Oh, I will.And I plan on enjoying every second of it.
He turns away, back to whatever paperwork he’s pretending to read.
I pause at the door. “You sure there’s nothing else I should know?”
His pen doesn't stop moving. “Just keep her in line, Jaxon. That’s all I’m asking.”
Iwatch him from the kitchen window.
Jaxon moves with the same cocky swagger he’s had since we were kids. Arrogant. Infuriating. The kind of man who’s always had too many girls, too much charm, and not nearly enough accountability.
He hasn’t changed a bit.
Six-four with shoulders build to rest your legs on them. His body is carved from stone and he’s always wearing that smirk that’s probably trademarked by now. He’s not just some kid who came to our house with his mom when we were little. He’sJaxon fucking Kane. Master of his own tech domain, and girls who clearly don’t care about being discarded the next morning.
I scoff and toss yesterday’s tabloid in the trash. Face down, so I don’t have to look at Jaxon with yet another picture-perfect model on the cover. I swear he has a life goal to never be seen with the same woman twice.
And yet…
As he swings one leg over the seat of his bike and leans forward to fire up the engine, I wonder—just for a second—what it would feel like to climb on behind him. To wrap my arms around his waist, press my face against the back of his leather jacket, and feel the hum of the road vibrate through my bones.
Jesus.
I shake the thought out like it’s poison, disgusted with myself.
God knows how many other girls have sat on that seat. It probably needs to be bleached.
You’d think I’d be over him by now. It’s been six years since he humiliated me. Six years since he shattered whatever leftover feelings I had into dust and ash. I told myself I was done that night—done with him, with everything he stood for. I’ve stuck to that.
Mostly.
Except for when he shows up here like nothing ever happened, like he didn’t twist the knife in my gut and smile while he did it.
Still. That doesn't stop me from watching him leave. Doesn’t stop me from feeling something warm in my chest when he looks up at my bedroom window. The one I used to sit at and draw.
He straps his helmet on and guns the engine, kicking up gravel as he disappears down the drive. Popping a wheelie while several of the horses dart after him, racing down the fence line.
God, I hate him.
But I hate myself more for remembering how much I used to love him. Or at least thought I did.
The sound of the kitchen side door opening jolts me out of the thought.
Shanae steps in, balancing two cloth tote bags on her arms and kicking the door shut with her heel. “Got your oat milk, fresh ginger, and those weird probiotic gummies she likes.”
“Thanks,” I say, moving to help her unload. “She managed a few bites of soup earlier. Kept it down.”
Shanae hums, setting the bags on the counter. “Then tonight’s mission is orange marmalade. I’m thinking hot biscuits, maybe a little bone broth to sip with it. Sweet and savory—she won’t be able to resist.”
“She might,” I murmur. “She didn’t sleep much last night. She’s tired.”
Shanae pauses, watching me carefully. “Which is exactly whyyoushould take the night off. Go be twenty-three. Go be a little reckless. Put on something short and make bad decisions.”
I let out a weak laugh. “You are such a bad influence.”
“You need one. Otherwise you’ll shrivel into an old crone before your time.”
I smile at her teasing and turn to the bread drawer to make myself a quick sandwich—but the smile drops the second I see what’s hidden inside.
