Page 4 of Beneath the Hood

My body feels heavy, and as I step off the scale and stare in the mirror, I can almostseewhere the extra calories are already making a home. My face sours, the tang of disgust settling thick on my tongue.

Scoffing, I turn away, my lack of self-control smacking against my insides and making the haziness of exhaustion disappear, an antsy energy whipping through my muscles and pushing me toward my closet.

I can’t believe I put that poison in my body.

Weak, Blakely. Fucking pathetic.

Throwing on a sports bra and leggings, I glance at the clock on my nightstand, grimacing when I realize I’m supposed to be awake in four hours and headed to Donahue Motors. To the job my father has forced me into so that I can “start to take life seriously.”

For just a moment, I consider giving myself some leeway, and slipping between my sheets, but the overwhelming need to watch the calories burn away on the elliptical wins, choking me with impatience.

As I rush down the hall and toward the staircase, I keep my head down, not wanting to see identical eyes on a stranger’s face staring back at me.

Judging me, just like everybody else.

* * *

“You look tired.”Jackson’s voice rumbles across the entrance of Donahue Motors, his wavy, dirty-blond hair swishing against his jaw.

My stomach flips, and I push my sunglasses to my head as I stop in front of him. “That’s usually code for you look like shit, so thank you, once again, for your never-ending kindness.”

His thick arms cross against his broad chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing at the movement. My gut clenches.

Damn,he’s pretty.

His brow quirks, and he leans forward. “Fine. You look like shit. Better?”

The words—even though I pushed for them—cause anxiety to creep through the cracks of my makeup. My fingers strain against the urge to pull out a mirror and make sure I don’t actually look like a train wreck. It’s early, and nobody here gives a damn one way or the other, but you never know when someone will be lurking—when a photo will be taken and end up circulating online. It only takes a second, and I can’t afford a shitty picture. It doesn’t fit the brand.

The longer I internally panic, the more Jackson’s eyes narrow, his grassy, green gaze sharp and penetrating, like he’s trying to strip away my paint and see the bodywork underneath.

A thrill zips through me, loving the weight of his stare. My chest relaxes from where it was gripping my lungs tight.

I swallow, meeting his gaze and daring him to dig deeper. To press further.

“Jax, honey, your order came in this morning.” Karen, the office assistant, walks in from the back hall, causing Jackson to break our connection. Charm glides over his body like an aura, polishing away his grit—a blinding white smile spreading across his face as he spins to face her.

His elbows rest on top of the reception counter. “Karen, what would I do without you?”

I watch, fascinated, as the hue on Karen’s cheeks bloom a deep shade of rose and she legit giggles like a schoolgirl.Gross, Karen. You’re like sixty. Get it together.

“Oh, hush. You’d do just fine.”

Jackson’s smile grows, his hand leaping to his heart. “I beg to differ. You’re the cherry to my pie, sweet thing.”

She playfully pushes against his arm. “And you’re an insufferable flirt, has anyone ever told you that?”

“I just call it like I see it.” He winks.

I snort, my hand slapping over my mouth at the noise. Jackson’s back stiffens and he looks toward me. “Something funny, Blake?”

I bite my lip and shake my head.Blake.Why he gives me a nickname when he won’t give me the time of day is beyond me.

He runs his big hand through his hair, and my eyes track the motion. Normally, I’m not a fan of longer hair on guys, but for some reason with Jackson, I can’t imagine him any other way.

And I have imagined him. Frequently. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud. He’s not my type, and definitely not the kind of person who I could have on my arm in public. He may have the movie star looks, but he doesn’t have the pedigree. At the root of everything, he’s blue-collar. My father’s employee and someone who would never understand the lifestyle.

He’s too old for me anyway.

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