JAX (The Beckett Boys #2) - Olivia Chase Page 0,32

and I spend a few minutes catching up on things. Mom tells me how her trip with Dad went—they visited a friend of his in Spain, which is why they didn’t make it to Aubrey’s wedding. She gushes about the food, the atmosphere, repeating several times how much I’d love it there.

“So are you ready to come home for the summer?” Mom asks.

What a loaded question. Part of me says yes. That I need space to lick my wounds and get over whatever the hell this is I’ve been feeling for Jax. But the other part knows once I get home that things will be just the way they were before I left—with Mom and Dad directing my actions, nudging me on what I need to do. Keeping tabs.

My freedom will be gone. I’ll be back to my plain, unadventurous self. The one who never does anything wild or unexpected. The one who follows the rules.

“It’ll be great,” I force myself to reply. If I say it enough times to myself, I’ll start to believe it.

“I’ve already grabbed job applications for you,” she continues, enthused. “So you can work during the summer. I’m sure you’ll want to save up money.” Mom goes on for several minutes about the companies she searched out for me, and I find my heart sinking. She’s already planned everything out for me.

What about what I want? I ache to ask.

I know she’s trying to do what’s best for me. But even more so, I know she wants to fill my time so I don’t have the ability to mess up the way Della did. Find a wild boy and have sex and get knocked up.

Too late, Mom—at least on the first part, I think to myself and smother a bitter laugh. I give the appropriate affirmative sounds to whatever my mom is saying on the phone and try to pay attention.

“We’ll see you soon,” Mom says. “We’re excited about graduation. How are those classes going?”

“Fine,” I say automatically. Well, okay, so I didn’t study as hard as I did this week, but I’ll make it up this weekend. God knows I’m going to be swimming in free time anyway. It’s obvious Jax is going to leave me alone now.

That’s good, right?

Mom and I utter a few more pleasantries, then we hang up. I plop my phone on my bedside table and fling myself back on the bed. Sigh and stare at the popcorn ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about how he was last night—utterly wild and out of control, not caring about anything but partying and being the center of attention.

Silly me. I thought there was more depth to him. I would have sworn so, in fact. But maybe I was fooling myself. And yet, I know I wasn’t. I know whatever we shared on my bed was genuine, if fleeting.

Doesn’t matter now. I left the bar without a word. Surely he’s pissed at me about it. Probably why he’s stopped texting. I’m better off this way.

I can’t help but miss him, just a little.

Okay, more than just a little. Somehow, after just a few times being around him, he’s managed to work his way into my brain and take up residence there. I’m the worst kind of idiot, because I know what he is, how he is. Yet I’m sitting here thinking about him anyway. Wishing he was here, touching me with his big, capable hands, murmuring soft words in my ear.

I don’t want to think about Jax.

I sit up and grab my textbook and stare blindly at the chapter we just went over for a good fifteen minutes. Telling myself I’m not going to think about Jax at all.

Not one second. Not one little bit.

I tell myself that and know it’s a damn lie.

Jax

I fucked up. Big time.

I sit at my beat-up kitchen table and sip on coffee. It’s just after three p.m., and I only managed to rouse myself out of bed a half hour ago. My head pounds, a testament to all the shots I consumed last night. Way more than I usually do.

Why did I drink so much?

I groan and rub the aches across my skull. It’ll take a little longer for the ibuprofen to kick in. My own stupid fucking fault—I deserve to have my head feel like it’s ripping in two for how I acted in front of Brooklyn.

Some dumb-ass impulse on my part made me act that way, showing off to the crowd, riling them up. Proving