Page 2 of What Happens In Vegas: Jessa & Jaxon
Jasmine’s brow furrows as she gathers her sleek leather purse. “I’m not sure, but I hope she doesn’t do anything to mess up her relationship.”
“I’ll be in the suite!” Meesha calls over her shoulder, already halfway to the elevators. “Connor wants to see the room!”
Before we can respond, she’s gone, leaving behind the weight of her confession.
“So,” Jasmine says, smoothly steering us away from the emotional iceberg we narrowly avoided, “I’ve booked that contemporary art tour for this evening. You want to join?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Hard pass. I’m on vacation from educational activities.”
An hour later, I’m freshly showered and wearing a thigh-length dress. Meesha’s still locked in her room and Jasmine’s gone off to the exhibit.
It’s our last night in Vegas, and after three days of partying, spa treatments, and excursions, this isn’t how I pictured it ending.
Some bachelorette weekend.
Boredom drives me back downstairs to the hotel bar. The massive space buzzes with energy. Laughter and conversation flow as freely as the alcohol. I claim one of the empty bar stools and order a Cosmo.
“That’s how you make a proper Cosmopolitan,” I say after taking my first sip.
I let my eyes wander, taking in the scene. A couple laughs drunkenly near the corner, their heads tilted close together. A woman in a sequined dress gesture wildly to her friend, her oversized margarita sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the glass.
And then I see him.
Jaxon Jamison.
My brother’s best friend. My personal nemesis.
If arrogance were a currency, he’d be a Trillionaire. If there was a way to annoy me, he finds it, perfects it, and patents it.
Jaxon spent most of my teenage years tormenting me with his stupid nicknames. And yet, somehow, he’s grown into that cockiness, wearing it like a finely tailored suit.
He is laughing at something the sleek blonde beside him said, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. The blonde is stunning—red lips, perfect hair, manicured nails resting on his forearm. She leans in, pressing her breasts closer to him.
Something unexpected twists in my chest. Not jealousy. Just... irritation. Annoyance. That’s all.
I force my gaze back to my drink, willing the tightness in my chest to disappear. I hope—no, pray—he won’t notice me.
A strange heat prickles at my skin, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. I tell myself not to look. Will myself to focus on literally anything else.
But the pull is irresistible.
When I finally cave, my gaze collides with his. Hazel eyes lock onto mine, amusement flickering in their depths. My pulse betrays me, hammering against my ribs as his lips curl, like he can hear the effect he has on me.
Jaxon gets up from his seat and saunters toward me, his long legs eating up the distance with ease. I immediately flag down the bartender.
“Check, please.”
Too late. Jaxon stands beside me. The faint spicy scent of his cologne hits me, and I curse the throbbing between my legs.
“JJ,” he drawls, his deep voice wrapping around the nickname I hate as easily as a silk scarf.
“Jaxon.” I make my voice as cold as the condensation dripping down my glass.
His eyes flick around the room, assessing. “Where are Jasmine and Meesha?”
“None of your business,” I snap, tilting my chin higher, hoping to shut this down.
Jaxon chuckles, the sound sending heat licking up my spine.
