Page 72 of A Pretty Fixation

I search her appearance for any discomfort.

But Jordyn only smiles and says, “I’d love to.Thank you.”

“Perfect.” Mom claps her hands once. “We’ll seeyou in a bit then.”

They take off.

I refocus on Jordyn. “You don’t have to if youdon’t want to.”

“I want to,” she assures. “I want to learn more,see where you grew up.” She jabs her index into my shoulder. “I saw yourfriend’s cousin recording. Should be some great footage. You played so well.”

“Pfft.” I can’t help but smile at her praises. “Isee you also brought a camera.” I nod to the GoPro in her left hand.

She wiggles her brows. “These shots are for mypersonal collection.”

I chuckle. “Is that so? You know I could give youa better show in my room later.”

Jordyn rolls her eyes at me.

“Well, I’m going to shower. I’ll meet you at mycar, say around forty minutes or so. I’m going to wild out with the teamfirst.”

She giggles. “Of course. Congrats again.”

“Thanks, baby. I played even better because youwere watching me.” I wink.

That makes her laugh. “Oh no. I think you’d dojust fine even if I weren’t here.”

“I’m doing better because you are.”

Her captivating brown eyes gleam with palpableaffection, and she leans in for a sensual kiss, uncaring to my sweatiness.

Moving back, Jordyn treats me to a sexy smilethat’s been coming my way of late, then turns to leave.

I’m about to walk away when I glimpse the back ofher right ear and stall.

Wait. Didn’t Dove have a small birthmark there?

Strange that I’m noticing now. I must beremembering wrong. It has been eight years.

Some details are garbled.

I shake away the morsel of doubt and continue tomy team. Dove is Jordyn. I found her.

I’d already received hints while driving throughthe affluent neighborhood, especially on this side of Hartford. But as Calebenters the opened gates of his home, I realize he grew up wealthy.

He mentioned that he went to private school withrich kids, but I never gave it much thought until now.

The two-level stone house is twice the size of myparents’ bungalow, with a three-car garage at the side.

Gorgeous flowers and shaved shrubs adorn theexterior, along with a manicured lawn and a stone walkway leading to the frontdoor.

Parking on the driveway, Caleb takes my hand whenwe exit the car, and he leads me inside.

I bask in the aroma that engulfs me in the grandentry. Voices come from the living area.

As we turn through the tall archway, I marvel atthe ample open space connecting the living room to the dining and large chef’skitchen.

“There you guys are,” Mrs. Rosmond chirps, placinga casserole on the rectangular table. “Right on time.”

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