Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

The first half of my week was like this. Blissful. Peaceful. Quiet. Ever since Thing One and Thing Two showed up three days ago, it’s been anything but. I swear, the only time those two stop fighting is to fuck.

And oh boy, have I heard it all.

Jaxon has magical fingers. A magical tongue, and, apparently, an incredibly magical cock, based on the way Brielle hasn’t been able to stop screaming his name.

Is that how I also know her name? Oh no. I know her name because she’s been shrieking it at him every time he fucks it up and calls her some version of Breanne, Breanna, or Brenda. He seemed to learn well enough after the first forty-eight hours, settling on baby.

I tiptoe across the cold ceramic floor, kicking aside the purple-and-gold dildo I tossed there, along with my clit sucker, after failed orgasm number . . . honestly, I’ve lost count. Honeymoons are supposed to be spent fucking. Since that’s out of the question, I picked up a few toys on the way to the airport to get the job done.

And they haven’t. Not a single time.

No, instead I’ve been listening to my neighbors fuck for the past three days they’ve been here, and I’m 99 percent sure Jaxon is only continuing to participate because it’s the only time Brielle actually stops talking.

I shove aside the sheer curtains and peek through the patio door. Jaxon is alone on the deck, which is a first. The only time he’s out here alone is in the middle of the night, long after Brielle is quiet.

Now he’s lying on the wooden planks, one leg bent, the other dangling in his dunk pool. A pair of shades guard his eyes, and the sunshine glitters against his golden skin. He’s covered in tattoos, arms painted with colorful designs, bathing suit shorts showing off one thick thigh covered with what looks from here like mountains and trees.

I swallow against the desire lumping in my throat, the one that reminds me I’m supposed to be the one getting fucked into the floorboards, and he looks like he could do it well, no matter if his voice is enough to drive me to drink.

Okay, I don’t need a reason to drink; I’ve been doing it all week. So has Jaxon, I guess, because right now he’s surrounded by beer bottles and platters of food.

Where’s Brielle? She seems to enjoy spending her time posing on the deck, in the pool, in the ocean, halfway out of the ocean, halfway into the pool, looking over her shoulder, laughing at nothing, and fixing her bikini bottom when it doesn’t need to be fixed, all while Jaxon mumbles half-assed encouragement while he’s forced to take pictures. Yesterday he drawled out the most unenthused yas, queen, before chugging his beer and muttering out a fuck my life.

I’m still trying to figure out how they wound up here together. Surely no one goes on vacation with a total stranger, but then how come he can’t remember her name?

Jaxon’s hand reaches out, slapping at the planks around him until he finds a platter of fruit. He hooks a finger over the edge and drags it closer, plucking a chocolate-covered strawberry off the plate, biting into it. My lower belly pulls taut when red juice dribbles down his chin, and when he flicks his tongue over his lips, I squeeze my thighs together.

Truly, it’s unfair how gorgeous he is. Shouldn’t he be as ugly as his rude, annoying, arrogant personality?

“Hey, honey?” he calls suddenly, and my heart pounds as I look around. I don’t see Brielle. He’s not . . . he’s not talking to me. Right? “You gonna keep eye fuckin’ me through your patio door, at least don’t stand where I can see you.” Another chocolate-covered strawberry, and my eyes hook on his thumb as he drags it up his chest, along his chin, catching that line of red and sucking it into his mouth. “And if you’re gonna stay where I can see you, feel free to make it interesting and strip down to as few layers as I have on.”

The curtain balls in my fist, and before I tear it across, I toss a screw you out the door and storm away. I’m standing over my toys, contemplating what to do with my life and my last day in Cabo, when my phone rings, my brother’s name on the screen.

“Hey, Dev.”

“What’s up, Len? Ready to go home?”

Home? “I don’t have a home anymore.”

“Ah, don’t say that. If you want me to fly to Seattle and boot Ryne out on his punk ass, just say the word.”

I sniff. “No, I don’t want you to do that.” But, like, maybe.

“You wanna crash at my place for a bit? I’m heading to Florida for spring training, so you’ll have the place to yourself.”

It’s a tempting offer, and would be even if he was going to be there. Devin is the second baseman for the Toronto Jays, and along with my cousin Serena, my best friend. Hiding out in his pristine condo sounds comfortable. Safe.

Instead, I tell him quietly, “I’m thinking of relocating.”

“Yeah? You take that interview for the job I sent you?”

I nod, though he can’t see. “They offered me the job on the spot. The start date is one week today if I want it.”

“Shit. That fast, huh?”

