedroom, avoiding me, and mutter dejectedly, “Not even that.”
Housekeeper lady just shakes her head.
The groundskeeper stops in the next day. He’s a crotchety old fellow of about eighty.
Good. He won’t inquire about my “feelings” for Cara or anything uncomfortable like that. That means it’s safe to talk with him.
I follow him around, chatting away, as he completes various tasks around the house.
Guess not having Cara around to talk to is taking a toll after all.
The groundskeeper isn’t much company, though. He’s all business, making sure everything is in tip-top order. He’s also totally fixa
ted on the little lizards out back, especially around the patio area.
I assure him that the lizards don’t bother me or Cara, like at all.
But he insists, “Those creatures can become quite the nuisance, sir.”
“Yeah, maybe, but my housemate really likes them,” I counter.
“That may be. But, sir, I must do my job.”
He turns away and gets to work on setting out what look to be small glue traps.
Appalled, I protest again. But he insists the lizards can be released humanely from the traps with a little oil.
Still, this doesn’t seem right. Like Cara, I really like those little guys. Not to mention, this is absolutely not going to fly with her. If any ends up hurt—or God forbid worse—Cara will freak the hell out.
So as soon as I see the groundskeeper leave, I walk around the back patio and flower gardens, collecting all the traps so I can throw them away.
Afterward, since I’m back to being bored as hell, I decide to take a run on the beach.
I need to anyway. It’s never too early to start training for the upcoming season. Time passes quickly, and next thing you know, training camp will be here.
Okay, it’s not till September, but still. I plan to head back to Vegas in early August. I’m already starting to miss working out on the ice. So that means I only have about a month left at this island paradise.
Jeez, I sure hope Cara and I are on better terms before I leave. I don’t know why it’s important to me that we are, but it is. I guess because I’d really like to stay in touch with her once we’re both back in Nevada.
She may drive me crazy, but I really do like her.
To be honest, I like her a lot.
I guess the housekeeper was right—I do have feelings for Cara. And even though we’re not on good terms, they seem to be growing.
Fuck.
Never Will I Ever…
The self-imposed exile in my bedroom lasts all of two days.
Jaxon doesn’t know it, but I already snuck downstairs once or twice when he was out on the beach. I was just too darn hungry to make it straight through.
Little surprise then that, when hunger strikes again on the morning of day three, I am once again sneaking down to the kitchen, though not nearly as carefully as my former forays.
I don’t know why. I guess it’s just so quiet I assume my enemy must be out back.
But when I skulk into the kitchen, surprise!
There’s Jaxon.
Gulp.
He looks smoking hot, as usual, in long shorts and a black tee that clings to his sculpted muscles the way I’d like to.
Wait, no.
When he notices me just standing in the doorway, he snidely exclaims, “Wow, she lives. It’s a miracle.”
Since I know he just totally caught me staring at his pecs, I force my eyes up to his face, my cheeks flaming.
“Uh, I didn’t realize you were down here,” I mutter, spinning around to leave. “It’s okay, though. I can come back later.”
I’m all set to make this grand exit, but then my stomach growls, protesting so loudly that Jaxon surely hears.
He chuckles. And I brace myself for a nasty remark.
But instead, softly and not unkindly, he says, “Hey, there’s no need to run off, Cara. Stay.”
My stomach begs me to give in, so I turn around and acquiesce. “Okay.”
I step into the kitchen but falter when Jaxon quips, “You must be feeling better. I was beginning to think you might never come out of that room.”
“Hmm, I bet you’d like that,” I can’t help but mutter under my breath.
Squaring up his shoulders, he says, “What was that now?”
I square up my own T-shirt-clad shoulders, though my shirt is bubblegum pink, not exactly a color that demands respect.
“It was nothing important,” I say. “And for your information, I am feeling much better.”
“Well, that’s good.”
Jaxon hits a button on the blender sitting on the counter. He’s whipping up what looks to be, and smells like, a peanut butter smoothie.
I love peanut butter anything, so no surprise that my mouth begins to water.
“That looks really good,” I say, hoping he’ll share.
Turning off the blender, he says, “It is, Cara. And you want to know something I once heard? It’s really fascinating and may even apply to you.”
Uh-oh. I have a feeling I’m about to walk into a minefield. But I don’t care. I want some of that freaking smoothie.
So I bite.
“What did you hear?”
“I heard that peanut butter is really good for cramps.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He knows the truth. He knows I wasn’t on my period.
