“Itwillkill them.” Now it’s my knee rubbing up against his. Take that, Mister Women-in-My-Presence-Don’t-Require-Personal-Space.
“It will kill them.” Jax bears those luminescent eyes into mine, and I’m prisoner to his haunting good looks. It’s not fair. The universe knows I’m a sucker for black hair and blue eyes, those dimples that I actually once stuck my finger in while Jaxson did his best impersonation of an electrical socket. I used to get thirsty for a tall glass of water just looking at his eyes, and now I’m just thirsty for him.
Sadie clears her throat, but neither Jax nor I am willing to break our stare. “You can always let them down easy. Haven’t they earned something just this side of heart stopping? I mean—showing up at prom? That was pretty brutal. And the time they held a surprise birthday party for you, Pops—and yet the invites they sent out were actually to your fauxengagementparty? Remember the lines at the return counter? I was with you. It was brutal.”
“I forgot all about that.” My entire body burns with something just this side of anger as a sense of self-righteous revenge percolates in me anew. “I was thirteen for shit’s sake!”
Jax taps the table with a dead look in his eyes. “My mother made me pick out a ring.”
“They deserve it.” Mack inches those shot glasses toward the two of us, and Jax and I each glom onto our own.
“They deserve it.” He lifts his glass as if toasting the idea.
“They deserve it.” I touch my glass to his, then Mack’s and Sadie’s.
“To love!” Mack raises her suspiciously empty glass a little higher, and we do the same.
“Tolove,” we cry out as a group.
Mack is quick to excuse herself, citing the fact she needs to check on Dave and the kids before disappearing. Sadie outright blows us a kiss before trotting off to the deep end of the bar where there’s enough testosterone and cologne to drown in.
Jaxson Stade brazenly runs his knee over mine with those oven-heated eyes searing me from the inside. “You in this, Eight Ball?”
Eight ball. Now there’s a blast from the past. Jax thought up that pool-based moniker after I insisted that the eight ball was demonic and we should banish billiard games from our after-school repertoire. In my defense, I was seven, and he went right along with it until his father almost tore him a new one for falling for something so idiotic. Jax actually had a great father whom he lost just as we were about to leave for college. And as far as I know, it’s still a pretty sore subject, so I don’t dare contest him on the silly name just yet.
“That’s right, Gordo.” A cheesy grin glides over my face. Jax was Gordo to my Lizzy akaLizzy McGuire—the show I enjoyed best during my storied childhood with this panty-dropping prankster seated before me. Those were the good old days. I have no idea where they’ve gone.
Jax holds out his hand, and I place my palm over his and we reinitiate our once secret handshake, two pats, a firm shake, and a knuckle bump. That’s what best friends do. They have great monikers that outlast collegiate life and secret handshakes that imbed themselves into our muscle memory. His hand is thicker, stronger than I remember it. Everything about Jaxson Stade is far more heart-stoppingly masculine than I ever remember.
“It’s good to have you back, Poppy.” Something just this side of fatigue is layered in that look he gives me. It’s probably closer to regret or resentment.
“You don’t have to fake it with me, Jaxson. You hate this. I’m the last person on the planet you want to even pretend to like.” I growl over at him without meaning to. “Don’t worry. As soon as our big reveal is through, I plan on being on the next plane back to L.A.”
The band stops playing, and the lead singer starts in on the New Year’s countdown as couples scurry together to get their midnight molestations underway.
“Now go ahead and get back to that boob parade you’re the grand marshal of,” I snip. “I’d hate for any of your bodily members to miss out on their shining moment.”
And with that, I head back into the icy night, slipping all the way to my mother’s loaner in my thousand dollar L.A. Louboutins and freezing in my flimsy leather jacket.
I shiver all the way back home, wondering just what in the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
