40. Blakely
FORTY
Blakely
“So, are you prego?” Kayla asks, sipping from her orange juice.
My mouth waters at the sugary drink, and like usual, jealousy sears my insides that she can enjoy drinking something so effortlessly.
Must be nice.
“Are you seriously asking me that?” I level her with a glare, leaning back against the metal chair.
We’re at lunch. I took the day off from Donahue Motors specifically for this outing. I miss having girl time with Kayla, and ever since I’ve taken on this role for my dad, our lunches have become nonexistent. Add to that fact, Sierra has been begging me to get some “Kodak moments” of the new Adidas line. So here we are, acting casual, like we don’t see the horde of photographers standing across the street, huddled around the sidewalk, waiting for their moment.
As usual, we’re the ones who called them.
Kayla shrugs. “I don’t know, you practically disappear from my life overnight and you…” Her eyes trail up and down my body. “You seem different.”
My insides smart at her words.
“Well, no. I’m not pregnant , for Christ’s sake,” I snap.
She raises her hands in surrender. “I didn’t think so. I mean, I told him…who would you even have been with? That would mean you lost your V-card, and I know for damn sure you wouldn’t do that and not tell your best friend.”
She eyes me over her Chanel sunglasses.
I fidget, my fists curling around my thighs, tempering the urge to clench them and count to three on repeat in my head. “That’s what you told who?”
“Hmm?” she asks.
“You said ‘that’s what I told him.’ Who is him ?” My chest pulls tight. Is she gossiping about me in her free time? Does everyone talk about me behind my back, even the people who I’m close with?
No.
“Oh.” She laughs. “Uh, Jake. It popped up on TMZ and he asked if it was true.”
I’m about to ask when I get to meet him when she takes a piece of bread from where it’s steaming in the middle of the table and plops it on her plate.
My stomach curdles as she smothers it in butter, popping a gigantic piece in her mouth. “Mmmm,” she moans. “The bread here is the best, dude. Are you gonna have any?”
A hole burns through my chest at her question, and I can practically taste the way the butter would melt on my tongue, but I know there isn’t enough room left in my daily intake to squeeze in any extra carbs. And even if there were, the thought of not knowing how they make their butter—what exactly is in it and how much—makes anxiety prick against my lungs.
Shaking my head, I make a show of taking a big bite of my kale salad.
Kayla glances at the half-eaten bread in her hand and drops it to her plate, her nose crinkling in obvious disgust. “Ugh, I would kill to have your dedication.”
I don’t respond, not sure how to since she always says the same thing, and I never know what to tell her other than “so have it.”
“What are you getting into tonight?” she asks.
I shrug. “It’s Monday.”
“And?” Kayla’s eyes widen.
“Mondays are my days to do nothing.” I try to bite back the smile when the thought of Jackson pops in my mind, but I can tell from the way Kayla’s eyes spark that I’m not successful.
“ Nothing sure looks like it will be fun.” Kayla wags her eyebrows.
Should I tell her?
It would be nice to get it off my chest. The secret of Jackson and me is heavy, every day spent with him like a new brick being laid on our foundation, the urge to share my happiness with someone making me burst at the seams.
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt.
Kayla’s eyes widen.
“No one can know,” I rush out.
“Okay.” Kayla nods. “Who is it?”
I cover my face with my hands. “I can’t tell you.”
“Um…excuse me, bitch? I think the fuck not. That’s the equivalent of saying ‘guess what’ and then ‘never mind.’ You better tell me.”
I chew on my lip, debating whether I can trust her. If I can’t tell my secrets to my best friend, who can I tell them to?
“Jackson Rhoades.”
She stares at me blankly. “I’m sorry, who?”
Rolling my eyes, I lean forward. “Jackson. Blond, hair in a bun. Insultingly good-looking. Tags along to the clubs.”
Her eyes flare as she sighs, pushing her sunglasses on top of her shiny brown hair. “That’s who I thought you meant.” Her forehead creases. “Isn’t he kind of old?”
I shrug, disappointment trickling through my veins. “Twenty-eight. But, Kayla, he’s… everything .”
“Does Sierra know?”
My stomach jolts at her question, surprise flickering through me that her first reaction is to ask if my manager knows. I’m not sure how things like this usually work, but in my head, I imagined telling her and us gushing together, my excitement bleeding into hers until she demanded every detail, her joy solely because someone is making me happy.
But maybe that’s not how girlfriends work in real life.
The pinched look on her face brings me back to reality quick and I shake my head. “No, Kayla. I told you, you can’t tell anyone. I don’t want the public to butt their way into our relationship.” I chew on my bottom lip. “Besides, he works for my dad. I don’t want to get him fired.”
She chokes on her orange juice, smacking her chest. “I forgot about that. Jeez, really slumming it this time around, huh?” She smiles as she says it, but annoyance stomps its way through me, slamming against the walls of my heart.
“I don’t care about his money,” I say, my gaze narrowing.
Kayla raises her hands in surrender.
Sighing, I close my eyes, feeling the panic start to unearth itself from where it’s buried, stretching its claws toward my chest.
One. Two. Three.
I open my eyes. “Kayla, promise me you won’t say anything. I told you because I wanted someone to confide in. I don’t want this getting out, okay? It’s important. He’s important.”
She mimes zipping her lips closed and throwing away the key. “My lips are sealed, babe.”
But even with her reassurance, anxiety dances along my spine, humming with a warning.
A few hours later, it’s still there, tension having weaved its way into every breath, my brain on high alert and my body on edge.
Lennox drops me off at Jackson’s house with a pinched look and a sigh. “I’m guessing I won’t be hearing from you until the morning?”
I smile sheepishly, heat flooding my cheeks. “That would be a safe bet.”
He runs his hand over his buzzed head, his fingers coming down on the steering wheel and tightening. “You’re really putting me in an awkward position, Blakely. I hope you know that.”
Pressure weighs down my chest. “I do,” I whisper.
“Do you?” he asks. “I work for your father, not for you. And it worries me you’re spending your small amount of free time with this guy who is way too old for you, and most likely looking for a way to latch on to your success.”
Annoyance makes my back stiffen. This is only the second conversation I’ve had with someone about Jackson, and already I’m exhausted from defending him. “He’s not like that.”
Lennox’s jaw clenches. “If you say so.”
The rubber band holding me together snaps. “Listen, I appreciate the concern, but honestly, you’re right. You work for my father, and you’re overstepping your boundaries. Caring about my personal life is above your paygrade. Try not to forget that next time,” I hiss.
His nostrils flare and he bites the inside of his cheek.
Regret immediately slices through my stomach. “ Shit , Lennox, I?—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re right. It’s not my place.”
And with that, he waves me away.
Despite the way my body feels like a live wire and despite my sadness at the fact that no one else seems to approve of Jax and me, I walk up to his house with a skip in my step, excited to be spending time with him again.
Mondays are really the only chance we get to be alone together . It’s tiring having to constantly pretend like my soul isn’t tearing through my skin to latch on to his.
But if we go public, things would be much, much worse. That was made more than obvious to me today. So I’m going to drag this out as long as possible and hope I can convince him to do so as well.
I may want to show him to the world, but I don’t want the world to steal him away.