Fighting Ever After (Ever After #3) (7 page)

The game
went on until the bag of M&M’s had been drained.

“What are we
going to play for now that you robbed me of M&M’s?”

I grinned.
It was time to up the ante. 
“Questions.”

“What do you
mean questions?”

“When I win
you answer a question, and vice versa.” She hesitated, looking less than
thrilled, and I thought for sure she was going to say no.

 
“Fine,” she relented, “but only questions that
I deem are reasonable. I don’t know you that well and I’m not going to share
every personal detail of my life.”

“Fair enough.”
I’d be able to tell almost as much about her by
the questions she refused to answer as the ones she did. The game started back
up just as before, only now I was interested in the outcome. I wasn’t worried
about what she would ask. It wasn’t like I was full of secrets, and the ones I
did have, she wouldn’t even know to ask.

The first
war went to me and I picked a pretty straightforward question that I’d wondered
about since walking in the door. “Why do all of the pictures here stop when
you’re about thirteen?”

“My mom died
from cancer when I was twelve.” Shit, hadn’t expected that one. “Until
recently, I hadn’t been back to this house since, and almost everything is the
same as she left it.” I nodded. That had to have sucked, especially since the
pictures suggested she and her mom had been close. It made sense that pictures
of her mom would have stopped then, but it also raised a bunch more questions.

“Where was
your dad?”

“
Nuh
uh.
That’s another
question,” she protested. I couldn’t argue so I just laid down another card,
hoping for war again. When it happened, she was the one who got to interrogate
me.

“How old
were you when you started playing music?”

“Four,” I
answered.

“Wow, that’s
pretty young.”

“Yeah, my
mom was all about instilling discipline and having the most accomplished kid to
show off. Started me on the piano first, and by the time I was six I was
learning the violin and cello as well. It wasn’t until I was seven that I got
my first guitar and I was hooked.” I had a lot of reasons to despise my mother,
and very few not to. Buying me my first guitar was one of those few.

“Wow that’s
really impressive. Do you still play them all?”

“I think
you’ve used up your question,” I told her, not really wanting to go there. I
could have just said I still played most of them, or, more accurately, all but
one of them, but I didn’t want to open it up for more questions that I really
didn’t want to answer.

“Your dad?”
I asked when I won next.

“He wasn’t
around when I was a kid. I didn’t meet him until after my mom died. I was sent
to live with him after spending a couple months in foster care while they tried
to track him down.”
Dead beat dad who must have walked out
before she was born and a mom who died when she was young.
Damn.
That
was rough.

“You’re not
close with him?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I already knew the
answer. I remembered that the asshole, whose name I’d learned was Connor, had
said something about her dad that night. I thought that was weird.

“No I’m not.
He’s not a good man.” Well we had that much in common – dicks for fathers.

Over the next
two questions I learned a few more important things about her, even though she
was the one to ask the questions. I learned that she loves Mexican food as much
as I do and she hates Will Ferrell. Those might have seemed like insignificant
details, but it told me that I was going to have to convince her to make me
dinner sometime and that she needed to be saved, because Will Ferrell is
hilarious.

When it was
my turn again, I went with a question I already had an answer for, but I wanted
to hear her response, judge how she reacted. “Were you and Sebastian ever . .
.” I was trying to be tactful rather than just ask her if they’d ever fucked.

She laughed
at me, “No.” I believed her, just like I had Chris, and it didn’t seem like
there was anything unrequited on her side of it.

“Really?
Not at all, because you two seem awfully close and he’s
really protective of you.”

“He’s my
best friend. He’s always been my best friend, but that’s it. He’s protective
because he thinks I need protecting.”

“Do you?”

“I’m a big
girl. I can take care of myself, but he has his reasons why he worries.”

“Is that guy
from last weekend one of them?”

“I feel like
this has been way more than one
question
, but yes, he
worries about Connor, obviously, or you wouldn’t be here right now. Can we
change the subject or finish the game?” She was becoming uncomfortable with
this line of questioning.

“I don’t
suppose you’re going to tell me who Connor is or what the history there is?” I
asked.

“Nope.”
So Connor was one subject she refused to discuss, which
probably meant there was way more to it than she indicated.

“Okay, let’s
play,” I said, even though I’d lost interest now that I knew she wasn’t going
to tell me what I wanted. Well, there was still something else I wanted, and I
would prefer a bed for it over the couch, which meant I needed to get her
upstairs, and that’s exactly where I was leading the next time I won.

 “You
said everything in the house is just how your mom left it,” I said.

“That’s not
really a question.”

“Your room, is
it the same?”

“Uh, well
I’m staying in my mom’s old room now, but yes my room is still the same. Why
would you want to know that?”

“I want you
to show me your room.” I wanted her to show me a lot more than her room, but
we’d start there.

“Also not a question,”
she pointed out.

“I think we’re both done
with this game.”

“If you
think that by getting my into my room, you can-”

“That’s not
why I want to see it,” well it wasn’t the only reason. I was also just a little
bit curious, “but if you have something in mind I could be persuaded,” I added
suggestively.

“Then why do
you want to see it?”

“I’m just
curious about what kind of kid you were.” In my head, there was pink, a lot
pink, and I was picturing Backstreet Boys posters.

“Oh.”

“So what’s
it going to be Princess?” I asked.

She debated
internally, probably whether or not she could trust me and I didn’t push her.
She shouldn’t trust me. I didn’t deserve her trust, and a part of me hoped she
would just say no and we would finish up this stupid game.

“Uh sure, I
guess.”

