by C. M. Owens
“So Mom bent over at a ninety-degree angle so she could stick her head through one. It took her a few minutes, but she got her head in the kiddy hole,” he continues, while Viv smothers her premature laughter behind her hand.
“I stuck my head in the second one, and Viv took the third, while Dad took pictures. Then suddenly, we heard a loud noise come from our mother’s ass.”
Jaxon Marshall Sr. chokes on his laughter, losing it to the point Jax has to pause the story while his father regains composure. Did Mrs. Marshall really fart?
“Her pants had ripped right up the ass,” Jaxon Marshall Sr. says, as his laughter hits a higher note.
I start snickering, but Jax isn’t finished.
“Being seven, I of course thought she had farted,” he tells us, and I giggle while Mrs. Marshall groans. “I started chanting, ‘Mom farted! Mom farted!’ Over. And Over. And over. But I didn’t realize her head was stuck in the hole.”
Viv bursts out laughing, and my eyes widen as Mrs. Marshall lays her head on the table and buries her face against her arm.
“No,” Dad says, chuckling as he shakes his head.
“People were walking by her from the front and the back this entire time,” Mr. Marshall decides to point out.
“I’m still chanting that she farted this entire time, never realizing she split her pants—”
“I realized it,” Viv cuts in while shuddering. “I got to see part of the red thong that wasn’t buried in her ass crack.”
Mrs. Marshall whimper-groans, while Mr. Marshall turns a peculiar shade of red, unable to catch his breath as his body shakes with his suppressed laughter. Tears literally form in his eyes.
Jax catches his breath enough to continue the story. “So Mom yells that she’s stuck, and Dad has to ask her what she said, because now I’m singing a song about the fact she farted, which of course has drawn even more attention our way.”
Dad’s laughter gets louder, but he tries to contain it, while poor Mr. Marshall looks like he’s going to suffocate to death if he doesn’t catch a breath soon.
“So Dad finally understands her, and he runs around the back to help her out. He takes one look at her ass and says, ‘Where the hell did those come from?’”
His impersonation of his father’s voice and face is priceless. I can actually picture Mr. Marshall getting a wide view of his wife’s thong-clad ass.
That doesn’t sound right.
Viv dies, laughing so hard she has to get up so she can double over and grip her stomach. Mrs. Marshall even snickers lightly at that, but she doesn’t lift her head. Mr. Marshall is seriously worrying me now that tears are leaking from his eyes, and he’s still laughing so hard that he can’t even make a sound.
He finally catches a breath, and it sounds like a donkey dying on the intake. That only causes Viv to start laughing harder, and Jax isn’t even finished yet.
“So Dad snaps out of it when Mom screams at him to get her out, and he starts trying to pull her out. He stood behind her and grabbed her hips as leverage. Think about that.”
Dad snorts, covering his mouth when the visual Jax just described hits him at the same time it hits me.
“This cutout was short, which is why Mom was bent over. So Dad’s head is peeking over the top at this time, while Mom’s is poking through the hole, and he’s tugging, and tugging, and tugging… It didn’t look like a family-friendly thing.”
My laughter comes out in a shrill pitch that surprises even me. Holy shit, I think I just cackled. Jax bends over, laughing too hard to keep speaking.
“They kicked us out of there,” Mrs. Marshall admits, still not looking up. “The second Jaxon got me out, a security guard came over and escorted us out as though we intended to cause that vulgar scene.”
“He didn’t buy her story when he saw her pants were split wide open,” Viv says in a squeal of a tone, still laughing as she wheezes out air, trying to breathe.
“When we got to the parking lot, Mom got catcalls and whistles, but she was so furious with Dad that she wouldn’t take his shirt to cover her ass,” Jax proceeds, still battling to speak and laugh at the same time. “So he walked behind her, holding it just barely off her until we got to the car. Our seats were leather, by the way, and had been baking in the sun for three hours by that time. So Mom not only had her ass shown to everyone that day and kicked out of the park for being rammed from behind by her husband, but she also got a nice burn on her ass the second she sat down. That is the ultimate ass story.”
