Page 19 of Rub

What? Tell him that you love him?

Goddamn it, I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a situation. I mean, do magic beings even live normal lives? Can they? Maybe what I feel for him isn’t love? Maybe he’s?—

Jackson slides his hand over my thigh. High. Where no hand belonging to Jackson Maine should slide.

“Whatthe—” Jerking my hand out of my pocket, I pull my leg away and frown at him. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry.” He laughs. “Thought I saw a spider on your leg.”

I gape at him. It’s that or slap the shit out of him. “Are you serious?”

“Come on, Aliana.” He snakes me a sideways glance. “With the opportunities I’m about hand to you on a platter, what’s a little feel up every now and again?”

My stomach knots. “Stop the car.”

A ragged sigh bursts from him, and he grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. “Sorry. Sorry. I was out of line. Sorry. I won’t do that again. I guess I’m so used to the hero-worship so many other young up-and-coming pastry chefs give me, I thought…” He peters off and lets out another ragged breath, head hanging. “Sorry.”

My phone vibrates with another message. Studying Jackson from the corner of my eye, I dig into my pocket again. I don’t even know what to say. I should though. I should sayFuck right off, arsehole. Touch me again and I’ll break your wrist, or something along those lines. I should at least tell him he’s a freaking jerk. But…

Good Food Magazine…

A third, and then fourth incoming text hits my phone just as I finally yank it free of my pocket. Who the hell is sending me?—

Arlo

Just thought you should know. Dick move, right?

I frown. What on earth is Arlo texting me about? And why does the knot in my stomach suddenly feel so…so…

“Who’s that?” Jackson asks, trying to see my phone.

Ignoring him, I swipe my thumb up its screen and open Arlo’s message thread.

And the knot in my gut turns into a ball of ice as I start reading the first text.

Arlo

Hey Al, Jackson Maine was in here a little while ago talking with the boss. I’m at work btw. He got a call from someone and they talked about you. Every time he said your name he licked his lips. Creepy AF

Hot tears burn my eyes, but I blink them away.

Arlo

He told whoever it was on the phone that he taught you everything you know, not your dad, which I’m sure is a complete load of shit, and then he laughed at something the other person said, and said no, her father was a drunken waste of space and the only talent he had was drinking

The ice in my stomach rolls.

Arlo

And I know that’s bullshit, because you told me your dad was one of the best pastry chefs in Perth. I googled him, and fuck me, he was really well-known and even won awards, so I think you should be careful of Jackson Maine. He seems like a real jerk

Arlo

Just thought you should know. Dick move, right?

“Who is it?” Jackson demands beside me as I finish reading Arlo’s texts.

Lifting my burning eyes from my phone, I look at the Prince of Pastry behind the wheel and see him, truly see him. He’s an arrogant, narcissistic creep. What was I thinking wanting his approval? If this is what I need to do to make it in Australia’s pâtisserie world, forget it.

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