26. Stone #2
“Ref retraining. That’s what we need.” That comment comes from Zane as he cracks open a can of soda and returns to his seat by the window of the private suite.
We’re huddled in the first row, watching the action in the third quarter.
A backup bodyguard is stationed by the door, since Jackson is off duty.
The game play resumes. “Fourteen’s a lot of points to make up,” I huff to Jackson.
He snorts, casting a derisive glance to the field. “These refs blew a call the other week in the Miami game.”
My brow knits. “You track the refs?”
“Gotta know the enemy.”
“Smart, man. That helps predict how things are going to shake out for your team,” Zane offers, then lifts his Diet Coke in a toast. “Hey, Jackson, maybe you can share your ref intel with Grams. She can use that to make some better fantasy football picks. What do you say, Grams?”
She peers at Zane over her red glasses. “I’m not kicking your butt enough in our fantasy football league? You’re a glutton for punishment, kid.”
He rests his head on her shoulder. “I am indeed. But only with you.”
She pats his dark hair. “You’re my favorite grandson,” she coos.
I catch Jackson’s eye, stage-whispering over their heads, “She lies. She tells vicious lies. I’m her favorite.”
Jackson shrugs. “That’s not what the woman says, Stone.”
Zane wiggles his brows, his eyes flashing with cockiness. “Face it, bro. I’m younger and better looking.”
My jaw drops. “No way.” I jerk my gaze to Jackson. “Is he better looking? Say he’s not.”
A laugh seems to burst from my guy’s chest. Then he lifts his hands in surrender. “Not touching that with a fifty-yard pole.”
Zane swings his eyes to mine, his irises flickering with do tell .
And . . . I might have dropped an anvil-sized hint that my bodyguard and I are more than coworkers. More than friends.
That’s no good.
“Grams, tell me more about how you’re kicking Zane’s butt in fantasy football,” I say, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground—away from this unruly mess of feelings I have for the man here at the game with me.
I’m saved by another bad call on the field. Grams’s and Zane’s attention diverts to the game, and I slink away to join Nadia by the veggie trays, now that Eliza has taken off.
I grab a carrot and crunch into it as Nadia shoots me a look that says spill .
“What?” I act dumb.
Her eyes slide toward my crew, her voice quiet. “How is your bet with Zane going?”
“Great. So great,” I say, injecting lots of pep in my voice.
But that’s weird.
I’m not peppy. I’m an outgoing guy, but I’m chill, not cheery.
Nadia knows it too, hissing out, “Liar.”
I flinch. “What do you mean?”
She rolls her eyes, tipping her forehead to Jackson. “You two get on great.”
Is it that obvious?
Oh, yes, it is, you dipshit.
I scramble for an excuse. I don’t want to serve up the truth. One, Jackson doesn’t want me to. Second, it’s private. But still, I do kind of wish we could just be here together the way I want to be.
“We’ve always gotten along,” I say.
One brow climbs. “Always? You used to give each other a hard time.”
“We still do.” In many ways.
She pops a carrot in her mouth, nodding a few times. “Right. Sure.”
I should leave this alone, but instead I poke the issue. I want to know how obvious my feelings are. “What are you trying to say, Nadia?”
“I’m saying I think you’re going to lose the bet,” she says pointedly.
My eyes drift to Jackson. The second I look at him, my chest aches. My skin tingles. And everything feels right. Everything feels good.
My throat goes dry. My stomach flips.
I don’t have a clue what to do with this torrent of emotions roiling inside me.
It’s so much more than sex.
So much more than contact.
I turn back to Nadia. I can’t fight it anymore. They’re happening, these emotions, and they’re pulling me under. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
She rubs my arm. “It happens to the best of us. Or so I hear.” She sighs sympathetically. “What will you do?”
I scrub a hand across the back of my neck, sighing. “No idea.” My heart is heavy, and I don’t want it to be, so I change the subject. “Did you and Zane meet yesterday?”
“We did. I think I might have some opportunities for him.”
My eyes widen, and a smile tugs at my lips. This is excellent news. “That would be great. I’ll owe you big time.”
“You’ll owe me nothing. But I do want to be the first to know when it’s official,” she whispers, her gaze drifting to Jackson.
My shoulders sag.
Nothing will be official.
Nothing can happen.
He’s made that clear.
I laugh off her comment and return to Zane a few minutes later, glancing around for Jackson and Grams.
“They went to check out some trophies down the concourse,” Zane explains. “They’ll be back any minute.”
Good time for me to catch up with my brother away from the hubbub of backstage. I clap him on the knee. “You’re doing great with the show. You feeling better about things?”
“Definitely,” he says. “Dad called twice, but I ignored his calls.”
“You’re going to need to talk to him soon. You know that, right?”
“I do. Just wasn’t ready. I wanted to make sure I was doing a good job for you.”
“You are. And don’t forget—you were meant to be here. Meant to be creative. This feels right for a reason. It’s who you are.”
“I think so too. Thanks again for the chance.”
“Anytime. I’m stoked to see you making the best of it.”
“And speaking of business,” Zane says, lowering his voice, his eyes sparking with intrigue, “what’s the story with you two?”
What is it, see-through-me day on the calendar?
“The story with what?”
He rolls his eyes. “C’mon. You and Thor.”
“Thor, like Chris Hemsworth Thor?”
“That’s what the internet calls your bodyguard. When they’re not calling him WHB.”
“What does that stand for?”
“World’s Hottest Bodyguard,” he says with a laugh.
I laugh lightly too. “Sounds about right. Have you seen too that peeps call us Jackstone when they see pics of us?”
“I have indeed.”
“Crazy, huh?” I ask, a grin threatening to take over.
Zane shakes his head, wagging a finger. “So . . . you broke the deal.”
“Did not,” I say quickly. “I’m not in love.”
He leans closer, draping an arm around me. “But you’re falling.”
My stomach swoops. My stupid lips smile. “Shut up. Just shut up.”
Zane sinks back into his chair, all satisfied. “I call it like I see it.”
“I’m not in love,” I whisper.
He squeezes my shoulder. “By the way, your boyfriend’s back.”
I whip my gaze so fast to see Jackson stroll back in, and Zane cracks up. “Busted. So busted.”
I drop my face in my hand and groan.
He squeezes my shoulder again. “I won’t even collect. I just want you to say I was right.”
“You’re not right,” I grumble.
There is no way I can be in love. No way at all.
When Jackson and Grams rejoin us, I repeat that mantra, even as they talk about the musical Jackson’s sister’s going to be in, even when he shows her pictures of Bethany, even when she asks him all about his family.
Even when I hang on every word.
But I’m not in love with him.
I swear I’m not.