I didn't sleep much.
Partially because Jaxon had infiltrated my house like a walking ego bomb, and partially because I couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd tucked my hair behind my ear like we were in a movie or something.
Like, who does that?
The next morning, I woke up feeling personally victimized by my own dreams. Because yes, my traitor brain decided to play a greatest hits reel of "Jaxon With No Shirt," now showing in full HD behind my eyelids. Disgusting.
I dragged myself downstairs looking like roadkill, in a hoodie and my fluffiest socks, only to walk into the kitchen and freeze.
Jaxon was cooking.
Not microwaving something. Not stealing my cereal. Actually. Cooking.
He stood at the stove, flipping pancakes like he was auditioning for a cooking show. His hair was damp from a shower, and he wore a plain white T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders in ways that should be illegal.
"You're up," he said, like this was normal.
"Are you... making breakfast?"
He shrugged. "Yeah. You like chocolate chip or plain?"
I blinked at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Jaxon 'I Only Eat Pop-Tarts' Reed?"
He smirked. "Pop-Tarts are still elite, but I figured I'd earn my keep. Plus, your dad said I could use the kitchen."
I sat at the counter, still unsure if I was dreaming. "And what's the catch? You poisoning me or just softening me up before annoying me for the rest of the day?"
"No catch. Chill," he said, sliding a plate toward me. "I'm trying not to be the worst house guest on Earth."
I stared at the stack of pancakes like they might explode. They actually smelled... amazing.
"Okay. Suspiciously nice. What did you break?"
He chuckled, leaning against the counter with his own plate. "Nothing. Yet."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're weirdly chipper this morning. Did you sleepwalk into a personality transplant?"
"Maybe," he said, and took a bite. "Or maybe I'm trying to start fresh. New summer, new vibes."
New vibes? What kind of teen boy speaks in Pinterest quotes?
I took a bite of the pancake. It was so good. Ugh. I hated that I had to give him credit.
"You're lucky this is amazing," I muttered. "Because if it wasn't, I'd flip your plate onto your head."
He grinned. "Aww. Is that your way of saying thank you?"
"Don't push it."
The day moved weirdly fast. My dad was at work again, which meant I was stuck in the house with Jaxon and no buffer. After breakfast, he vanished to his room, probably to lift weights and stare at himself in the mirror or whatever boys like him do.
I tried to go back to binging shows, but I couldn't focus. Something about the house felt different. Not worse, not better—just... louder. Like it had this chaotic energy swirling through the walls. And that energy had a name. A six-foot, tan, too-hot-for-his-own-good name.
Around noon, Skye showed up.
She barged in like she always did, holding iced coffee in one hand and a massive tote bag in the other. "Okay, you need to tell me everything. Where is he?"
I pulled her into the living room. "You mean the demon spawn? Upstairs. Probably flexing in the mirror."
"God, I hate you," she said dramatically. "You're living in a fanfic."
"I'm living in hell."
Skye flopped onto the couch, sipping her coffee. "Hell looks hot. Send him my way if you can't handle the heat."
"Gross."
She wiggled her eyebrows. "You're so into him."
I choked on my soda. "No. I'm annoyed by him. There's a difference."
She laughed. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
Before I could argue, Jaxon walked in. Of course he did. Like his ears were burning.
"Yo," he said to Skye. "You must be the best friend."
Skye smiled like a freaking angel. "Guilty. And you must be the guy living rent-free in Zoey's house and her head."
I glared at her. "SKYE."
Jaxon looked amused. "I mean, she did threaten me twice today. I must be doing something right."
He plopped down on the couch like he belonged there. Ugh.
"So," Skye said, eyes twinkling. "Are you two gonna kiss and get it over with or should we keep dancing around it for another forty chapters?"
I wanted to die. "Please leave."
Jaxon smirked, fully enjoying the chaos. "You know, that's not the worst idea…"
"OUT," I said, launching a pillow at him. He caught it midair like a smug golden retriever.
Skye laughed so hard she nearly snorted her coffee.
After she left, I stomped upstairs to hide in my room. I needed to reset. Or move to another country.
Except I couldn't hide for long. Because two hours later, my dad texted me:
> Dad: Zo, be a peach and show Jaxon around town a bit?
Dad: He's bored outta his mind.
Dad: And you need sunlight. You're going vampire pale.
I stared at the screen. No. Way.
Five minutes later, there was a knock on my door.
Jaxon. "Tour guide Zoey? You've been summoned."
I groaned. "Can't you just Google places?"
"I could. But I'd rather watch you suffer while showing me your favorite smoothie shop."
I was this close to shoving him down the stairs.
But I grabbed my keys anyway, because apparently I'm a pushover.
We ended up at the boardwalk. I got a strawberry smoothie; he got mango because he's a monster.
He wandered through the beachside shops like a golden retriever on vacation. Bought a tacky pair of neon sunglasses. Flirted with the girl behind the counter, who giggled like a Disney extra. Meanwhile, I pretended I wasn't allergic to his charm.
"You're ridiculous," I muttered.
"What? I'm just being friendly."
"You don't have to flirt with everyone."
He looked at me, smile dropping slightly. "You jealous?"
I nearly dropped my smoothie. "Of her? Please."
"Because if you were," he said, stepping closer, "I wouldn't hate it."
I took a step back. "I'm not. Don't flatter yourself."
He smirked. "So you have been thinking about me."
"I've been thinking about ways to legally murder you and hide the body."
"That's not a no."
I walked ahead, ignoring the way my cheeks burned. He caught up easily, walking beside me, just quiet for a second. It was weird. Calm. Almost peaceful.
"Hey," he said finally, nudging me. "Can I ask you something?"
I didn't stop walking. "What?"
"Why did we stop talking?"
That made me pause.
I looked over at him. His face wasn't smug. He looked... honest.
"You changed," I said quietly. "You got cooler and cockier and stopped being the boy I used to share crayons with."
He didn't respond right away. Then, "Maybe I was just pretending to be cooler."
We stared at each other for a second too long.
Then, suddenly—out of nowhere—a kid on a skateboard zipped past us and collided into Jaxon's back.
He stumbled forward, knocked straight into me. We both fell, tangled, limbs everywhere.
And just like that, I was on the boardwalk, flat on my back.
With Jaxon on top of me.
Breathing hard.
Eyes locked.
Faces inches apart.