It takes almost ten minutes for everyone to stop laughing, because every time it tapers down, someone thinks about it again, loses it, and sends the rest of us into hysterics.
I’m wiping the tears from my eyes when Jax reaches over and checks my glass.
“I’ll go make another pitcher of margaritas,” he says, kissing me softly and pulling away before it turns into something a little inappropriate.
Dad’s phone rings, and he picks it up, answering as he walks down to the beach for some privacy. I’m suddenly all alone with Jax’s family. But for once, it’s not scary.
Mrs. Marshall has raised her head, and she’s sipping her drink while staring over the top of her cup at me. When she lowers her glass, she’s smiling.
“This will definitely be the most memorable trip we’ve had in a while.”
Viv spills her drink in her lap at that moment, eliciting a few laughs, and she rolls her eyes while heading toward the door.
“I’ll be back after changing,” she calls while disappearing inside.
I’m almost positive we’re all a little drunk. Margaritas and the beach—gotta love it.
“It has definitely been a unique experience,” Mr. Marshall says, adding to his wife’s comment.
“I’m glad Jax brought you,” his mother tells me, causing my stomach to flip a little. “And not just because you were our savior when the house burned down. Not because you’re the daughter of Vince, either. I’m glad he brought you because this is the first time Jax has come on a trip with us and actually been on the trip with us since he was a child.”
I frown, thinking that over as I try to decipher what she’s saying.
“It’s true,” Mr. Marshall says with a shrug. “Usually he disappears after a few days with his friends, and we only see him when he’s on his way out to go somewhere else. Been like that since he was a teenager.”
I start feeling a little uncomfortable under the weight of their gaze.
“I’ve never seen him so open and communicative with anyone, but I’m fairly sure he’s told all his favorite stories to you just from what I’ve heard in passing,” she goes on. “It’s a very big deal for my son, since he usually just observes as opposed to engaging.”
I guess Jax and I are more alike than I realized.
“He also can’t seem to take his eyes off her,” Dad says while coming back up on the deck, but he doesn’t look so happy about it. Not that anyone else would notice, but I’m not just anyone.
Dad is fake smiling.
“Yes. That’s very true,” Mrs. Marshall says, smiling bigger.
“Just hope he doesn’t break her heart,” Dad goes on, glancing over at me.
I glare at him, and he winks. He had to go and make it awkward. And I hate the way he makes me sound so fragile.
I want to tell him he’s underestimating me, and that I’ve survived just fine for twenty-four years without having a broken heart. But I don’t. He’ll just argue, the condescension will get thicker, and I’ll end up looking like a bigger fool.
I bite my tongue. As usual.
“Her sister can handle the ditching, but Bo is my sweet one. She gets too attached,” he adds, causing me to bite my tongue just a little harder.
Fishermen will find his body floating tomorrow when I get done with him. Did I mention I hate him a little right now? I’ve never once gotten too attached to anyone.
Oh, and I break up with my own guys, unlike that “strong” sister of mine. Guys hav
e used me for my bank account, or they’ve felt too inferior and emasculated around me because of my success. I’m no stranger to failed relationships.
I’ve never once even cried about a breakup.
“I’m more worried about her breaking his heart at this point. Jax is definitely head over heels,” Mr. Marshall says, a small smile playing on his lips.
That has all my angry thoughts fleeing while I try not to grin like an idiot and read too much into it.
“What’re we talking about now?” Jax asks as he walks out, smiling as he holds a pitcher of margaritas in his hand.
“Viv spilling her drink in her lap,” Mrs. Marshall easily lies, smiling over at him as he starts refilling everyone’s drinks.
My dad’s eyes avoid mine, because he knows he’ll get the stare.
