Page 14 of A Little Crush
“I’m not mad at you for rejecting me.” My shoulders sag even more as I fight the urge to tap my fingers against my outer thigh. Part of me wants to slam the door in his face and run in the opposite direction because this conversation is so freaking embarrassing. The other part? Well, I guess this is way past due, isn’t it?
Fine.
“Of course you didn’t kiss me back,” I mumble. “Of course you shouldn’t have kissed me back. You did the right thing, Jax. I was the one who screwed up.”
“Rore—”
“Let me finish,” I beg because if I don’t, it’ll continue haunting me like it has for years. “I was young, Jaxon. I was young and underage and stupid and reckless and head over heels in love with a guy whowouldnever andcouldnever love me back. A guy who looked at me like I was a little kid, which I was,” I emphasize. “And now that I’m on the other side, I’m older and I see it, which…in all honesty, kind of sucks.” A dry laugh lodges in my throat as I fight past my shame. “I get it, though. I completely understand, and that’s why I came to my room tonight. Because I can’t even watch home videos without being reminded of exactly how embarrassingly obsessed I was with you.” Another pathetic laugh escapes me while I mentally replay the video from earlier tonight. “Jax, I was the one in the wrong?—”
“You were a kid?—”
“Yeah, but I’m not anymore,” I argue. “And with every passing year, it only reinforces how…inappropriately I acted, and how stupid I feel about it.”
“Rore…” His frown deepens. “I think you should cut yourself a little slack.”
“Trust me. I’ve been working on it for years, but the good news is that I’m over it. Not the beating myself up part,” I clarify, “but whatever weird childhood obsession I had with you.” I wave my hand through the air. “Genuinely. It’s over,” I repeat, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m trying to convince. “So, there you go. We’ve now aired out the dirty laundry. You understand that you did nothing wrong, and I understand that I was nothing more than a babysitting gig and…we’re good.” I take a deep breath, grateful my hand is still clutched onto the edge of the door so I don’t collapse into a ball right here and now. “Now, I really do have a headache,” I mutter to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Goodnight, Jaxon.”
I close the door without waiting for his response and slide to my ass, pressing my knees to my chest.
There. I said it.
It’s done.
So, why do I still feel so terrible?
5
JAXON
I’m anxious. I shouldn’t be, but I am. Ever since my chat with Rory, she’s been on my mind. Okay, ever since I saw her in the pool, she’s been on my mind, though I refuse to analyze why. Add in the disastrous video and the fallout afterward, and I feel…bad. The problem is I don’t know how to make it right. How to tell her it was an innocent childhood crush. That I never looked at her like she was a babysitting gig. I think that part hurts the most. How she thinks I never cared about her.
She was my friend, too. My little side-kick. My shadow most days. One I enjoyed having around. Honestly, I’ve missed her over the years. More than I’d like to admit, especially with how things played out. I’d like to go back to being friends, if she’s up to it. But she won’t even give me a chance to express that. To tell her we’re good. That I’d like to be friends again—real friends—and fuck knows I could use a few more of them. Instead, she closed the door in my face and has been absent ever since…until twenty minutes ago, when I arrived at the country club and saw her in a silky dress talking with Tatum. I’m still not sure if she noticed my arrival or if she chose to pretend I didn’t exist. I’m not sure I want to know, either. Not that it matters. Clearly, that bridge is burned, and I don’t know how to erect a new one.
With a sigh, I tug at the top button of my suit, unsure how much longer I can stand being here. Not that there’s anything wrong with the country club Ophelia and Maverick chose for their wedding venue. The place is insane and a familiar backdrop for multiple Buchanan events, including the yearly B-Tech Enterprises company retreats. It’s part country club and part hotel with a massive reception area perfect for hosting any event, including a wedding. Add in the polished marble floors, giant pillars, and pristine glass doors and windows allowing you to take in the rolling hills and expertly manicured foliage, and the place looks straight out of a storybook. So much so, I’m almost surprised they chose to have the actual wedding outside instead of in the main reception area. Not that it matters. Even the incredible backdrop isn’t enough to make me want to stick around.
There’s nothing wrong with weddings or love or rehearsal dinners. Honestly, I never minded them before. But after my own marriage burst into flames, it’s hard pretending I still believe in happily-ever-afters and shit.
I roll my shoulders as Finley cuts off the wedding coordinator’s instructions.
“Okay, so you need everyone to pair up, right?” Finley asks the wedding coordinator. Without waiting for her response, Finley rubs her hands together and does a quick headcount of the wedding party. “Perfect. Tatum, you’re the maid of honor, and since Paxton’s now in the wedding, you can pair up with him, then we’ll go Dylan and Reeves—the best man—then Raine and Ev, Griff and me, and…” Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Finley looks at me like I’m nothing but a loose end. “You don’t mind walking with Rory, do you?”
My attention cuts to the woman in question. The light, flowy dress reaches just above her knees, and her long, ashy-blonde hair is left straight down her back. She looks pretty today, even when she’s staring at the ground.
Fuck, she won’t even look at me.
“What about Dodger?” I ask.
“He’s not in the wedding party,” Finley explains, turning to Maverick’s little sister. “Rore, are you okay with that? Being paired up with Jax?”
She says it like the idea of standing next to me and walking down an aisle is torture or something.
What am I, chopped liver?
“Sure thing,” Rory squeaks. She looks about as comfortable as a woman purchasing a prescription for crabs—the STD, not the food. Despite her discomfort, she sidles up next to me and crosses her arms.
And yeah. This is awkward. I can feel the tension radiating off her. Like she’s afraid to stand by me, let alone touch my arm or look me in the eye. Is this Rory’s attempt at moving on from our past? Because it seems like she’s shit at it. We’re good, my ass. Then again, she’s always been bad at hiding her emotions. Clearly, it hasn’t changed over the years, unlike her hair, body, and height. I fight the urge to check her out and keep my eyes glued to the wedding coordinator in front of me.
“Okay, Groom, we need you up front,” she starts, motioning to the front of the path lined with rows of wooden folding chairs. “And Bride, we need you at the very back with Mom and Dad. And then, the music starts, and once the bridesmaids and groomsmen have walked the path, you slowly walk toward your respective positions. Ready for a dry run? Perfect. In three, two, one.”
