Now #2
The shock of it, of seeing him for the first time in so long, knocks the air out of my lungs.
I knew he’d changed over the years, shedding his youthful, boyish features for a sharper, more masculine, and mature appearance.
It’s been almost a decade, after all, and he’s now a world-renowned athlete at the top of his field.
Light-years away from the boy I first met, who was robbing a liquor store with his friends so he could buy new parts for his car.
I’m so affected by it all that I only regain my senses once he disappears out of view, still followed and surrounded by at least two dozen people.
Crap, I need to give him the envelope, or all this will have been for nothing.
Dismissing my uneasiness, I grab my bag and the documents before jumping to my feet. My heels click on the marble floor as I hurry toward the gathered crowd, hoping I’ll somehow find a way to make myself noticed despite the mess.
Jax and the three men with him—two bodyguards and someone who must be his agent or manager—have reached the elevators and are waiting for one.
His security is keeping the fans at bay while the manager says, “Please, everyone. He will sign autographs and do meet and greets at the convention tomorrow, as planned. But tonight, Mr. Reyes needs his privacy. Please respect that.”
It doesn’t work on the eager mob and, if anything, people seem more determined to get their hero’s attention. I’ve somehow made my way to the front lines, enough to see Jackson’s powerful back perfectly molded by his black shirt, as well as the tattoos creeping down his forearms.
“Jackson,” I shout. My call gets lost among the others, and he remains stoically turned away from us, his attention fixed on the elevator doors that have yet to part.
If I can’t get his attention now, I’ll have to stay the night and purchase some last-minute tickets for tomorrow’s motorsport convention. And not only can I not spare the expense, but I’m also not looking forward to it. I want to go home, and I won’t let this take another day to be sorted.
My tired and stressed brain acts on impulse, and I find myself shouting, “Hey, Hot Wheels!” before I can stop myself.
Jackson’s shoulders tense, the nickname finally catching his attention.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, his face and upper body twist around, his mismatched eyes scanning the hectic mess methodically.
I almost forgot how focused he can be—clinical, lethal.
This is why he’s the best on the grid. When he’s in the zone, nothing can take him out of it.
When his unique gaze lands on me, the search halts, and his eyebrows flicker with disbelief. On my side, the ball in the back of my throat returns in full force, accompanied by a series of flutters in my chest and lower stomach.
It takes me a second to reconcile the man in front of me with the boy I used to know, the one I left.
He’s still one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, with his golden-brown skin, high cheekbones, neatly shaped jaw, and full lips.
I knew him before he got that cut in his left eyebrow, as well as the small scar that mirrors it under his blue eye.
Somehow, this flawed version of him makes him even more perfect.
It’s more unique, more him. The biggest change, aside from the way his cheeks are more carved than they used to be, is his hair.
He used to have thick, coily black hair that I had to braid before his races so his helmet would fit snugly.
All that’s left is a close-cropped buzz cut.
I already knew he’d cut it all years ago, but it’s still strange to see him like this.
After several seconds of nothing but his intense stare among the frenzied activity, he leans over to one of his bodyguards and says something no one else can hear. After a quick search, the man finds me among the crowd and reaches out, motioning for me to come forward.
With a sigh of relief, I follow the command and step forward, leaving the fanatic mob behind me.
That only seems to exacerbate their attempts at getting Jackson’s attention as well, but he ignores them to stare at the steel doors again.
I do the same, anxiously fidgeting with the brown envelope before me.
When the doors finally part, his warm, large hand comes to the middle of my back, silently pressing me forward. I don’t look at him as I comply, stepping into the confined space while he follows.
To my dismay, Jackson’s people don’t come with us, so when the doors close again, it’s only the two of us. Crap, I didn’t expect to find myself alone with him. I’m not sure I’m mentally prepared for it.
Jax passes his card across a reader, then presses the button to the last floor. It’s only when the elevator starts moving that he stoically lets out, “It’s been a while.”
I swallow the lump away and answer, “Yes.”
Then, silence again. He doesn’t look at me, apparently preferring the door before us, so I do the same. Halfway into the ride up, I can’t bear the tension any longer. I can finish this right now, then go back downstairs without ever having to leave this elevator.
“Listen,” I start, dismissing my nervousness, “I came to see you because—”
“Not here.” Slightly offended by his abrupt interruption, I frown at him. “There are cameras,” he explains without a glance. “I like keeping my personal life private.”
God, his voice … It got raspier, deeper, and more assertive.
How is that even possible? That baritone timbre, which used to lure me into doing the damndest thing, has even more power to it.
I can’t tell if it’s because he’s fully matured into the man he was always meant to become, or if it’s the underlying assurance behind earning seventy million dollars a year.
The surrounding air seems to crackle with how tense the prolonged silence is.
There isn’t even music to help with it, only the muted humming of the machinery pulling us up.
Confined as we are, I can smell him—something rich, powerful, and heady.
He doesn’t smell like he used to. I liked it.
A cheap cologne that matched my cheap perfume. But now … He smells rich. Filthy rich.
When, finally, we reach the last floor, Jackson returns his hand to my back to escort me out. To my surprise and distress, this isn’t a hallway but the penthouse. His room for the night. Where there are no cameras and no one else but us.