My sardonic mind spews on about the two hypocritical women, but I tune it out when Jax is suddenly in front of me, almost running me over. Crap.
His eyes widen, and then a dazed and confused look comes over him. “You hiding in the stairwell?”
I hear a couple of whispers, probably a little panicky, and I frown. “Jax, can—”
“Did you just call me Jax?” he asks with a laugh, his head tilting.
My whole face turns red, and I stutter several unintelligible things. “Is that... um... but I thought... That’s...”
He laughs when I give up, and he leans down to give me a grinning kiss. “Thank you. You’ve refused to call me that, and quite honestly, it was starting to get on my nerves, considering my father’s name is Jaxon. It’s a libido killer.”
Note to self: If we get in a situation where I need to drown out the lust, I’ll call him Jaxon.
He winks as he withdraws, and my mouth waters. He’s too sexy.
Skin deep. It’s just skin deep. Lust is a driving toxin that leads to the bedroom, not the altar… It’s just a saying. I’m not looking for a trip to the altar.
If he’s with Bora, he’s just as shallow as she is, because I know how Bora operates. All sex, no depth.
Knowing that doesn’t make me less shallow in this moment, but it keeps me sober. So does reminding myself that he’s been with my sister.
“You ready for cocktails?”
I nod shyly when his hand comes up to my face, and he leans down to kiss me harder this time. Um… What was I thinking?
“You’re so much sweeter than usual,” he murmurs against my lips. “A guy could get used to this.”
Sweeter? I taste sweeter, or I’m acting sweeter? So frustrating.
“Come on,” he says, tugging my hand.
The trolls who were talking about my sister are staring at me with artificial smiles, making sure to line the curl of their lips with just enough sugar to sell it. Jax keeps his arm around me as we make our way to a sofa in the oversized living room and sit down.
&nb
sp; Clean, contemporary art hangs on the walls, and I can’t help but smile when I see the Pretty Posh logo framed and hanging amongst them. Jax follows my eyes, and laughs lightly when he sees it, too.
“I didn’t expect Marsh to be a fan of a girly design empire.”
I glance down at my hands, wishing I could explain.
“So, Bora, have you ever visited Hawaii?” his mother asks in her syrupy sweet, fake-as-plastic tone.
She’s good at hiding her evil side.
“Yes. Many times. Not in a few years, though.” The surprise that registers on her face is almost priceless, so I obnoxiously add, “I prefer Bora Bora. Less crowded.”
Her brittle smile is rewarding. I sit back, allowing her eyes to coolly assess me. She doesn’t assess me long before I see the disbelief. She thinks I’m making it up. That’s fine. I don’t need her approval.
“Bora Bora, eh?” Jax asks with a grin.
If he only knew the significance. Bora Bora was where my mother ended up pregnant with twins. My father, being the eccentric man he is, took it as a sign from the universe. Twin named location leads to twins. There’s really no logic, but it’s Vince Jaggons.
To pay respect to the universe, he named us Bora Bolivia Brendon and Bolivia Bora Brendon. As if life isn’t confusing enough when you share a face. Why not also share a name that’s been flip-flopped?
“Well,” Jax’s mother says, clearing her throat, “Bora Bora hasn’t ever been our style. Hawaii is our preferred vacationing spot.”
I nod slowly and allow Jax to move in closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and drawing me flush against his side. Sheesh. He’s always so hands-on. Not that I’m complaining, but—no. I need to be complaining.