Apparently their current photographer quit unexpectedly, and they’re super eager to start building their fan base up on social media. They said I was just the type of talent they were looking for, but I’m sure having my superstar brother hand my name over didn’t hurt. I don’t often use his name, but desperate times and all that.

I nibble the tip of my thumbnail. “What should I do? I can’t leave Mom and Dad. And Mimi⁠—”

“Mom and Dad will miss you, but they’ll understand. And fuck Mimi. Respectfully,” he tacks on, because we’re still not convinced the woman doesn’t have eyes and ears everywhere. “You wouldn’t be here if she’d never set you up with that douche to begin with. What kinda name is Ryne anyway? And plus, two days ago she texted and asked what a respectable seventy-four-year-old woman might wear at midnight if she wanted to egg someone’s car and not get caught.”

I snicker, and his answering chuckle thaws my cold, dead heart just a touch.

“You gotta do what’s best for you, Len. If that means starting over somewhere new, then do it. Put yourself first for once.”

I can’t remember the last time I did that. Every decision has been led by someone else, altered in one way or another to suit the type of life they wanted for me. But what about the life I want?

“What time’s your flight at?” Devin asks.

I flip through the itinerary I made for me and Ryne, trailing my finger over my return flight details. “Eleven. Have to be at the airport by eight. I should get⁠—”

“Fucking wasted.”

“—to bed early.”

Devin sighs, loud and long-suffering. “How many times you been to a bar this week?”

I pick at imaginary lint on my cropped tank. “They restock my mini fridge every day.”

“Lennon, how many times have you been to a bar this week?”

“Zero.” I do, however, venture to the breakfast buffet every morning at six a.m. before most other guests are up.

“Have you made any friends?”

“Yes,” I scoff. “Just this morning, I had breakfast with Joyce and her husband, Harold.”

“Joyce and her husband, Harold? How the fuck old are they?”

I cough the answer into my fist.

“What?”

I throw one arm up. “They’re in their seventies, okay? There, are you happy now? My only friends are the old lady who keeps trying to set me up with her eighteen-year-old great-grandson, and her husband who keeps missing his mouth and dropping food on his Hawaiian shirt and shouting ‘Eh?’ at his wife every time she says something to him.”

Devin is quiet for a solid five Mississippis before he barks a laugh. “For shit’s sake, Len. Drag your ass out to a bar tonight, have some drinks, and try to make a friend. C’mon, there’s gotta be someone around your age you can hang out with.”

My mind goes to the surly, arrogant prick lounging on the deck next door. The only type of hanging out he knows how to do is fighting and fucking, and I’m certainly not doing either of those things with him.

Even if he was the last man on earth, there’s no way I’d spend my last night in Cabo with Jaxon.

“I swear on my tits, if you sit down next to me, I’ll break every one of your fingers, and I’ll do it so fucking slowly.”

The man that stops beside me stares down at me, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face. He should have devil horns protruding from his temples, but instead there’s just a messy mop of light brown waves covering them, capped by a baseball hat.

“I hope for your sake you’re prepared to follow through on that threat.” Jaxon can’t-remember-his-date’s-name Fuckboy sinks down to the stool next to me, signaling the bartender. “I hate to see perfectly good tits go to waste.”

I grab my frozen Bahama Mama and twist away, propping my chin on my fist, letting my hair block him from sight. “I was having a good time before you showed up.”

“Really? Was that while you were sitting here by yourself for the last hour looking like a kicked puppy, or was it when that old guy with no shirt suggested taking the night back to his room?”

I frown at my drink. That was Gregory. He sat with me at breakfast two mornings ago, telling me all about his late wife and how they used to come here every year on their anniversary. Imagine my surprise when he showed up at my side fifteen minutes ago, drunk as a skunk, and asked if I wanted to give him an anniversary present, clothing optional. Imagine his surprise when I sweetly told him to go fuck himself. Offered up my dildo and everything.

“Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” I grumble.

“Nope.”

“Tall, blonde, big tits, loves screaming your name?”

“Nope.”

“Did you knock her out with an Ambien or something?”

“Shit,” he breathes out. “Why didn’t I think of that sooner? Nah, she’s gone.”

“What?” I lift my head out of my hand, start to spin back to him, and the second I catch his self-assured smirk, I turn away again.

He grips my stool, spinning me back to him. “Breanne left.”

I spin away. “Brielle.”

“Yeah, her.” He spins me back. “She’s gone.”

I kick at his stool, spinning again. “Wow, you chased her out of the country. Good for you.”

