A lot of things are painful these days.
Jax strips out of his wet shirt, smirking in my direction. I wonder how long I can fake being on my period. Would they send me to the doctor if I pretended it was three weeks long?
Shit. I hate my sister.
Smiling bitterly, I stand, grab my purse, and go to change my fake tampon.
I need a drink, a massage, and a vibrator. And not necessarily in that order.
My life is so screwed up.
One thing I will not be using is the fire crotch gel. In fact, I threw away all the samples. Mostly because I never wanted Jax to learn about the crazy going on in the bedroom while I was pretending to battle Mother Nature.
The sun will be setting soon, we’ve just finished dinner, and Dad and Javier are setting up a bonfire. Well, Javier is doing it. Dad is mostly just talking his ears off since Javier won’t let Dad near it.
He’s a bit of a hazard around fires. Things seem to spontaneously combust around him.
Ironic, huh? Considering how we ended up in this house.
After washing the sand off my feet, I head inside and brush my teeth, since I have no other real reason to be in the bathroom. As soon as I walk out, I slam into a wet, hard chest, and look up to see a smiling Jax.
“You finished with Aunt Flow yet?” he asks as humor dances in his eyes.
I’m sick of faking my period. Really, I am.
“Actually, yes,” I tell him. The surprise that registers on his face actually intrigues me. Why does he seem so surprised?
“Well then,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Well then,” I echo, basking in the utter awkwardness that is in the air suddenly.
“Feel like going for a walk?” he asks, surprising me.
I thought I was going to have to do some crafty sex dodging, but a walk? Perfect.
“Love to.”
He seems different now, when seconds ago it seemed like he was trying to trap me. Now he looks as though he was just caught in a trap.
He doesn’t take my hand, he doesn’t touch me, and he doesn’t make any sexual comments like he has since my “period” started. Right now, he looks a little nervous.
“So… I still feel like I know nothing about you,” he says while staring straight ahead as we walk out to the beach once again.
“Ditto,” I murmur.
His lips twitch slightly, hinting at a smile, but it’s gone almost just as fast.
“You’ve met my family. You know I own a gym. You know what my place looks like…”
“You’ve met my father. You know I own Pretty Posh—well, partly own. You’re in one of my places…”
I smile when he does, and he snickers lightly.
“How old are you?” I hate to ask it, because Bora probably has, but I can’t help it.
“Twenty-six. Two years older than you,” he answers without hesitation. “Viv just turned thirty, so she’s my older sister.” He pauses as his lips twitch. “I guess you really don’t know much about me, huh?”
“I know you love red meat. I know you drink red wine with a meal, even though you’d prefer a beer, but your mother would freak out if you had a beer instead of wine. By the way, you’d enjoy wine more with a meal if you drank a wine that complemented the course. Anyway, I also know you love cardio, even though you gripe about it. I know you care a lot about your sister, even though you mostly give her the cold shoulder,” I go on.