Page 46 of Most Likely to Score
I walk closer and key in on his words.
“Love you, Jilly. So much.”
Jilly?He calls her by a pet name? I clench my fists.
“Love you, too, sweets,” she says, dropping a kiss to his cheek. Her back is to me, and I stop in my tracks at the edge of the deep end, watching some other man hug the woman I want. Everything is wrong with this picture.
“Sorry I have to go, but I just got a text about this elementary school we sponsor. Some problem with the water pipes I need to figure out.”
“Go, go,” she says, shooing him off.
“Thank you so much for making time for me, and you know I will see you whenever you are in town,” he says. “You just call me, and I’ll come running.”
She has a boyfriend in Miami? What the hell?
Red. I see red. It billows from my eyes, and I shut them for a moment and think of Cletus. As I picture his too-adorable Chihuahua face and how he likes to give me slobbery lap-dog kisses, the jealousy fades momentarily.
I open my eyes as that movie star lookalike waves goodbye, then blows her a kiss.
When he leaves, she hooks a towel around her waist, her gaze wandering around the pool then skidding to a halt when she gets to me. She jerks her head back, like she’s surprised to see me, and maybe a little bit guilty, too?
I close the distance between us. “Hey.”
Her voice is cool and even as she twists her hair into a slick ponytail. “Hi, Jones. How was your night?”
She says my name with distance, as if she’s pushing it away from her, pushing me away. Maybe I deserve it for turning down her dinner invite.
“It was good,” I say tightly. “How was yours?”
“Great.” She flashes me a smile and keeps her shoulders squared, her eyes fixed firmly on my face. They don’t stray at all, as if she’s practicing perfect posture.
“You had fun withthat guy?” The words come out like acid on my tongue.
Her brow pinches. “Andre and I always have fun.”
Deep breath. Cletus kisses. He’s wagging his tail.
The jealousy subsides again. “That’s. So. Great.” Each word comes out robotically.
She glances down at her towel, then points her thumb in the direction of the hotel. “I’m all wet, so I should probably go change.”
She’s doing her posture exercises again, and it irks me for some reason. “Why do you do that?” I blurt out.
“Do what?”
“You stare straight at my face when you talk.”
She narrows her eyes. “Where am I supposed to look?”
“Anywhere.”
“Should I talk to your belly button? Maybe your elbow? Or would you prefer if I addressed your feet?”
“No, obviously I’m not saying you should talk to my feet.” I cross my arms. “I just don’t get why you do that.”
“I’m trying to be polite. Professional. Because wework together. That’s why I look you in the eyes. And speaking of work, it’s getting late, and we have another shoot in the morning, not to mention a few interviews about the new deal. I should go upstairs and do some planning. I’m glad you had fun with the guys.”
I shake my head quickly, correcting her. “I didn’t say I had fun with them.”