When he spins me back this time, he holds my seat in place, tattooed forearm flexing. “Just one of my many talents.”

I judo chop his arm, and he lets go with a silent scream, clutching the spot. “Annoying women? Yeah, you deserve a trophy.”

The bartender joins us, grinning from ear to ear. His name tag says Luis, and I liked him well enough, until now. “Honeymoon?”

“No,” I snap, as Jaxon says, “Yeah.”

I glare at him, and he grins back.

“I live to annoy her. Get her all riled up, then fuck the angry outta her later.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and Jaxon takes my hand, lifting it to his mouth, brushing a feather-soft kiss across the engagement ring I’m still wearing, for some inconceivable reason.

“Tell him, honey. Tell him how you love to scream at me.”

“Jaxon,” I whisper, watching as his thumb slowly brushes across my palm, over my allergy alert bracelet, coasts up the inside of my forearm.

He chuckles lowly, winking. “Something like that, but a lot louder.”

Luis laughs, hearty and loud, and when he turns back to his bottles, I use the opportunity to mouth a fuck you to Jaxon and rip my hand back. “Allow me to make you something special to celebrate your wedding.”

“Oh, that’s not necessa⁠—”

“That’s great, Luis. Thank you. Don’t mind my bride. She loves to argue.” Jaxon winks at me. “It’s her love language.”

Luis returns with two glass goblets filled with blue slush. The empty bottle of tequila on the counter is alarming, but before I can question it, Jaxon is closing my fingers around the stem, clinking his glass to mine.

“To my beautiful wife.”

“I—I’m not—” I frown at Jaxon, then Luis. The poor bartender wears the most hopeful expression while he waits for me to try his concoction. I roll my eyes, lifting the glass to my lips. Sweet, tangy notes erupt in my mouth, sliding way too easily down my throat, where a low moan rumbles. “Shit, that’s good.”

Luis pumps a fist through the air, then points at us as he jogs to a group waiting at the other end of the bar. “I got you! All night, I’m refilling your cups! Tonight, when you make love, you’ll think of me!”

Okay, well, that’s oddly disturbing. I don’t want to be thinking of anyone when we’re⁠—

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I bite out, shoving my finger in Jaxon’s chest.

“Please.” He pushes my hand away. “As if I wanna subject myself to your loud mouth all night long. I’ve just had the week from hell⁠—”

“You’ve been here three days.”

“—and the last thing I’m doing is getting into bed with another stage-five clinger.”

I gasp. “How dare you. I’m not a stage-five clinger. I’m not even a stage-one clinger! I don’t cling, period. And if I did cling, you’d be the last person I’d cling to.”

“You tryin’ to convince me, or yourself?” Hazel eyes move over me in a slow sweep as he sips his drink. “Where’s your lucky other half anyway? It’s your honeymoon.”

My spine stiffens, breath rattling in my rib cage as I spin away from Jaxon. “Do you see a wedding band on my finger?”

“No, but I see a mediocre engagement ring.”

Mediocre? This ring is worth half my salary. “The center stone is two carats. The paved band adds another.”

“Mmm. Is that all?”

“Is that—” I stop, swallowing my frustration. “It’s a very expensive ring.”

“Is that why you’re still wearing it?”

My gaze swings to his. “Are you calling me a gold digger?”

He takes another drink, shaking his head. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Don’t insinuate you know anything about me or my life.”

“I know you’re on your honeymoon, but you’re here alone.”

“And I know you arrived three days ago with a girlfriend, and now you’ve got no one.”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend.”

“You brought someone who wasn’t your girlfriend on vacation? Here?” I look around, palms up. “We’re at an exclusive resort. You rented a honeymoon villa, for fuck’s sake, Jaxon.”

He grins.

“What are you smiling at?”

“You, saying my name. Bet you hate that you know it.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Someone’s gotta be.” Amusement dances in his eyes as he watches me drain my drink in four consecutive guzzles before he signals Luis for another round. “What’s your name?”

“Bite me.”

“You’d like that.”

“I’d hate it.”

His gaze dips to my mouth. “Trust me, you wouldn’t.”

“You’re infuriating.” I flash Luis a smile when he drops two new drinks in front of us. “No wonder Brielle left you. How’d you even convince her to come in the first place? Kidnapping? Bribery? What did you have on her?”

He simply shrugs, like he knows the answer but doesn’t want to share it with me. “What’s your name?”

I pin him with my sweetest smile. “Now, honey, shouldn’t you already know that, given that we’re married?”

