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One
Jax
“Why, for the love of all things, why?” I hear Sloane mumble as I walk into The Wet Spot. She’s perched on her stool, probably reading a magazine. This girl, she should be off limits to the likes of me, fourteen years her senior. Sloane is nineteen, I’m thirty-fucking-three. That doesn’t stop me from fisting my cock day in and day out imagining her body beneath me, on top of me, or on her knees, legs spread as she takes my cock in her mouth.
That’s for my thoughts only though. Even as tempting as Sloane is, I’m not sure she could handle me, and she’s so goddamn young. She’s got her whole damn life ahead of her, yet she works for Fox here at a store with a name that doesn’t entirely stem from the ocean and beach surrounding it. I should know—Fox, Cruz, and I were piss-ass drunk when the two of them came up with it.
Sloane can sense I’m here; there’s this magnetic pull we have on each other. A slight touch, a sense of her watching me or me watching her. Right now, she’s ignoring me. It’s our usual game—she ignores me, and I piss her off every chance I get. It’s what we do, much to everyone’s annoyance, including our own.
I watch as she uses the palm of her hand to hold her chin up. Her dark hair with caramel shooting through it is up in its usual style—a braid to the side and a baseball hat on her head. Her long mink eyelashes flutter while she glances at her magazine, her hand with those long fingers, which only bring even more dirty thoughts to my mind, turns the page as her bare shoulders highlight her tan lines. I know I’m about to say something to piss her off, if only so I can see her green eyes with its flecks of yellow surrounding her irises, eyes that remind me so much of my stay in Iceland.
“Is it the wrong color pink bubble gum, not what you’re after?” I walk up, having no reason at all to be here. The tournament and schedule are already out for this weekend, thanks to the woman before me. She may be young as fuck, but Sloane is smart, too smart to work here. Though, Fox is ready to give her a slice of The Wet Spot as soon as he gets Cruz on board. It’d be a smart move. Neither of those fuckers are ever here, though Cruz always said he didn’t want any of the day-to-day shit anyways, as a silent partner.
“More like black, but what the hell is she even wearing?” Sloane spins the magazine around, but there’s nothing about fashion about it. Instead, it’s of a muscular guy, shirtless, holding a surfboard, a smugness about him. And now I’m jealous of a magazine. This shit has gone on for too damn long.
“Good try. Is the article at least interesting?” I shake the thought out of my head.
“Kind of meh, but he’ll be down in Florida next month. He’s bringing a surfing competition with him. I’m going to see if Cruz is interested in partnering with him, kind of a kickoff for the store down there,” she says with stars in her eyes. Sloane knows business, entirely too well. I guess that’s what happens when you graduate high school and college at the same time. Even now she’s taking online classes, though she has no idea that I know what she’s doing.
“Smart thinking. Who’s the event holder?” I ask, my cogs turning.
“I’m not sure. It doesn’t say, but I figure Cruz probably knows him since he’s been on the surfing circuit. What are you thinking about doing? Bothering another poor unsuspecting girl and pissing her off too?” Sloane smarts off as she stands up, closing the magazine before turning her back on me.
A hiss leaves my mouth when I see what she’s wearing. Her shorts are so short, they shouldn’t be called that, showing off her long-as-fuck legs. Her shirt bares her midriff and shoulders. Tan skin for days. She ignores me as she walks into the back room, and I already know I’m going to follow her, consequences be damned.
Two
Sloane
I felt Jax. I’m probably setting myself up for failure, but I’m hoping for the best. We’ve been downright assholes to each other on more than one occasion. Fox and Melanie aren’t wrong—we’re destined to be together. The only problem with that? Jax won’t get his head out of his ass. Maybe that’s why I’m going through with this, or attempting to, at least. I’ve heard the whispers between him and Jax, my age being the bone of contentment when it comes to the two of us. It’s just a number, but to Jax we may as well live in different hemispheres. I may be young, but my soul, it’s old, and that’s what matters most to me.
