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“Wait, uh, why do you think he’s Jaxon Sunters? Is he famous or something?”
He just laughs and says, “Ah yeah, well, to guys like me, and I’m pretty sure a shitload of other people. I’m a fan of his books. Are you one too?”
His books? What the fuck?
“He writes books? I had no idea he was so… popular.” I try to cool my expression, but I am a wreck underneath it.
“Yeah, he’s got a big following, too. I mean, he’s witty, easy-going and smooth. I love his stories and far out, he even adds scientific data into his books.It’s like a motivational book, but more on making us feel good about ourselves and our decisions.”
Okay, I’ve had enough. I can’t control my emotions with this guy here.
“Thanks. Well, he’s there if you want to talk to him.” I sound stern, but it’s the best I can do instead of telling him to fuck off after speaking to me like that earlier. Also, I need to be in my bubble to process.
I take my phone and dismiss the message I forgot to check earlier and go straight to Google. I tap out his name and press enter, leading me to a few links with his name.
Jaxon Sunters, a Chicago, born and bred thirty-four-year-old, termed as a single ‘and ready to mingle’ man with a reputation of being a playboy. Smooth and charismatic, but a witty writer to top it off.
I scroll down and see he majored in Data Science. But later on, tried a hand at Creative Writing.
I shake my head as I continue to read the background on him, shocked at how much I don’t know. But the worst part is the rest of the article, and I choose the moment he returns with a plate of pancakes and scrambled eggs to read it. Loudenough for him to hear me. I clear my throat before reading, with an attempt at nonchalance.
He looks all cheery and contempt as he drools over his breakfast, but that’s all going to change.
“‘Removing the Illusion of Monogamy,’ written by Jaxon Sunters, has shocked many readers with his witty, yet speculative, story. As he delves into the topic of promiscuity, he explains it is more than sleeping around. Last we heard, according to his subscribers, book number two will have scientific data to prove, dare I say it, that monogamy is indeed an illusion.”
I put the phone down on the table as I finish reading, feeling ice-cold. It’s worse when I hear it out loud, too. My eyes fall on him, and I glare at him, waiting to see what he says in response to the article.
He swallows and runs his fingers through his hair, takes a gulp of water he brought over. Setting the glass back down, he sighs. “I’m here for the North Queensland Writer’s Festival, invited by the hotel to speak about my novel and future prospects. Turns out I have a fan base in Australia…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
JAXON
The way Abigail is glaring at me makes my balls shrink up.
She finally found out about me, and I actually feel like the boulder on my shoulder has fallen down. Except now I’m left looking like a damn liar, hurting someone that I sincerely like spending time with.
Then my thoughts turn to the article she read.
“It looks bad, Abi. I get it. It’s a massive shock to you I’ve skipped the truth about myself since we met… but it doesn’t represent me in a bad way. I’m simply someone who doesn’t want to cover myself with a blanket of words like playboy, man whore, or, as they have termed me, sex on legs. I just don’t understand why everyone thinks people need to commit to one person in order to live a good life.” A sigh leaves me, and I run my fingers through my hair. “Look, I’m not an evil man. I just have a different opinion,” I explain, hoping she will understand.
“No, you’re exactly like those terms. Worse, you sound similar to that man at the bar years ago. It’s like a broken record in my head!”
My shoulders sag and lips thin.
Fuck. Well, here goes nothing.
“Uh, yeah about that.” I clear my throat and, like a coward, look away from her angry stare. “It seems that we’re closer to each other than we thought. We must be from the same place in Chicago because that night, at the bar when you decided to… change your lifestyle choices… I was there.” I take a chance and glance at her, waiting for a reaction.
Her eyebrows furrow for a few seconds until those green eyes widen.
She’s finally put two and two together.
“No fucking way!” She leans in and attempts to lower her voice. “I listened to your bullshit, and it made me feel worthless in the end.”
“That’s not my doing. You can’t blame me for something that you listened to and then put it into practice! You shouldn’t hold me accountable for a drunken rant. Your life. Your choices.” The indignation in my tone does not go unnoticed as Abigail glowers at me. I’m getting pissed that she is hurtling words at me, pointing fingers at me.
“Fine. I’ll own up to that. But you still didn’t tell me anything about you being an author.” She then runs her fingers through her pink locks. “Fuck, I can’t believe all this time, trying to be good and wanting to settle down. To improve my decisions with men, and then I have a fling with the man who literally believes it is fine and dandy to fuck and leave. To not care how it may affect people afterward. Someone who fucking writes this down and feeds it to people!”