Jax sits down beside me, and his arm goes around my shoulders as he pulls me closer. When my head rests on his shoulder, he kisses my forehead, and I silently start counting the ways I’m falling for Jax Marshall.
Chapter 34
JAX
“Why a fairy tat?” I ask her while tracing the very low lines of ink that travel across her pubic bone. “What kind of fairy is it?”
“I like fairies. There’s no deep, awesome story behind it. I saw a picture I liked, and figured I’d get it etched permanently on my body. Being spontaneous has never been a problem of mine.”
Considering she flew to Hawaii with me… I completely believe that.
“What about your tats?” she asks, trailing her fingers up some of the lines on my arm.
I glance down at her fingertips, trying to ignore how she’s deliberately teasing me in a place that shouldn’t feel like teasing. I shift up onto my elbows, moving over her a little, and noticing the amused glint in her eyes.
She knows what she’s fucking doing to me.
“After we graduated, we all went and got some ink. We trusted the guy who inked us up, even though that was the first day we’d met him. He literally pulled some tribal markings from the computer, and I got one that is supposed to mean success, and another that is supposed to mean strength. He wove them together to make the half sleeve. Essentially, we were eighteen and marking up our bodies with some shit that might mean douche nozzle or something for all we know. I’m too scared to find out.”
She laughs, and I brush her hair away from her face. The way she looks at me is definitely telling. She cares. Actually cares.
“I’ve gotten a few others. The ones on my chest are just some cool designs a friend of mine drew up. The ones on my back are by another one of my friends.”
She nods while grinning bigger, and she tilts her head, studying me.
“What?” I ask her as I contemplate locking the door for the rest of the day.
“I just like that answer,” she says, still smiling.
Fuck the door. People should knock if they don’t want a show.
She’s giggling until I peel her panties off and start working my mouth down, finding the spot that has her moaning instead of talking.
***
I’m eating fucking pancakes and it’s heaven. Food like this is why I love vacation. It’s also why I will be killing myself in the gym every spare moment I have when I get back.
Bo is grinning down at me as she sits up on the bed—yes, pancakes in bed—and starts tracing lines over the ridges of my ever-receding abs. Damn pancakes.
“Maybe I’ll get to see you when I come to take those yoga classes you’ll be getting,” she says, grinning up at me as I toy with her hair. Damn, it’s so soft.
“I’ll happily flex you out.”
Fuck… Her laugh… I love the sound of it more and more.
“According to Google, my office is five minutes from your gym. Just saying,” she says, but then looks down shyly.
“Googling the distances between our work? Sounds like you really have it bad,” I tease, sliding my hand up her leg and tugging her closer.
She looks up at me from under those lashes, and completely rocks my world with her next words.
“Maybe I do.”
***
“You didn’t!” she squeals, laughing uncontrollably as I nod.
“Totally did,” I tell her, grinning. “And I fucking won it too.”
She clutches her side, lying back on the bed as she laughs too hard. Why can’t I stop telling her things? It’s like she’s this amazing little enigma that has me baring my soul—and my whole life story—every second of the day.
“You won a womanless beauty pageant? You? Mr. Badass?”
My eyebrows go up. “I’m so going to get cards made with Mr. Badass on them.”
She laughs again as I wiggle my eyebrows, and I stand up to do something I never thought I would in front of anyone I knew. I do the winning catwalk for her, hip shakes and all.
Her laughter pours out, and I chuckle as I go back to crash on the bed beside her.
“I used Shakira as my inspiration along with a little Beyoncé for some extra sexy,” I tell her, smiling as she wipes tears from her eyes, unable to catch her breath.
It’s like I can be as ridiculous as I want to be, and she only likes me more. There’s no façade, no games, no image… It’s just me, and she seems to really like me just being me.
I’ve never had that before. I’ve also never had anyone give a damn about so much of me, and I’ve never been desperate to know so much about someone as I’ve asked to know about her.
She’s addictive.
