Page 24 of False Start, Real Passion

Jaxon deepens the kiss, urgency, and something else entirely. The world tips on its axis, leaving me unsteady and breathless. His arm tightens around me. I pull him closer. We’re both drowning, both surviving. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known. It’s everything.

I forget about the team watching, the cameras that might be lurking. All I can focus on is the heat of Jaxon’s mouth, the slide of his tongue against mine, the way he tastes like whiskey and desire and danger.

A low wolf-whistle penetrates the haze, and reality crashes back in. I’m kissing Jaxon. Not for show, not for the PR game. But because I want to, with a hunger that scares me.

When we finally break apart, gasps replace cheers, surprise replaces expectation. The world comes back into focus, and it’s not the same world as before.

Jaxon’s eyes lock with mine, challenging, imploring, stripping me of any pretense. And that’s exactly why I can’t stay.

I clear my throat, pasting on a smile that feels too bright, too brittle. “Well, this has been fun, but I think I’m gonna call it a night.” I stand, brushing off my jeans. “You know, beauty sleep and all that.”

I don’t wait for a response, just turn, and head for the cabin, my pulse still racing. I need space, need to clear my head, need to—

“Tori, wait.”

Jaxon’s voice stops me in my tracks. I curse under my breath, steeling myself before turning to face him. He’s followed me to the cabin, his tall frame filling the doorway.

“What, Jaxon? I’m tired.” I cross my arms, trying to look annoyed rather than flustered.

He steps closer, his gaze intense. “What was that?” he asks, his voice a mix of disbelief and smug satisfaction.

I have no good answer, so I throw my old defenses at him, even if they are cracked. “Exactly what they wanted.”

His smile falls, replaced by a determination that scares me more than his grin ever could. “Is it?” he presses. “Is it really?”

“Yes,” I insist, almost convincing myself. Almost.

But Jaxon sees right through me. Of course he does. “Bullshit,” he says, eyes dark, challenging. “I felt it, Tori. So did you.”

I turn away, unwilling to face him, unwilling to face what’s happening to me. “Don’t make this a thing,” I plead, but I know it’s already too late.

He steps closer, his voice fierce, immediate. “You know it’s a thing. Stop pretending it’s not.”

The argument sharpens, the space between us filled with more honesty than I’ve let in for a long time. He tears through my defenses, each word stripping away the armor, leaving me raw and exposed.

“You’re letting this get too real,” I say, and it sounds weaker than I want it to. “We agreed. Nothing off script.”

“Real is the best thing about it,” he fires back. “About us.”

There’s that word again. Us. Like it’s more than a carefully constructed image. Like it’s more than I can handle.

I stand frozen, holding on to the last shreds of my doubt, my certainty, my resistance. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

He doesn’t back down. “What are you so scared of?” he asks, quieter this time. His fingers find mine, igniting everything they touch. “This?”

I pull back, but my resolve doesn’t follow. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but the certainty in his eyes tells me he does.

When he references the moment on the dock, when he uses it against me, I break. It’s the last thing holding me together, the first thing he pushes past.

“Go ahead,” he says, relentless. “Keep lying to yourself. But don’t think I’ll make it easy.”

My breath catches in my throat, panic replacing oxygen. I need air. I need space. I need something that isn’t him.

Jaxon dares me to stop pretending, dares me to admit what I already know. He dares me the way no one else ever has.

He storms out. I crawl into bed, alone with the ache in my chest and the words he threw at me like reckless promises. I tell myself I’m relieved. I tell myself I’m glad. I tell myself it’s all I can do not to run after him. But I don’t tell myself the truth. The memory of him is everywhere. The room. My heart. The space next to me on this stupid, tiny bed. Hours pass, and he fills them all, and just when I think the tension will suffocate me, he’s back, close enough to touch, close enough to ruin.

The night stretches long and unkind. My eyes won’t stay closed. My mind won’t stay quiet. Every piece of me hums with him, with his heat, with the absolute certainty that I can’t keep doing this.

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