Chapter 17
Ingrid
Madison looks at me like she’s trying to decide if I heard her or not. Fair, I think I’m in shock, because for a moment my tongue feels heavy in my mouth. I stumble over my words.
“Jake is here?” My head spins. “Why here? Why now?”
“He’s filming something in the city and I guess production had a box?”
That answer is bullshit. Pure, 100% bullshit. He’s here because I have someone else in my life and for the first time I’m the one moving on first.
The expression on Madison’s face tells me she’s thinking the same thing.
Marv gives me a careful look, like he’s weighing my reaction. “I can tell him to leave if you want.”
“No.” I shake my head too quickly, forcing in a steady breath. “It’s fine. Just…”
My eyes drift toward Jefferson. He’s across the room, half in conversation with one of the trainers, but already his gaze has found me. The shift in the air between Marv and me hasn’t gone unnoticed. His gray eyes narrow slightly, a crease of concern forming as he studies me.
I cross the room, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. Jefferson meets me halfway, his hand brushing over my arm as though anchoring me.
“What’s going on?” he asks softly, dipping his head closer so no one else hears. “Another threat?”
I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. Everything’s fine. There’s someone who wants to see me.”
He tilts his head, brow furrowed. “Yeah? Who?”
I force the words out. “My ex.”
For a beat, Jefferson studies me. Then the tension drains from his shoulders, his jaw loosening. He exhales slowly, a puff of relief. “Oh.” A faint smile ghosts over his lips. “Okay.”
I blink at him. “You don’t care?”
His hand slides up, gentle but sure, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The brush of his knuckles against my cheek is so tender it nearly undoes me. “I only care about what you care about, Angel,” he says. “If you want to see him, that’s fine by me.”
Something in my chest swells, warm and fluttery, filling every corner until it’s hard to breathe.
It’s almost unbearable, the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
Jefferson Parks, the man everyone swears is nothing but a cocky playboy, is proving, again, that he’s one of the good ones.
I swallow hard. “I think it’s just easier to do it this way.” My smile is shaky, more grimace than grin. “Just rip the bandaid off.”
The faint crease of worry returns to Jefferson’s brow, but I’ve already straightened, pulling in a deep breath, trying to steady the nerves rattling under my skin.
Marv re-enters, Jake a few steps behind him. As much as I hate it, my body reacts before my brain does and I brace myself. It’s instinct. I haven’t seen him face-to-face since the night I walked out of his apartment in LA. Humiliated. Heartbroken. Determined never to look back.
And now here he is, walking toward me with that stupid, fake, easy grin he always uses when he’s uncomfortable.
His dark hair’s an inch too long, curly and wild.
He’s slim, wiry–shorter than me if I’m in heels, which is exactly why, when we were together, I never wore them.
Flats only. I’d shrunk myself to make him feel taller, bigger, enough.
Jake’s pivoting into acting after his music career, his sound always skewing more alt-rock than my brand of pop storytelling. We’d been a clash of opposites, the kind of fire that either catches and burns hot or fizzles out.
We didn’t just fizzle. The man doused us with a bucket of cold water.
I wait for the sting to come back, the bitterness, the anger, but it’s not there. Just a dull echo, like a song that’s faded from the charts.
“Ing,” he says, loping toward me. Yes, the man lopes. It’s annoying as fuck. “How are you?”
Not the show was incredible. Good work. You were great.
Of course not. Getting a compliment from him was like pulling teeth.
Jake never liked this version of me. Glitter, sequins, stadium tours.
He thought I was wasting myself, selling out.
He never quite said the words, but it was always in his eyes.
“Great, actually.” My voice comes out brighter than I feel. “We’re finally on the last leg of the tour. Just a couple more weeks.” I hesitate, then throw him a crumb. “Madison said you’re here working on a movie?”
“Just a little indie film.” He props himself against a chair like he owns the room. “I thought maybe we could grab some dinner. Either out somewhere or back at your hotel if you’re tired from the show.”
“Dinner,” I repeat, flat.
“Yeah. A chance for us to catch up.” His head tilts knowingly, the move rehearsed. “Talk over a few things.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Jake.” My arms fold across my chest before I can stop them. Defensive. Guarded.
