Page 23 of Beneath the Hood

Jackson’s hand is on my neck, his thumb rubbing the underside of my jaw. And his touch, it calms the storm swirling inside. Slowly, I open my eyes, and my heart skips from a different type of nerve.

Because Jackson islookingat me. And he’s not running the other way. Not telling me to change or to make sure I clean up. Not listing off all the ways we’re going to adjust the “unedited” version of me the world gets to see.

Jackson justis.

And I don’t really know what to do with that.

“It makes you feelwhat,princess?” he rasps.

My stomach tightens at the rumble in his voice, and I turn my head to the side to break the tension. Chills spread down my neck from the loss of his touch.

“Like we’re friends,” I say, tossing my towel in the bin, and putting my hands on my hips. “And you’ve made it perfectly clear that we’re not.”

His jaw tics. “We can’t be friends.”

My forehead scrunches. “How come?”

“You’re nineteen.”

“And?”

“I’m twenty-eight.” He points to himself.

“And?” I repeat, throwing my arms to the sides.

He doesn’t respond and a giggle bursts out of me, my hand smothering my mouth to try and keep it down.

“What?” He grins.

“You’re just… astonishingly good at math.” I pause. “And bad at coming up with excuses.”

He laughs. “You’re kind of a little shit, you know that?”

A tingling sensation unfurls inside me, expanding through my chest and trickling into my stomach—spreading through my limbs until I feel lighter than I have in years.

I smile. “Yeah, well… just trying to stay on your level,friend.”

His head cocks slightly as our banter dies down, and the silence surrounds us, pulling the air until it’s stretched so thin it steals your breath.

A ringing interrupts the moment, and he’s quick to grab his phone from his pocket. I can’t help but lean over and sneak a peek to see who stole his attention away.

Sweetheart.

The term of endearment splices into my newfound happiness, and even though I have no basis for it, no clue of who “sweetheart” is or what story lies behind the sudden sadness in his eyes, a thick spread of jealousy coats over my insides.

I paste on a smile—the kind that hurts my cheeks and fools the world. “Do you need to get that?”

His gaze stays locked on his phone, but he silences the call, shaking his head. After a few seconds, he meets my eyes, but the lightness from earlier is gone, a heavy dose of reality settling in its place.

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

12

Jackson

Blakely and I settle in to watch a movie, but when she passes out on her couch halfway through, I take the opportunity to slip through the front door and head home, my phone burning a hole in my pocket since the moment it rang.

Sweetheart.

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