Page 22 of Beneath the Hood

I’m not sure anyone has ever said that to me before, and even if they have, I’m sure they’ve never meant it.

My eyes trail up his form, from his black boots to his dark jeans, over that plain white tee he wears so well, all the way to that chiseled jaw and ethereal gaze. He’s so effortless. So calm. And in my most vulnerable of moments, the ones I’m desperate to hide from the world, he’s the strongest, surest thing I’ve ever seen.

It makes me feel off-kilter. I’ve never experienced that type of security before.

He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Does what happen a lot?” I know what he’s asking, I’m not an idiot. I’m just hoping if I pretend, then maybe he will too. Just like everyone else.

Jumping off my bike to grab a towel, I stop for a moment, closing my eyes and basking in the post-workout high. Lightheaded and almost dizzy, a warm buzzing fills my body. I let the feeling of accomplishment cling to my skin like a second sheen of sweat, the satisfaction a warmth that swims through every cell.

“Come on, Blake, you know what.”

The fuzzy feeling disappears and my teeth grind, irritation slicing through my contentment.Why can’t he just let this go?

“Why do you call me that?” I snap, spinning around.

His brow rises. “Call you what?”

“Blake. No one calls me that. It’s not my name.”

He lifts a shoulder, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, hinting at what I know is a perfect smile. “Why do you call me Jackson? Everyone else calls me Jax.”

“I’m not everybody else,” I retort.

“Neither am I.” He pauses. “Besides, I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

My eyes narrow. “I don’t believe you.”

His smirk widens. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Huffing, I cross my arms over my chest, biting my cheek to keep from grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Just trying to stay on your level.” He winks.

His eyes drop quickly to my breasts before coming back to my face. Heat surges from between my legs, and pools low in my stomach, causing my heart to ram against my chest.

The feeling is so new, sodifferentfrom what I’m used to feeling when it comes to men, and it unnerves me. “W-well, don’t call me that,” I stutter. “It makes me…”

He stands up from his chair and stalks toward me. My hands tighten around the terry cloth towel, the fabric rough against my suddenly clammy palms.

Why is he coming so close? I’m disgusting right now.

My icy thoughts freeze the warmth before it can grow into something more. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it until this moment.

I have no makeup on.

He’s going to see the chickenpox scar on my forehead.The one right between my eyes that gets covered with makeup and shopped out by my team.

He’s going to see my stomach. The one I stupidly didn’t cover, too lost in my panic of burning off calories to worry about the extra flab that’s been on display. Jiggling with every motion.

Embarrassment slams into me, and I back up a step from the impact. My head starts shaking, trying to warn him. To tell him without words that he shouldn’t come closer. I don’twanthim close.

But he doesn’t stop, not until he’s right in front of me.

I suck in a breath, squeezing my eyes shut so I don’t have to watch the realization pass over his eyes when he notices my flaws in the garish gym lights. Nausea churns in my stomach, my lungs squeezing tight, until suddenly…

It stops.

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