I grab my third stack of pancakes for the day, and start eating them while leaning against the headboard. After swallowing a bite, I continue with the story.
“It was for charity, but I never fucking told any of the guys that little girl talked me into doing it. She came into the damn gym and asked me right in front of a group. I played it off like I was mean to the kid and wouldn’t sign up. Then I went to the damn thing three weeks later and won. Which made her charity win all the profits.”
She rolls her eyes. “But you never told anyone? Male egos,” she says with a tsking sound, but she’s still fighting a grin.
“You like my ego and you know it,” I retort, putting down my pancakes—the evil wonders of the world—and pulling her over until she’s on top of me. Then I grab one more bite of pancakes, because that shit is good.
“I do,” she confesses with a sigh. “Want me to stroke your ego for a little while?” she adds, catching me so off guard that I laugh and shoot pancakes out of my mouth, spraying them on the bed, but not on her.
She bursts out laughing, while I roll my eyes, but then I start laughing too when she has to peel a pancake particle from her leg. Guess it didn’t miss her after all.
It just fuels her laughter, and she leans up, kissing me, silencing the laughter in the room as my hands slide around her waist and draw her closer. I can tell her anything except how much I’m dreading leaving this place and facing the real world.
I don’t want to lose this moment.
***
One more day.
In one more day, we’ll be back home where I’ll be buried neck-deep in a backed-up list of shit to do instead of being buried balls-deep in Bo.
My eyes drift to her as she sleeps in the middle of the bed, stirring as she reaches out for me subconsciously. It takes all my willpower not to climb back in the bed with her, but I have shit to do.
Dustin is about to head down the stairs when I walk out, and a grin spreads across his face when he sees me.
“I’m guessing the shy ones are fun in bed, considering you’ve barely come out for the past few days.”
Why do I want to punch him for even thinking about Bo in bed?
I’m not possessive. I’m not jealous. I’m not any of those things. Or at least I wasn’t. This girl has me out of my fucking mind.
Cracking my neck to the side, I try to clear my head. There has to be a way for me to keep seeing her despite the hectic schedules we’ll be going back to. I mean, it has to calm down some. Event
ually. I know my schedule will calm down after several days, as long as the protein line Kode is helping me produce doesn’t eat up all my free time.
“Ignoring me?” he asks, following me down the stairs. I can feel his shit-eating grin.
“Yep.”
“You actually like her. I mean… for more than sex. More than just a fling.”
I glare over my shoulder at him, and he chuckles as we reach the living room. He knows I won’t answer questions like that, so I don’t know why he’s asking. Hell, I rarely answer question in general, and it’s not just so I can remain mysterious.
I’m genuinely just not a guy who talks about me. Unless Bo is the one asking questions. Then I tell her anything she wants to know, and I tell her things she doesn’t even ask about.
“Why do you keep asking?”
If Dustin even thinks about going after her—
“Because I like her,” he drawls. When my jaw ticks, he quickly adds, “Platonically, dude. Chill. I think she’s cool, and I think she’d be good for you.”
Some of the tension eases out of me. See? I’m going fucking crazy. I’m ready to punch my best friend in the face right now for no good reason.
Of course, I don’t tell him anything.
Right now, I’m trying to figure out how in the hell we’re even going to be able to see each other. The day after we get home, I have four meetings with Kode and some buyers he set up for my new protein line. I barely even have the first draft of the presentation ready. Not to mention all the shit with my dad’s company, since I’m still working for him on the side to earn extra cash until the gym starts paying for itself.
Fortunately, what I do for him can be done from any computer anywhere. Which will be from the gym’s computer, since I’ll be buried in client emails when I get back, amongst other emails. At least Dad pays well. I’d rather not completely deplete all the funds from my trust. And I’ve apparently used a lot more than I realized.
To Dustin, I just say, “I have a lot to do with the gym when I get back to keep things floating the way they need to float. We’ll see how things go.”
