Page 20 of Rub

“Aliana?” Irritation cuts Jackson’s voice. “Who is texting you? Is it that monkey-brained idiot, Arlo? I’m not a fan of you being distracted by other people. Your focus needs to be on me. Do you understand?”

Dick move, right?Oh, dick moveisright. One hundred percent right.

“What did you say about my dad?” I ask. Who knew I could sound so calm.

Jackson grows still. Completely still. His jaw bunches. He doesn’t need to say a word. He’s already answered.

“Listen,” he begins, stare locked on the street ahead. “I’m only thinking of?—”

“Pull over, please,” I say.

Jackson glares at me. “What? Look, I said I’m sorry.” He brings the Tesla to a jolting halt. Not because I asked him to, I realise, but because we’re at a red traffic light. He throws his hands up, exasperated parent-mode dialled up to eleven. “God, if I’d known you were going to be so fucking uptight and unappreciative, I never would have?—”

I unbuckle my seatbelt, fling open the passenger door, and climb out of his car. “Bye,” I call, swinging the door shut.

The traffic light turns green, and the car behind Jackson’s blasts their horn.

Jackson stares at me from behind the wheel as the passenger window starts to lower.

“Aliana!” he shouts. “Get back in the car.”

In answer, I wave, grin, and—as more than one car behind him starts beeping their horns—pivot on my heel and begin walking home.

Jackson Maine, thank God, doesn’t try to come after me. I don’t know what he thought he was going to get from me—fame? He already has that. Sex? Nope. Not a hope in hell now—but something tells me he’s realised it isn’t happening. And despite the fact I’ve pretty much destroyed any hope of a serious, legitimate career in the Australian culinary world, I feel…free.

Released.

I am me. My father’s daughter. And I don’t need some handsy, narcissistic jerk to validate me and my talent. And honestly, I don’t want the fame. All I want is a kitchen and for someone to enjoy what I bake.

Right now, that someone is Kaami.

Maybe that someone could be Kaami for a while. If he’s open to the idea.

I know exactly what my next wish is going to be.

Smiling, I quicken my step. Kaami is waiting for me at home. What the hell am I doing keeping him waiting?

By the time I round the corner onto the street where my unit sits above the tattoo parlour, I’m close to running. I’ll have to shower when I get inside before I get back to the baklava. Maybe Kaami will join me? What better way to get clean than to get dirty in the sho?—

I stumble to a halt and squint down the street.

Someone tall and skinny is standing in front of the tattoo parlour. No, not the tattoo parlour, the door to the stairwell leading up to my unit. Someone…

I squint harder. Japher?

The ice ball smashes back into my stomach. What the hell is Elon Japher doing at my place? I don’t want to see him. I never want to see him a?—

Japher steps off the street and into the stairwell.

What? Goddamn it.

Kaami. Kaami’s alone.

The memory of how Japher looked at Kaami at the launch Jackson held for me, the open lust and craving on the man’s face, slams into me, and I bolt for home.

Why the hell is this street so freaking long?

I have a stinging stitch by the time I make it to the tattoo parlour and up the stairs. My muscles are on fire, my legs jelly. My lungs feel like they’re full of burning sandpaper.

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