He smiles again, or maybe it’s never dimmed. It’s an incredibly handsome and devilish sight, and I’m definitely going to be thinking of him when I head back to my room later, drunk, lonely, and horny, trying one last time to give myself an orgasm at least once on my fucking honeymoon.

Fuck him, and fuck Ryne.

“That’s okay.” He tips his head toward my drink, and I realize I’m halfway through my second. “Another one of those and you’ll be spilling a lot more than your name.”

“Are you saying I’m an easy drunk?”

He lifts a shoulder, playful gaze heating as it glides down the length of my body. “Can’t be more than five-three, and I’m a betting man.”

Damn it. Bang on. “And what are you betting on?”

“I’m betting on you—being a lightweight and spilling your deepest, darkest secrets.”

“Well, bet again.” He’s totally fucking right. I’ve never been able to keep my mouth shut when I’ve been drinking. But I’m tired of entertaining him, and I don’t plan to do it for more than another five minutes, give or take. There’s an electric buzz warming my body, and all I wanna do is go back to my room, slip my ear buds in, pop on the bodyguard threesome romance I’m listening to, and fuck the eight-inch dragon dildo currently resting on my bathroom sink after its afternoon bath. “I was a sorority girl. I know how to handle my alcohol.”

His brows quirk. “Yeah? Care to play a game, then?”

“I’m not entertaining you and your childish desire to win.” I toss my curls over my shoulder. “What game?” Blame my competitive childhood. I spent it vying for the attention my superstar brother was given freely by anyone and everyone.

“Let’s keep it easy. It’s our honeymoon, after all.”

I roll my eyes.

“Never Have I Ever.”

I sputter on my drink, clapping my hand to my mouth to catch the liquid. “Are we in high school?”

“How else am I getting all your secrets?”

“I’m not giving you anything, least of all my name.”

“All right, honey.” Jaxon reaches for his wallet when Luis drops more drinks in front of us, even though we aren’t finished. This one is bright pink. Jaxon slips him a fifty-dollar bill. “Thanks so much for taking care of my wife and I tonight, Luis. I’m Jaxon.” He takes Luis’s hand, shaking it firmly, and I follow his lead, giving our bartender a bright smile.

“You’re amazing, Luis. I’m Lennon.”

I realize my mistake the moment the grown man beside me snickers into his pink drink.

“You motherfucker,” I seethe as Luis leaves us.

“Aw, c’mon, Lennon. Don’t be like that. I—” He stops abruptly, gaze dropping to my feet when I sling one leg over the other. “What the fuck are those?”

“They’re shoes, Jaxon. Has your pink drink gone straight to your oversized head?”

“Those aren’t shoes.”

I glance at my tie-dye Crocs. Perhaps shoes isn’t right, but what they are is fucking comfortable. Ryne hated when I wore these in public, so they were the only shoes I packed for this trip.

“They’re fucking hideous.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not taking them off.” I grab my bag, spin away, and hop down. “See ya.”

“Hang on.” Jaxon catches my waist, hauling me back onto the stool. “I said they were hideous; I didn’t tell you to take them off. Wear whatever the fuck you want.” He pushes my glass back into my hands. “Never have I ever had a pair of Crocs.”

The tension stacked in my jaw dissipates, and I hide my smile behind my drink before Jaxon can see it. “Um . . . Oh, I know. Never have I ever had a threesome.”

Jaxon drinks, which is unsurprising, but my eyes bug anyway.

“Foursome?”

“It’s my turn, not yours,” he argues, which sounds a lot like a yes. Hazel eyes move over me, and I know he’s about to go in for the kill. “Never have I ever left someone at the altar.”

My hands shake as I lift my glass to my lips. Technically, we didn’t make it to the altar; not for real, at least. That doesn’t stop the alcohol from turning bitter in my mouth, sliding down my throat and settling like lead in my belly. “Never have I ever slept with someone whose name I didn’t know.”

“Aw, c’mon. Cheap shot, Len. I remembered the first two letters.”

“You and I both know she wasn’t the first nameless girl.”

“Excuse me for having a short attention span and a bad memory.” He gulps his drink and squints at me. “Never have I ever spied on my neighbor on vacation.”

My heartbeat trips. “What? I didn’t—that wasn’t—you were—” Face flushed, I finish my drink. “Never have I ever had sex in a public place.”

My eyes widen as he drinks.

“Never have I ever listened to my neighbors have sex.”

“I—” Close my eyes, sipping my drink. The nerve of this man. “It’s not as if I had a choice. Brielle was incredibly loud.” I narrow my eyes. “Never have I ever thought myself God’s gift to women.”