Quietly, I murmur, “I don’t have cramps.”
“You don’t?” He feigns surprise. Smartass. “Hmm, well, okay.”
I can’t believe we’re discussing this. Where’s my invitation to share the smoothie with him?
Since it’s clearly not forthcoming, I just go ahead and ask, “Can I have some?”
“What? You want some of this smoothie, even though you don’t have cramps?”
Quit playing dumb.
“Yes, Jaxon, I do.”
“Sure. You can have as much as you want. But first…” He reaches under the counter. “I have one more key ingredient to add.”
“Key ingredient?” I murmur.
“Yep.”
To my horror, he holds up an egg, smirking evilly.
Oh, no you don’t!
My eyes burn into his, urging him not to do it.
But he just keeps on smiling.
Cracking the egg in his hand like a pro chef, he proceeds to dump raw yolk and egg white into the blender.
“Noooo!” I cry out.
He plays innocent. “What? It needs more protein.”
He hits another button and the blender whirs to life, effectively shutting me up.
But I’m not so easily silenced.
Rolling my eyes, I stomp over to the refrigerator.
“That’s just great!” I scream over the noise. “You totally ruined it. I don’t want any now.”
He laughs victoriously. “Fine. It’s your loss. That just means there’s more for me.”
I swear I’m going to get him back for this. Maybe I’ll add hot sauce to the next smoothie he makes. Though knowing him, he’ll probably like it.
“It’ll give it more protein,” I mock.
The blender stops. “Were you saying something, Cara?”
“To you?” I spin around, hands on my hips. “Absolutely not.” I pause for a sec, then add, “No, wait, I do have something to say—”
But he hits the blender button again, drowning me out.
Jerk.
“Ugh, I hate you!” I yell.
And then I storm out.
I can’t get back to my room fast enough.
I slam the door behind me, even though Jaxon is downstairs and can’t hear a thing. And then, stomping my foot, I scream, “That man frustrates the fuck out of me!”
And just why is that, Cara? a little voice asks inside my head.
“Oh, shut up,” I grumble.
My phone buzzes then.
Thank God, saved by the bell.
It’s Noelle, so I answer right away.
We talk and soon I’m feeling better. Even boring details about her internship are preferable to thinking about jerky Jaxon.
But then she brings him up.
“So how are things going with you and your roomie?”
“He’s not my roomie,” I snap. “We don’t share a bedroom, God forbid.”
Noelle says, “Well, all righty then.”
Sighing, I apologize for being so snippy. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“That’s okay, Cara,” she says.
I then admit, “Truthfully, things are a mess with Jaxon. I think we may end up killing each other.”
; Noelle reads the situation like a pro.
“Ooh, sounds to me like there’s lots of pent-up sexual tension brewing. That could be fun. You two should do it and just get it out of your systems.”
“That is never going to happen,” I grind out.
“Ha, we’ll see,” she retorts.
Adamantly, I state, “Seriously, Noelle, I would never sleep with Jaxon freaking Holland.”
She laughs. “Who said anything about sleeping?”
“Just stop.”
She doesn’t, of course.
“I don’t know, Cara. If you ask me, it sounds like there may be more than sexual tension brewing between you two.”
Horrified, I snap back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means maybe you’re developing real feelings for each other.”
“Oh, God forbid.” I bark out a laugh and assure her, “Never will I ever develop real feelings for that insufferable man.”
“Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that.”
I want to be mad and dispute her, but the problem is that she’s right.
Lizard Rescue 911
You’d think Cara having emerged from her exile would mean I’d see her all the time, like before.
But that doesn’t happen.
What occurs instead is that she continues to avoid me like the plague. I guess adding egg to my peanut butter smoothie really ticked her off, just like I knew it would. That’s why I did it.
But now I’m thinking maybe the joke’s on me.
I miss Cara.
Though I’d never let her know. Nope, I just go about my business like I don’t have a care in the world.
Too bad I do have a care, a big one—her.
That’s not good, since I know for a fact she now hates me.
I don’t require any more proof than when she comes down to the beach the next day, sees me soaking up sun in a lounge chair, and promptly turns around and stomps back up to the patio.
“Hey, it’s cooler down here by the water,” I call out to her. “There’s a really nice breeze today.”
“Great,” she throws back over her shoulder. “Maybe it’ll blow you away.”
“Ha, if any blowing occurs,” I murmur to myself, chuckling, “I’d rather it be from you.”
