Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
JAXON WILDE
Seven Hours Later
It’s my off day. Usually, I kick it off—like all my days—with relaxation and setting the day’s purpose. Period. That’s human stuff. Taking care of myself as a human being.
But after kissing Zara?
I’ve been off.
Why did I do it?
I’m supposed to have more control than that. Is my impulse control getting worse?
Yeah.
It is.
I made sure she was settled in her office before having breakfast. I didn’t know what she liked, so I had a whole buffet waiting for her.
She picked one of my egg white omelets and took a croissant toast with jelly. I didn’t think she’d touch any of my three omelets that contain extra protein powder, which I eat to get it all in—but now I’m down to two, and oddly… that’s okay.
I like sharing with Zara.
Last night, nearly losing my battle with willpower, I almost knocked on her door to make a proposition.
I can tell she wants me just as much as I want her.
We need to fuck each other out of our systems already.
Just one time. One good time, and we can quit whatever this thing is that makes me want to be inside her all the time.
But held out. And also, today, after that kiss, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit across from her at some restaurant pretending to be on a date. I didn’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to know anything else about her.
I don’t even want an answer to the question that’s been gnawing at me: Why did she shoplift face cream? It still makes no damn sense.
Since day one of production, I’ve been trying to reconcile how someone with her career—her face, her life—ends up stealing something that costs less than ten dollars. To me, that’s insane.
And that’s always been my read on Zara: sexy as hell, but equally off her rocker.
I didn’t even want to give her the final pin. But her team and my team had already ironed out the deal.
Then, Roger said it was the smarter move. He laid out all the reasons why Zara was the safer bet. He’s probably choking on those words right now.
Yeah…
I’m supposed to be in Little Italy with Zara—but I flaked.
I had Jen from the team office call her and say there was a team emergency I had to handle.
Anyway…
So how did things get worse?
Earlier, I stood outside her office during the table read—just listening.
The door was closed. Thick wood. Designed to keep the hallway quiet. But I could still faintly hear her.
The way she delivered her lines…
Shit. She’s good.
And somehow, that just made things worse by turning me on more. And I hate it.
And that’s how I end up here, confessing to Barber, who showed up about three hours ago to meet me for a drink. We’re at the green juice bar near the stadium, loading up on nutrients. Two days before a game, we don’t get hammered—we get healthy.
“Then why’d you do it?” Barber asks, finishing off his second leafy green Mintastic.
“Honestly?” I lean back, scrub a hand across my face. “I wanted to know the difference between her acting for real—with lines and shit—and how she acts around me.”
Barber leans his head back, blinking at me like I just started speaking Cantonese.
“What?” I snap. “That made sense.”
It made performance sense. But just in case he needs a little more…
“She’s an actress.”
“So?”
I throw my hands. “So…”
I stop myself before I out myself.
That kiss.
Damn.
She’s sweet.
And I can’t tell Barber what I’ve done. That last night—in the shower—I had to relieve the feelings she stirred up.
I want to fuck her from here to next week.
And then—
Barber’s gaze shifts over my shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, nudging his chin. “Is that the girl from your show?”
I turn fast.
My jaw drops.
Ashley.
Smiling like she’s been kissed by today’s sunshine, walking toward us.
What the hell is she doing here?