Page 6 of Beneath the Hood

Blowing out a shaky exhale, my stomach clenches. “Careful, Jackson. It almost sounds like you care.” Spinning around, my eyes rest on his Adam’s apple, the intensity of his attention wrapping around me like a blanket.

I peer up at him through my lashes, marveling at the sharp angles of his jaw, inhaling the scent of rubber and oil, mixed with a delicious spice I can’t place. It’s heady, and it makes me lightheaded.

He takes a step back, snapping a hairband against his wrist. “Look, Blakely, I don’t have time for this. This car is supposed to be on your dad’s set tomorrow, so if you’re not in here to help, then get the fuck out.”

I raise my chin, my defenses rising at his brush-off. “My dad sent me here to help. I doubt he’d like to hear you’re anything less than nice to me.”

“He sent you here to be watched, because you’re still a kid who can’t take anything seriously for one goddamn second,” he snaps. “So, go ahead. Run and tell your daddy I’ve been mean. He’ll give me a bonus on my next check for not falling at your feet like your vapid friends and empty followers.”

My gut twists, his accusations ringing in my ears. “Myfatherdoesn’t take the time to learn what it is that I actually do, and instead decides to believe what he sees.” I take in a breath, batting away the hurt that tries to leach from my bones. “But at the end of the day he’s still my father, and if he feels like I’m being treated unfairly, he won’t stand for it.”

“And Jackson.” I step back into him, close enough where I can see the faint outline of a necklace underneath his shirt. “I’m still looking for adaddy. Know anyone up for the challenge?”

Jackson’s nostrils flare, his fists clenching at his sides, and like a hit of nicotine, my head buzzes with satisfaction. He’s right, after all. He doesn’t treat me the way everyone else does, and in a world of perfect photos and staged happiness, there’s something intensely gratifying about the realness of his irritation. The rawness of his anger.

I like knowing I’m the one who draws out the passion that hides beneath his laid-back charm.

The truth is, I’m addicted to Jackson’s hatred.

4

Jackson

“You should come to the club tonight,” Blakely says.

I cringe, my stomach jumping at her question. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Jackson. I wanna see those corny lines work in person.” She laughs, walking over to my industrial toolbox and jumping up to sit on its surface.

“Pass.”

Her long, tanned legs swing back and forth, the heels of her shoes hitting the metal drawers, creating a tapping rhythm that echoes through the garage.

“You’re a bore,” she complains, sticking her shiny bottom lip out.

“That’s what happens in old age.” I shrug, biting on my cheek to keep from smiling.

A spark hits her eyes and my chest pinches. I shouldn’t make jokes, it will only encourage her, which is the opposite of what I want. In fact, I’ve been doing everything in my power to dissuade her.

My brain knows she’s off-limits, but my dick disagrees, and since she doesn’t seem to even know the meaning of the word boundaries, I need to be careful with our interactions. “How would your father feel about you asking me to go?”

A wicked grin splits her face, but then her eyes move past me and her smile falters.

“How would I feel about what?” a deep booming voice interrupts.

I look behind me and see the father in question, James Donahue, walking across the garage.

Blakely beams at him, shrugging. “I’m trying to make friends with Jackson, and he isn’t being very nice about it.”

His thick, black eyebrow arches, his hands resting in the pockets of his three-piece suit. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” she continues. “Asked him to go with me to the club appearance I have.”

Mr. Donahue’s lips twist, his forehead creasing as he looks between us.

Blakely sighs. “Don’t worry, he said no.”

“You should consider saying no too,” he says, his stare pointed.

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