I smiled. I
don’t know why I smiled, maybe it was because I hadn’t expected her to agree,
and maybe it pleased me that she trusted me, even if it was only barely. I
don’t know why though. Trust wasn’t something I ever required, or wanted from a
girl, so why the hell did I want it from this one? I’d also never spent almost
an hour trying to learn everything I could about a girl either, but none of
that seemed to matter around Jax.

I followed
her up the stairs and into the only bedroom on the left. I turned to take it
all in. It was definitely pink. Every wall but one was pink, and there was a
giant castle painted on that one. I had been wrong about the posters though,
It
was N’SYNC, not Backstreet Boys. There were stuffed
animals and girl shit everywhere, and more pictures. I walked over to her
dresser to look at the giant collage hanging above it.

 
“Soc and
Jaz
?”
I asked, reading
the bold letters printed across the top.

“It’s our
initials. That’s how I got the nickname ‘Jazz.’ My full name is Jaxyn Avery
Zane and his is Sebastian Oliver Cross. I don’t remember when we came up with
them, but mine stuck and he’s used it ever since.” The frame was filled with
pictures of her and Sebastian, spanning over several years. They were smiling
and laughing, riding bikes, at a lake, decorating a Christmas tree with her
mom, Bas’ dad and Chris. The little girl in those pictures was so happy. It was
on her face, in her smile and in her eyes. My parents had very few pictures of
my childhood, and the ones they did have were posed family portraits taken by
professional photographers, and I knew for a fact that I wasn’t smiling like
that in any of them.

I wondered
if Jax ever smiled like that anymore. How different her life must have been
after her mom died, going from having a loving parent, to one that hadn’t
wanted her or had walked away for whatever reason.

Fuck.
What was I doing? I
didn’t need to care about those things. What did any of it matter to me? I
needed to stop thinking of her as the little girl in those pictures. Whatever
had happened to her, she wasn’t that kid anymore. For some reason though, I
couldn’t ignore the feeling that I should just walk right out of this room, and
her life, before I inevitably hurt her. If I was a good guy, I would have, but I’m
not and I didn’t. Instead I shoved those feelings aside and turned to face her.
“Cute, but I still prefer Princess.”

She stared
at me intently. “Why do you call me that?”

“The tattoo,
Princess,” I told her. Her hand drifted to the back of her neck. “I saw it when
you threw yourself on me at the bar.” I grinned.

“I was
pushed,” she argued, rolling her eyes at me and dropping her hand back down.

“If you say
so, but you don’t have to be embarrassed. You’re not the first girl to throw
herself at me, although you did it more literally,” I teased.

“You’re
funny,” she said sarcastically.

“And you’re
cute,” I stepped toward her and ruffled a hand through her hair just to
irritate her. “Seeing all this,” I gestured around the room, “it all makes
sense now.” I was sure the tattoo had something to do with everything I was
seeing, her way of trying to hang on to her childhood, or her mother.

Her eyes
softened and her voice was wistful when she spoke. “My mom loved fairytales.
Every night before bed she would tell me a story. Sometimes they were from
books or movies and other times she would make them up, but every single one
began with ‘Once upon a time.’ There was always a princess and no matter what
happened, the story would end with a happily ever after.” She paused and I
could tell she was thinking about something, probably her mother. It tore at
something inside of me. This was exactly why I didn’t bother with names or
getting to know the girls I spent time with intimately. Once you did, they
weren’t just girls anymore. They became people with stories, their own pain and
heartbreaks. I didn’t need any of that, I had enough of my own, but I was
having a hard time separating my want to devour this girl, with my want to take
away the sadness I saw in her.

“I think she
loved them so much because her childhood lacked all of that,” she continued,
“and she wanted to make sure mine was different. She always encouraged me to
believe in the impossible, have faith no matter what and create my own
fairytale. After I turned eighteen, getting the tattoo just seemed like a good
way to honor her and remind myself of what she wanted for me.” I understood
what it was like to have a childhood that lacked all things fantastical and
uplifting. My childhood was rather uninspired, and maybe that’s why I was so
drawn to Jaxyn. I’d never known anyone like her, someone who still seemed so
sweet and gentle, but still a force to be reckoned with. Maybe I’d just never
taken the time to look beyond what I wanted to see in other girls, but I was
looking now. I couldn’t stop looking at her.

I closed the
distance between us, reaching my hand out to brush my finger through her hair.
I moved slowly around her until I was behind her with my body pressing into her
back. I swept her hair back to reveal the tattoo. I skimmed my finger over the
words and I could see the goosebumps raise as a slight shudder ran down her
body. She relaxed into me and her head tipped down, exposing more of her slender
neck to me. I wanted to wrap her hair around my hand and yank her head back so
I could slam my lips down on hers. Usually I did exactly what I wanted, so why
wasn’t I doing it?

Instead I
whispered, “Beautiful, Princess,” and let her hair fall back down to cover the
tattoo. I moved to stand in front of her again, noticing the pink flush on her
neck and cheeks. I was close enough that all I would have to do is lean forward
to taste her lips. “Your entire face lights up when you talk about your mom. She
sounds very special.” I don’t know why I said that, other than it was true. I
had to wonder what her mom would think of me standing here in her daughter’s
room, touching her and thinking inappropriate thoughts. She’d probably hate me.

“She was. I
still miss her every day,” Jaxyn gazed up at me, her warm breath feathering
over my lips, we were that close. I wanted to shove her down to her knees so I
could see those big eyes staring up at me while she pleasured me. I wanted to
slam her into the wall behind her and tear that shirt from her body so I could
see if that pink flush covered her breasts too. I wanted to lift her up and set
her ass on the dresser and press myself in between her legs. I wanted to carry
her over and toss her down on the bed and make her scream my name.