He chuckles, shaking his head and reaching for the bag of churros. He hands me one without a word, like he already knows I need something sweet with my sweet, and I accept it without hesitation.
We eat, we talk, we exist in a way that feels natural—like this isn't new at all. He tells me about practice, about how TK tripped over his own feet and blamed it on Carter's cleats. I tell him about my latest disaster in the kitchen with Lyla.
The sun starts to dip lower, turning the sky a deeper shade of gold, and I exhale softly, staring out at the waves.
"It's so beautiful," I murmur, my voice quieter than before.
Jaxon doesn't answer right away, but when he does, it’s soft, full of hesitation. "Yeah. Definitely the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
When I glance over at him, he's looking at me, not the sunset, and the intensity in his eyes steals my breath.
Because I know he's not talking about the view in front of us.
Jaxon's looking at me like I'm the only thing in his world right now, like I'm more than just his best friend—more than just the girl he's known forever. The fading sunlight bathes his face in gold, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the slight curl at the corner of his mouth, the flecks of amber in his eyes I've always pretended not to notice.
I swallow, tearing my gaze away, forcing my focus back on the ocean. "So…" I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. "Does this count?"
Jaxon shifts beside me. "What?"
I gesture toward the beach, the truck, the empty wrappers and half-melted milkshakes between us. "This. Our date." I lift a brow, daring him to tease me. "Or does eating tacos and watching the sunset not meet your requirements?"
His smirk deepens, and before I can react, he leans in, close enough that I feel the warmth of him, close enough that my pulse skips.
"You tell me, Mads," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low, husky tone that seems to vibrate through my entire body. "Does it feel like a date?"
My throat goes dry.
Because yeah. Yeah, it does.
It feels like something more than just us hanging out, more than just the easy, effortless comfort we've always had. There's an electricity humming between us that's always been there, but now, it's impossible to ignore, charged with years of almosts and what-ifs.
The second I let my eyes drop to his lips—those lips I've secretly wondered about for longer than I'd ever admit—he moves.
His hand finds my cheek, fingertips brushing my jaw, tilting my face just enough. His touch is gentle but sure, like he's afraid I might break or run away, but it’s confident enough to make it clear what he wants, what he's always wanted.
His breath is warm against my skin, mingling with mine as he hovers there for just a heartbeat, giving me one last chance to pull away. The scent of him—salt air, something spicy, and that indefinable essence that's just Jaxon—surrounds me, makes my head spin.
And when he leans in that last inch?—
I don't stop him.
I don't want to.
His lips press against mine, and everything else fades away—the beach, the sunset, the years of hesitation. It's slow and deliberate at first, like he's staking a claim. He's been waiting for this, holding himself back, giving me time—too much time.
His lips are softer than I expected, but the pressure is firm, certain. This isn't a question—it's a declaration. One hand cradles my face like I'm something precious, while the other slides to my waist, his fingers splaying across my lower back, drawing me closer with a gentle insistence that makes my heart thunder in my chest.
I sigh into the kiss, my fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring myself to him as something inside me finally gives way. All the excuses I've made over the years crumble under the weight of this moment, of his touch.
The kiss deepens naturally, his head tilting to fit more perfectly against mine, his hand at my waist drawing me even closer until I'm practically in his lap, the heat of his body pressing against mine. He tastes like cinnamon sugar from the churros and something uniquely him, and I think wildly that I could become addicted to this, to him.
When we finally pull apart, both of us are breathless, my heart pounding so hard, I can feel it in my fingertips, my hands still clutching at his hoodie like I'm afraid to let go. If I release him, I fear this might all disappear.
Jaxon smirks, his thumb brushing over my cheek, tracing a path of fire across my skin. His eyes are darker now, pupils dilated, and the naked want in them nearly steals my breath all over again.
"Yeah, Mads," he says, his voice low, rough with an emotion I'm finally brave enough to name. "This definitely counts."
The truck rumbles softly as Jaxon pulls onto the highway, the glow of passing street lights flickering through the windows. The salty breeze from the beach still lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of him—clean soap, worn cotton, a hint of citrus and amber.
