Page 22 of All Jacked Up

I reread it, then sprang up out of my seat, shoving my fingers into my hair as I stared in horror, confusion—fuck, I didn’t know what I was feeling. But this was wrong. This was messed up.

Ted had gotten some wires crossed. There was no way that Noa was Juliette. There wasn’t a shred of resemblance to the girl I remembered. Not to mention, she’d have said something. I had been right there in front of her.

Grabbing the author headshot of her and the one of Noa’s senior picture, I held them beside each other and studied them.

The idea that the girl with the big-ass duck lips that pooched out over braces and thick glasses with large black frames was the same person as the gorgeous blonde with the killer body seemed impossible. I knew people grew up, but damn. Narrowing my eyes, I studied the shape of her mouth that awkwardly stuck outdue to the braces, then looked at the plump lips that belonged to Juliette. It was difficult to be sure, but they could possibly be the same. When I looked at her eyes, it was hard to tell the color through those damn glasses she wore. I couldn’t remember paying much attention to her eyes back then, but Juliette’s had been impossible to miss.

See, that was another reason this couldn’t be right. I’d have noticed those eyes if Noa had them … I thought. If I’d looked at her that closely. Had I?

I went back to the papers and read over the names of her books, their releases, the dates and stops of her tours, and then turned the page to see articles from magazines, pictures from television spots she’d been on, and the last was her address and phone number.

That number was one I knew. Even if it was saved in my phone under Shakespeare, I’d had it in my phone for over ten years now. I recognized it. Sinking back down slowly, I reached for my phone and pressed Ted’s number.

“Yeah, man.” His voice came over the line.

“Are you sure you didn’t get something twisted up?” I asked.

“About what? Noa Raines?”

“Yes,” I clipped out.

Who the fuck else would I be asking him about?

“Positive. I even did a double-check on shit. I had no idea we had some famous author who had come out of this town. Crazy. And, dayum, talk about a transformation. Fuck, she went from ugl—”

I ended the call, not wanting to listen to whatever he was about to say. He came in handy, and if I killed him for saying something that pissed me off, then Linc would be annoyed.

Pulling up our text thread, I read over our last conversation. Then I scrolled up, looking for clues. My head was reeling, making it hard to focus. How was this possible?

Noa was a friend. Someone I depended on. I needed her text to remind me that shit wasn’t always dark. But the image of her being much like she’d been in high school had made that possible. I wasn’t thinking about her tits or fucking her when we talked. It was platonic, and I enjoyed that.

Juliette was … well, her, I wanted to fuck in many different ways.

“Goddammit!” I snarled.

This messed it up. All of it. I couldn’t fuck her. It would ruin what we had. But how did I talk to her, text her, and not get hard, thinking about what I wanted to do to her? She was a female, and if we fucked, then she’d start expecting more. Which would mess it all up. We’d lose what we had. This link to someone else outside our day-to-day life that we could talk to when there was no one else we felt we could tell things to. Wanting to slam my dick into her would hinder that.

Shit!

Picking up the stapler on my desk, I threw it against the wall and let out an angry roar of frustration. I didn’t want them to be the same person. The one person who managed to center me and give me a break from the demands in my life wasn’t supposed to be a blazing hot piece of ass. But she’d turned into one, and … now it was all jacked up.

Seven

Noa

My eyes lifted from the computer screen I’d been staring at blankly while I should have been writing when the doorbell rang. Taking the Twizzler that I’d had clamped between my teeth, I laid it down on the plate I kept beside me for that purpose. I rarely ate the Twizzler. I just required something to bite on while writing. It was a weird quirk, but it was better than grinding my teeth.

When I stood up, I glanced in the mirror at my reflection. My hair was on top of my head in a messy twist and secured with a pen I’d been given at a bookstore in Jersey when I went to do a signing there. I’d been up since four this morning, working on this manuscript, so I was still wearing my sleep shorts and a tank top. Scanning the room, I found the sweatshirt I’d worn the night before when I got chilly and pulled it on over my top, then made my way out toward the wide space that connected theentrance to the living and dining area of my apartment.

It was already after twelve, but I’d been so focused on trying to write and not think about all the other things rattling off in my head that I hadn’t checked the time in a while. If this was Arden, I wasn’t in the mood to discuss things with him. He’d called last night and left a long voicemail, telling me he wanted to talk. He was sorry for the way he’d spoken to me.

Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure I forgave him.

Reaching the door, I decided to peek first before swinging it open. I could act as if I wasn’t here, and then he’d leave. Leaning in, I checked the peephole, but there was no one there. Must have been a delivery. Relieved, I unlocked it, then opened it up to look down for something that had been left. But there wasn’t anything. Odd.

I lifted my gaze to glance down the hallway when my eyes locked on a face that sent my heart straight up into my throat.

Ransom stood there, leaning against the wall on his shoulder, with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at me. So many things crashed into me at once, and I was scrambling to grab on to one that made sense. But the worn brown leather cowboy hat on his head was making it hard to do much. I’d only seen him wearing one in the Instagram photos the distillery posted. There was one where he was wearing that exact hat, but he was shirtless, carrying an oak barrel over his shoulder, and his perfectly sculpted body was on display. I might have used that image a few … hundred times for inspiration.

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