That’s enough deep thoughts for now.
He drags off the sweat-soaked shirt and is about to go for a quick plunge when someonewhistles.
Jaxon turns and sees Millie ogling him.
“My kingdom for a camera,” she says with a flirtatious grin as she shuffles down the grassy slope. That’s another thing that could come out of this weekend. Millie Mitchell is totally his type.
He flashes his most charming smile. “Was just about to take a dip.”
“Go on then,” she says, running a hand through her blond curls. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Jaxon stretches once, for show, and then strides straight into the water.
And nearly shrieks.
He stiffens as the tide washes over his feet. It’s cold. Not cool in a refreshing garden-hose-in-summer way, but fucking frigid, like an ice plunge at the gym, and Jaxon has to fight the urge to cry out and shuffle back onto the safety of the beach.
But Millie’s watching, so he sucks in his breath as he wades into the shallows, cold water lapping at his shins, his thighs, nearly loses it when the icy surge skims his nuts, but he manages to hold it in.
Jaxon turns toward her, smiling through gritted teeth. “You coming?” he asks. “The water’s great.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Would I lie to you?”
Millie considers this, then kicks off her shoes and shuffles forward until the water touches her toes. She shrieks and tries to jump back, but Jaxon catches her hand.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” she yelps as he sweeps her up into his arms and turns, as if about to dump her in the surf—which he’d never actually do, he’s not a total douche—but his heel catches on a stone, or shell, and he loses his balance and they both go down screaming in the icy surf.
* * *
AFTER, AS THEY WALK BACK UP TOthe house, clothes wet and teeth chattering with cold, Millie shoots him a look and asks if he’s okay.
“You seemed kind of down,” she explains. “Back there on the beach. Before I whistled. Not that I was spying...”
“Stalker.”
She shoves him playfully. “I mean it,” she says. “You can tell me.”
“I was just thinking...” he starts.
Jaxon considers telling her about the Lightspeed Saga, about its cancellation, how it feels like a death he can’t grieve, and he’s afraid because it was the best thing he’d ever written, and it still wasn’t enough, and what does that mean for him.
Instead, he just flashes a crooked grin, and finishes, “... about how I’m going to wipe the floor with all of you.”
Millie rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
Time to stop fucking around and get to work.
The Thriller Writers
TWO HOURS LATER,SIENNA IS SITTING CROSS-LEGGEDon the floor of their yellow room, Fletch’s manuscript stacked neatly on the rug.
She reclaimed the opening chapters from Malcolm’s chest as soon as he started to snore, which was approximately five minutes after he started “reading.” Sienna’s annoyed, but unsurprised. She knows she’ll end up doing the lion’s share of the work.
She has been for years.
