Granted, I didn’t intend for Emily to send me the skimpiest freaking bikinis we have in our line. I also never thought I’d be in a position for Jax to see it. My goal was to not let him get that close, or me get that naked.
I’m failing miserably at deception.
There goes my dream of becoming a spy.
I suck at lying. I suck at pretending to be Bora. I suck at life right now. It’s because I don’t have a life that I’m even in this position.
My eyes drop down to the fairy wing that is sticking up past my bikini bottoms. Such a small wing has caused a lot of problems, but I love my meaningless tattoo. Yes, that’s right. There’s no deep-rooted meaning that holds a puzzle piece to my life.
I like fairies. I think they’re pretty. So I got a fairy tattooed on me, because I wanted it and no other reason. Being spontaneous has never been an issue for me.
When Ruby Kross—my best friend—first got her license, I volunteered to be her first human subject. So did her dad. It was exciting for her and me, because I was finally getting something to set me apart from Bora.
My entire life, Bora has gotten whatever hairstyle I had, whatever piercing I have, and even the same sunglasses. I don’t get the sunglasses, but hey.
I’ve done the same, so don’t think it’s one-sided.
Poor Bora even got that horrendous cut the hack-job hairdresser gave me. Fairly sure it was a disastrous attempt at a bowl cut. I looked like a boy, because I was still flat-chested at the time, and too young for makeup. Bora took on that style—if that’s what you can call it—out of sympathy so I wouldn’t be the only one crying.
It was the first time I ever realized she truly did love me. It’s also one of the things people miss when they look at her and call me a doormat. They don’t know about the bond a twin shares. They don’t understand it until they’ve felt it.
One day I’ll tell her about my tattoo, because sadly, I secretly want her to have one that matches. Why? The hell if I know. Resurrect Freud and get his opinion, because I don’t understand the psychology stuff. I’m just a designer.
“Oh! Look at these!” Mrs. Marshall gushes from beside me, thrusting her phone in my face.
I lean back so that I’m not seeing double, and my hands push into the sand as I stare at the baby clothes on the screen. Sheesh. She went from trying to discard the trash to trying to marry it to her son.
“Yep. Adorable,” I say with a forced smile.
I’m not having her grandkids. Crazy, fickle woman.
I’m also not telling her that at this moment. Eventually Jax will get to be the bearer of bad news. When he figures out I’m not the wild girl he thinks he brought.
“Let’s swim,” Jax says right against my ear, startling me so much that I freaking squeal.
I turn to face him, and our noses bump. He’s smirking for some reason, but I don’t know why.
“O…kay…”
I let him pull me up, and I don’t protest when he laces our fingers together.
“Your dad says there’s a private cove somewhere around here. Feel like a little fun?” he asks, bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. “He said you know the way.”
Pretty sure my feet turn into lead, because they stop moving, and I fall. Face first. Into the sand.
Told you I suck at life.
“Shit!” Jax says around a laugh.
I slowly raise up, seeing sand on the ends of my eyelashes and tasting the grit of it on my lips.
“You okay, babygirl?” Dad calls from down the beach. I turn to see the asshole grinning at me knowingly.
Some fathers want to pinch off a guy’s head off for screwing their daughters. My dad made jokes like he would, but then he tells Jax about the sex cove. That’s what Bora has always called it.
My dad is the kind of dad who is loving the hell out of the fact I’m pretending to be the reckless, sexy Bora, when… Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I had sex.
Jax hauls me back to my feet and back to my current situation, and I glare daggers at my smiling father.