Page 2 of Beneath the Hood

“I can’t remember the name.” I slip on my sunglasses, nodding to the table behind me where my bodyguard, Lennox, sits. I don’t go anywhere without him, even before I made a name for myself in the influencer world, my father had Lennox at my side, not willing to take the risk of someone coming after me to get to him.

We live a blessed life of luxury. The kind people can only dream of, and greed breeds corruption from even the most unsuspecting people.

“How do you not remember what club you’re going to?” Jared pipes in again.

I shrug. “Sierra knows, but I gave her the afternoon off.”

“She’s the best.” Kayla sighs.

“She really is.” I nod in agreement.

Sierra is my manager, and the only reason I’m not a freaking mess all the time. She keeps me—and my schedule—in check. Honestly, she’s one of the closest people in my circle, and I trust her more than anyone else in my life.

“Should we go out the back?” Jared asks, glancing toward the paps.

I force a chuckle, my throat tightening around the noise. Clearly, Jared has no clue what this world is like. He comes from money, of course, Kayla wouldn’t be seen with him if not, but he’s never been in the limelight.

Obviously, Kayla didn’t let him know how things work around here.

Releasing my bottom lip from where it’s stuck between my teeth, I smile. “Nope, we go out the front. Give them what they’re after. I need some good shots of this outfit anyway.”

“Youwantthem to take pics of you?”

Want is a strong word. Iwantthe two-hundred thousand I’m being paid for wearing this outfit. I don’twantthe rest of it. It’s just an unfortunate side effect. But I won’t tell him that—even to my closest friends I play the part.

Fake it ‘til you make it… and then keep faking it forever, even after you do.

The legs of my chair scrape against the tile as I stand, but right before I grab my purse my phone vibrates in my hand.

I look down and smile.

Jackson: Not even a little bit.

2

Jackson

My house feels foreign. I can’t really place what’s causing the feeling, but whatever it is, it’s burning a crater in the center of my stomach.

It’s the first time I’ve been back in California with the intention of staying, but I’m no stranger to starting over in new places. Growing up a military brat teaches you to not get attached. To make friends quickly. To bend but not break. Change is the only constant in life, so I can’t for the life of me figure out whythischange feels so damn different. Maybe it’s knowing that this time I had a choice. That it was one-hundred-percent my decision to finally move from Sugarlake to California. And while deep down I know it’s the right one, it still feels like I’m leaving something fundamental behind. Something beyond a mom I’ll go back to visit and memories I wish wouldn’t linger.

Right now I’m sitting in my living room, a warm beer in front of me, fireplace crackling and ESPN droning while I relentlessly pour over those memories. The more hours that tick by without distraction, the more my heart screams inside my chest, begging to go back to the people who own it. Unfortunately, those are the same people who have a tendency to break it.

One person in particular.

Alina May Carson, also known as Lee. The sweetheart of Sugarlake, and my best friend for the past decade. I’ve been her sucker since we were kids—when she plopped down in my Mustang Fastback, grabbed my dad’s dog tags and told me “real was beautiful.” The chain dangled by my heart, but her fingers tangled into my soul, and I wish like hell she’d loosen her grip. Realize that Ineedher to let go. It isn’t fair for her to hold on so tight when she doesn’t let me hold her back.

She has Chase for that now, anyway. And really, she’s always been his, no matter how much I’ve wished she’d pick me.Chooseme.

I was just a stand-in. Her faithful sidekick. A pathetic sponge, absorbing her emotions and holding them when she couldn’t.

That’s all I ever am. An “in the moment” kind of guy. A distraction. A temporary fixture.

A second choice.

With everyone else, it’s a position I’ve mastered, grasping onto the title and wearing it like a crown. The resident charmer, the king of one-night stands. My legacy in Sugarlake is giving a good fuck—the best—one that provides them with whatever high they’re chasing and eases the loneliness of being friend-zoned by the one woman who I’ve never seen as just a friend.

Sometimes it’s nice to feel wanted, to be the center of someone else’s everything, even temporarily.

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