13. Blakely
THIRTEEN
Blakely
It’s eleven fifty-eight on Saturday morning and Jackson isn’t here.
Is he standing me up?
Not that this is a date anyway. He made that perfectly clear. But that doesn’t stop the tension in my stomach or the anticipation that thrums through my insides when I think about where he might be taking me.
“What do you mean you won’t be home?” Sierra hisses over the phone.
Putting her on speaker, I set my cell down beside me. “I mean, I have plans, Sierra. You know, an actual life for once.”
“Plans with who?”
“With the man that you told me to do things with!”
She breathes out slowly. “Okay. Okay. That works. Text me when you end up wherever you’re going, so they know where to be.”
Groaning, I pinch my nose, trying to stop the headache from pulsing between my eyes.
She’s talking about the paparazzi, of course. It’s normal to leak our location so we can control the narrative. Ensure the headlines that spread across the internet both have my name in them and are the right kind of headline. And since it’s the norm, I really can’t be annoyed with her. She’s just doing her job, and up until recently, I’ve been more than happy to go along with it. In fact, it’s usually me at the helm, steering us into the murky waters of internet celebrity.
But I just wanted this one thing.
One day where I could sneak away and pretend to be normal. Silly me, thinking normal is something I could ever be.
And really, Sierra is right. Today is the perfect setup to get some candid shots of me with Jackson. Make sure that my mystery man is still at the forefront of everyone’s minds. There’s nothing people love more than trying to solve a mystery.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know.” I run a hand through my hair.
“Okay, great. And don’t forget we’re redoing the shoot we never finished from the other night. Make sure you’re back by five so we can get it done.”
“You got it.” Guilt slams its way through me with every word she says. God . What’s wrong with me? Have I really let myself become so distracted I’ve lost sight of what’s important? Of all the goals I’ve been working toward?
“I’ll be there. And I’m sorry, okay? I have no clue what’s been up with me the past few days.”
She exhales heavily. “It’s fine.”
There’s a knock on my bedroom door and Lennox peeks in. “Your ride’s here.”
Nodding, I give him a thumbs-up. “I gotta go, Sierra. I’ll text you the details.”
Hanging up, I run to grab my black Docs, double-checking my appearance in the mirror. I wasn’t sure what to wear, so cozy and casual is what I went with. Now that I know we’re staging paps on the scene, I wish I would have put more thought into my attire. Maybe had my glam team put together a look.
Hindsight is twenty-twenty, I guess.
Grabbing my ChapStick and shoving it in my back pocket along with my credit card, I skip down the stairs, smiling big at Lennox who’s holding open the front door.
I stop at the entrance, my hair swishing against my back as I turn toward him. “Don’t linger too close today, okay?”
His jaw clenches but he nods, pushing me out the door. Stumbling slightly, I shield my eyes from the glare of the sun and peer around the circle drive for Jackson. I find him leaning against the passenger side of a royal-blue beauty, the Mustang emblem glinting in the light.
The loose gravel from the driveway crunches under my shoes as I approach and he looks up. “Blake.”
“Hiya.” I grin. “Nice whip.”
His lips twitch. “ Whip? Who’d you hear that from, your grandpa?”
My eyes widen. “Yeah, just trying to be ‘on your level.’”
He grins, tapping the end of my nose and opening my door. “Your chariot awaits, princess.”
It’s the first time he’s called me princess without it sounding like an insult, and the way it rolls off his tongue sends a shot of adrenaline straight to the center of my gut, waking up the butterflies that were lying dormant.
I slide in and breathe out a sigh as I melt into the buttery leather of the tan seats.
The sun dances off the strands of his blond hair as he walks around to the driver’s side door, sliding behind the wheel. Reaching up, he grabs Ray-Bans off his visor and winks at me before throwing them on and turning up the radio.
My heart skips.
God, he’s hot.
A few minutes into the drive, and I’m still staring at him, wondering how I’ve managed to go such a long time without ever truly admiring his beauty.
He glances my way and turns down the music. “Okay. What is it?”
I shrug, warmth scorching my cheeks at being caught ogling. “Nothing. I just… You don’t look twenty-eight, you know?”
He side-eyes me. “You don’t look nineteen.”
I fidget in my seat, the heat flaming stronger on my face and racing through me until it settles between my legs. Throwing my feet on the dash, I stretch my arms, trying to lighten the mood and ignore the reaction my body is having. “So, where are we going?”
His eyes flash to my feet and I grin, a tingle lighting up my insides. “You okay?”
He smirks. “I’m perfect. Thanks for asking.”
“You sure? Seems like you might have something you’d like to say.” I move slightly, pressing the soles of my shoes onto the cherrywood front of the glove compartment, trying to get a reaction.
Everything about this car is pristine. There’s no way this doesn’t bother him.
“If I had something to say, I’d say it.”
We drive over a hill and pull into a parking lot, bright blue letters on what looks like an arena spelling out AnaMaria race track .
My stomach drops, anxiety tightening my throat.
He parks and turns to me, smiling. “You ready?”
My nose scrunches as I glance hesitantly at the building. “I’m not sure.”
“You’ll be fine, I promise.” He laughs as he jumps out of the car, and suddenly I feel bad for playing such a childish game on the way over. For not respecting his car when I know it’s probably a prized possession. Especially when he’s going out of his way to be so nice .
I’ve been dying for this side of Jackson, and I don’t want to ruin the day before it even starts.
He jogs over to my side, opening the door and reaching out his hand. My heart stutters in my chest at the gesture. The only people who have ever opened my door were always paid to do it.
The second my hand grazes his, my stomach flips, warmth sending tingles up my arm. I swallow, trying to ignore the way he’s affecting me.
“Sorry about defiling your car,” I mutter.
His hand squeezes my fingers and he leans in, his lips teasing the shell of my ear. “If anything, Blake, you improved it.”
My heart bangs against my chest, arousal splitting me in half with how quickly it surges through my body. My chest physically arches into his, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gasping.
Clearing my throat, I step away. Not a date, Blakely.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
A blinding smile lights up his face. “Driving.”