“You’re really still mad,” he accuses, his grin twisting into an incredulous smirk.
I take a deep breath, fighting the familiar pull of his orbit. He’s baiting me–he always baits me. Makes me feel small, guilty, like I’ve overreacted. That’s how he’s reeled me back in, over and over. But before I can snap back, movement at the corner of my vision cuts through the tension.
Jefferson.
He’s crossing the room with that loose, easy stride, all six-foot-five of him, those broad shoulders and long legs filling the space. He doesn’t look rushed, doesn’t look threatened–just calm, casual. But when his hand settles warm and steady at the small of my back, the message is clear.
Mine.
Jake’s eyes flick to the gesture, narrowing just enough to betray the hit to his ego.
The two men couldn’t be more different. Physically, they might as well belong to separate worlds–Jefferson with his athletic body made of thick muscle and an imposing frame that commands every room he enters.
But the contrast runs deeper than appearance.
Jefferson carries an ease, a steady confidence that Jake could only dream of. One he’d kill to possess.
Jefferson leans down, brushing his lips near my temple, his voice pitched low enough for me but not so low Jake can’t hear. “Everything okay here, Angel?”
The word–Angel–lands like a sparkler in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say, lifting my chin, heat crawling into my cheeks. “Everything’s fine.”
The room feels suddenly smaller, the air dense with different energies colliding.
Madison is pretending to scroll on her phone, but there’s no doubt she’s eating up every single second of this.
Marv hovers in the corner, alert as always, while the hum of voices from crew members moving equipment filters in faintly from the hall.
All of it blurs behind the pulse pounding in my ears.
I step closer to Jefferson, like my body knows where it belongs before my mind does. “Jefferson, this is Jake. Jake, Jefferson.”
The men shake hands. Jefferson doesn’t overplay it–no flexing, no posturing–just a firm, steady grip that makes Jake shift on his feet. I lean into Jefferson’s side, his presence a solid wall at my back, grounding me.
“Did I hear someone mention dinner?” Jefferson asks, voice casual, as though this isn’t a standoff between past and present. His hand settles at my waist, heat radiating through the sequined fabric of my costume.
“That was me.” Jake grins easily. “I thought Ingrid and I could catch up while we’re both in town. You’re welcome to join us.”
A laugh bubbles in the back of my throat, a touch of hysteria and disbelief.
Thankfully Jefferson maintains his wits and looks down at me, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheek.
“I know you’re starving, but you probably need to get off your feet and recover.
” Then, with a glance at Jake, he adds, “Maybe another time?”
The silence stretches just long enough for me to savor the way Jake blinks, caught off guard by the consideration of this man touching me–with me.
Thinking of my needs over his own. His confidence falters, brown eyes flickering with calculation.
“You know, I’ve got an early call time tomorrow and should probably head back, anyway.
There are a few pages of lines I need to memorize too. ”
Of course. A subtle reminder that he’s an actor now, important enough to brush off dinner with his ex. Whatever keeps him from losing more ground.
“That makes sense,” I say, keeping my tone polite, neutral. Inside, though, I feel lighter, as if I’ve just dodged a trap I didn’t realize was waiting to spring shut.
“Nice to meet you,” Jefferson says. He means it in that smooth, civil way that’s somehow still edged with finality, like a handshake closing a door.
“Right. You too.” Jake tries for one last connection, his gaze flicking toward me, searching for any crack in my resolve. But before I can react, Jefferson’s hand slides under my chin, tilting my face up until all I see is the intensity in his eyes and the promise inside them.
Then his mouth is on mine. Firm. Sure. Unapologetic.
The dressing room vanishes–the racks of costumes, the whir of curling irons, Madison’s muffled words as she escorts Jake quietly out the door. The only thing that exists is the man kissing me, his lips parting mine, the taste of him banishing every ghost Jake might have stirred up.
It might have started as a show, a deliberate claim in front of my past, but the second my body melts into his, the kiss shifts into something else–something real. Something that makes my chest ache and my knees weak.
And when he finally pulls back, my breath shaky against his cheek, I know the only hunger left in me has nothing to do with dinner. It’s for him. Always him.