Page 40 of Beneath the Hood

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “It’s nice to see you back on your game.” She smacks her hands on her legs and hops from the island barstool. “Kayla’s meeting us in two hours at the restaurant. You have glam in twenty minutes. Wear the joggers from the Jacob Lancaster campaign, please, so we can get some good street shots.”

The contentment from earlier starts to wither away, the strings of my manager tugging from where they’re wrapped around my limbs.

I nod and wait for Sierra to leave the room before I slip my phone out of my pocket, glancing at the hallway door to make sure she’s out of sight. My heart pounds against my ribs as I click on Jackson’s name and reread his earlier message.

Sadness drops in my chest, realizing my schedule won’t allow me to sneak away. That I’ll have to wait until tomorrow at Donahue Motors to see him again.

Me: My schedule is pretty booked today. See you tomorrow?

My teeth drop into my lower lip, working back and forth as I watch the text bubble pop up on the screen.

Jackson: If you’re lucky. ;)

Smiling, a warmth seeps from my heart, pulsing through my chest, sending sparks of anticipation zapping through me.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Not sure what he’ll say or how I’ll react.

But for the first time, in as long as I can remember, I think I’m excited for the unknown.

20

Jackson

Ididn’t sleep well. Tossed and turned all night, my stomach in my throat from thoughts of seeing Blakely this morning, wondering if she’s been thinking of me the way I’ve been thinking of her.

I showed up to work earlier than usual, needing to get lost in a transmission to keep my mind off all the uncertainties floating through my head. It doesn’t work as well as I’d hoped, my eyes straying to the street every few seconds, waiting to see her Maybach pull up to the curb. The second it rounds the corner, my heart accelerates, beating so fast I feel it in my ears. Her long, toned legs slide from the back seat, desire simmering low in my gut as she walks inside.

The wrench slips from my oil-stained hands and I scramble to grab it, clearing my throat and focusing back on the Stingray’s transmission, wondering how the hell it’s possible to miss someone who you’ve only just realized you wanted to see.

Last night, I planned to take her to the beach. Pack a picnic and spend some time together to explore whatever this is.

Dip our toes in the water.Take things slow, the way she asked for us to.

Not that I wouldn’t dive in if I thought that’s what she wanted. Once I make a decision, I’m invested, and over the past twenty-four hours I’ve had a lot of time to think, my brain going back and forth over pursuing something with her.

Whether we should keep it a secret.Probably.Whether it would even be worth it.Definitely.

I’m not an idiot, I know going public wouldn’t look good. A nine-year age difference with a girl not even in her twenties is sure to push us in the limelight for all the wrong reasons. People love to jump into other peoples’ business and this has drama and judgment written all over it.

She’s always been stunning, her beauty paired with her advances forcing me to will away the filthy thoughts she’d plant in my mind. But this feeling is deeper than the surface and it came out of nowhere. Hit me in a way I didn’t know was possible, leaving me dizzy with lust.

Part of me wonders if it’s real, or if it’s the vulnerability we’ve shared that’s giving me a false sense of familiarity. A bond that isn’t really there.

It’s possible, I guess, to have manufactured feelings based on an encounter. But what is life if not the sum of all our experiences?

Regardless, there’s this suddenneedto know her pooling in the center of my chest, threatening to rise up and drown me alive. I woke up Sunday morning with visions of her in my head, the memory of her voice in my ears and the whisper of her taste on my tongue, my body buzzing with happiness.

And that’s a welcome change of pace.

It’s another hour before I find an excuse to go inside and see her. Stripping off my rubber gloves and washing the oil from my arms, I head through the glass doors, my heart sinking when I realize she’s not at the front desk.

Walking to the corner, I make myself a cup of the watered-down, complimentary coffee we keep for the few clients that come through. The caffeine in the break room is better, but I can’t bring myself to leave this area, wanting to take in Blakely’s reaction when she first sees me, so I can get a feel for what’s going through her head.

The flat-screen TV drones above me about some Senator from Oregon and I lean against the counter as I watch, desperate to find a reason to stay inside until Blakely reappears.

“Senator Wells officially announced his second bid for the presidency. This comes after years of speculation as to whether he would run again after the devastating loss of his son, Alexander.”

A picture floats on the middle of the screen. A young, polished man donning a black tuxedo smiles wide into the camera, his arm wrapped around a stunning blonde in a floor-length gown. His frame towers over her, but for some reason, it’s not his size that captures my attention—it’s the look on his face that strikes a chord. The plastered-on grin so similar to the one Blakely wears when she’s trying to fool the world.

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