Page 2 of A Little Crush
And almost familiar.
Cocking my head, I take her in again from toe to head. The sun glistens on the water, painting her into a mirage. Long legs. Short torso. Oval-shaped face. Rosy cheeks.
Why do I recognize her?
As if she can feel my stare—as if she can read my fucking thoughts—the woman lowers her legs into the water. Brushing her wet hair away from her face, she peeks up atme on the balcony, the view threatening to knock me on my ass. Recognition sparks in her pretty gaze, and her pouty lips part as a stone falls in my gut, confirming what a small part of me already knew but didn’t want to acknowledge.
Well, if it isn’t the baby of the family, Rory Buchanan.
She’s definitely not the little girl I remember.
Not even close.
And here I am, checking her out like she’s a piece of meat, which is the last thing she needs and the last thing I should ever do, especially after the last time we saw each other.
“Fuck,” I breathe out.
Iris gasps. “Excuse me?”
I hold Rory’s gaze for another beat, my dick stiffening even more.
Shit.
She’s… I thought she wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. Sure, I didn’t blatantly ask Maverick when his little sister would be arriving for the wedding festivities. Considering our history, I had to beat around the bush, but I thought… It doesn’t matter. Clearly, I was wrong. And clearly, she isn’t the little girl she once was. Like an expensive bottle of wine, time has only made her sweeter but still as unattainable.
She’s a kid, I remind myself, despite my subconscious calculating how old she must be now. Not that it matters.
It. Doesn’t. Matter.
Holding my stare, she kicks her feet beneath the water’s surface, keeping herself afloat, her small breasts bobbing in the glistening pool like a wet dream.
Snap the hell out of it! This is Rory! Sweet, innocent little Rory.
“Hello?” Iris snaps.
Giving Rory my back, I walk inside. “Sorry, there was a…bee. I’m here.”
2
RORY
“Fuck.”
I watch Jaxon’s lips move, forming the curse as the bane of my existence looks down on me from the balcony. I’ve imagined this moment. More times than I can count. And none of them—noneof them—felt more like a kick to the ovaries than this one.
He looked…annoyed almost. Frustrated even. With my presence? I’m not entirely sure, but it sure seems that way.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but it doesn’t take away the sting.
Glancing up at the balcony again, I confirm I’m alone and climb out of the pool, reaching for one of the brightly-colored, folded towels as the sound of the sliding glass door from above causes a shiver of trepidation to race down my spine.
Is he gone? Is he back? Is one option worse than the other? Maybe he never left, and his wife joined him outside for the festivities. Wouldn’t that just be a cherry on top of my day.
Yeah, I need to get out of here.
There’s a reason I’ve kept a wide berth of all things JaxonThorne since middle school. Trying to kiss a guy who’s almost ten years older than you will do that to a girl. Yeah. Want to talk about a core memory? Pretty sure his rejection takes the cake. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not stupid. I’m well aware I never should’ve crossed the line or put him in that position in the first place. But I was young and stupid and…in love.
I shove the reminder aside before I break out in hives when the short set of stairs from the balcony creak with footsteps.