An easy tilt of his mouth. Another drink. “Never have I ever been in a relationship.”

“Like, ever? That’s—” I sigh when he aims a pointed look at my drink, the one I then finish. There’s a new one in front of me before I can blink, this one lime green, and I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had. My body feels alive with the kind of energy that makes you want to get up and dance, throw your arms out wide and soak up life.

That must be the only reason I continue to entertain Jaxon and this ridiculous game. Why twenty minutes turns to sixty, and one hour turns to two, until we’re both drunk, inches away from each other as we pepper more truths between half-assed insults, meaningless conversation, and easy laughter.

“Never have I ever gone streaking.” I lick the sugar from the rim of my margarita glass, then swipe his, cleaning it too. “Can you believe that? Twenty-six years old, former sorority girl, never, not once, have I ran my bare ass down the street.”

Jaxon groans, dropping his face toward the bar before giving me an exasperated look. “Lennon, have you even lived your life? You were engaged, not dead.”

“Maybe I’m still engaged.”

“No, you’re not.”

“How do you know? Just because I didn’t go through with the wedding doesn’t mean⁠—”

“Never have I ever called off my engagement.”

Wow, okay, so, that was rude. “Well, I have no drink left, and would you look at that? The bar is closing. Guess we’ll never know.”

I hop down from my stool, swaying a little. Jaxon catches me, but he’s no better off.

“Don’t follow me,” I shoot over my shoulder, pushing away and sauntering down the dark sandy path leading back to our villas. I twirl back to him, shoving my bag and Crocs into his chest. “Can you carry these for me? Thanks.” Another twirl, this one in the open air, gaze set on the sky, all those stars I always wanted to build my life around. “Isn’t it beautiful here? Look at all the stars. Makes me want to never go home.”

“Where’s home?”

A frisson of longing tugs at me, but I shove it away. “Wherever I want it to be.”

“You’re not going back to him.”

I think it’s a question, but he doesn’t really word it that way. Instead of answering him, I dance ahead, onto the boardwalk and all the way down to the last two oceanfront villas.

“Lennon.”

I swing around, pressing my back against my front door beneath the dim glow of the moon and the stars above. Jaxon pauses at the edge of my walkway, watching me for a beat before slowly closing the distance between us. The barstools really fucked with my perception of him. As he towers over me, I become acutely aware that this man could destroy me without effort.

My heartbeat trips, and I couldn’t look away if I tried. There’s something so magnetic about his gaze, the way it tracks every inch of my face, sparks when I laugh, darkens when I sweep my spirals off my neck and over my shoulder.

“You’re not going back to him.”

“Are you asking, or telling?”

“Both.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Jaxon, but you are, in fact, not God’s gift to women. So you don’t get to—” My words are cut short by the gasp that works its way out of my throat when Jaxon pins me against my door, his hips against mine, fingers closing gently around my throat.

Dark eyes stare down at me, his chest heaving in time with mine, and the heat radiating between us muddles every thought in my brain. I can’t remember the last time I felt anything like this with Ryne, this intense hunger.

Jaxon twines his fingers through mine, lifting my left hand to rest by my head, his words softer this time. “You’re not going back to him.”

“No,” I whisper, biting my bottom lip to stave off the whimper that nearly slips out when I feel the press of his weight between my legs.

He twirls my engagement ring around my finger with his thumb. “Why are you wearing this ring, Lennon?”

“I . . . because I . . . I don’t know.” I really, really don’t. Maybe I’m still in denial. Maybe the disappointed faces are too scary a notion to face when I return home, ringless. Or maybe . . . “Maybe it makes me feel like someone still wants me.”

Something like a growl rumbles in his chest, tearing up his throat. He throws the door open and forces me through it. I stumble backward, staring up at him as he matches each of my steps with his own.

A rough palm grips my neck, hauling me forward, fingers fisting the curls at the back of my head as his mouth drops to mine.

“Ditch the fucking ring,” he whispers against my lips, and the second that platinum band princess cut diamond is skipping over the ceramic tiles, his mouth is on mine.

Hot, wet, and starved, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, laying claim to everything I have to give, fingertips scraping down my sides, tearing at my dress. I yank at his shirt, pulling it over his head, and we break away, breathless and feral.

Jaxon shoves me down to the mess of blankets on my bed.

“I’m gonna fuck you the way a bride deserves to be fucked on her honeymoon, and when I’m done, you’re going to thank me and ask for more.” He whips his belt free from his shorts. “Got it?”

I swallow. “Got it.”

“Good girl. Now take off those panties and show me how badly your pussy wants my cock, honey.”