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.
27
Jackson
After the game ends with the Hawks coming back in the fourth quarter, we pile into Stone’s limo and peel away from the stadium. I told the backup bodyguard I’d cover him the rest of the evening, so he’s done for the night. The driver winds through the streets of Las Vegas as the four of us chat, recounting the game-winning touchdown, the energy in the stadium, and the play that the quarterback pulled out of his pocket at the last minute.
“That’s why football is an awesome game,” I say.
Stone’s grandma nods sagely. “I couldn’t agree more. But I do like baseball too, so if you ever feel like going to a ball game, you know where to find me,” she says with a wink.
Zane’s lips round into an O as he nudges her elbow. “Grams, are you trying to take Stone’s bodyguard out on a date?”
“I like having someone to chat about sports with who knows what he’s talking about,” she says.
Zane brings a hand to his heart, gasping. “I know sports.”
“But not like Jackson,” she says, patting his knee sympathetically.
He mock-pouts as I smile at her. “I will talk sports anytime, Marianne. And I would love to go to a baseball game with you.”
Stone turns his gaze to the window, but I catch the hint of a smile on his face, almost like he’s trying to hide it.
We drop them both off, since Zane is going to spend the night at her house. When we get back in the limo, I close the door, and now it’s only us. Stone doesn’t even say a word. He slides closer to me, stretches his hand across the seat, and reaches for mine. As the car pulls away, he threads our fingers together.
My heart stutters.
“I want to do this in public,” Stone says, his voice warm, like whiskey.
“Me too.”
“So many times, I’ve wanted to take your hand when we’ve been walking around. Put an arm around you.”
I look at our joined hands, bring them to my lips, and plant a kiss on his knuckles. “I want to do the same. Kiss you on the cheek. Ruffle your hair,” I say, reaching my free hand across to show him what I’d do. “Put a hand on you, but not as your bodyguard.”
“You’d do all that? In public?” He sounds surprised.
I laugh. “Out and proud, babe. Out and proud.”
“Well, I know that now. I just like the idea.”
“I’d do all that with you. Anywhere, anytime.”
Stone leans his head back against the leather seat, sounding dreamy. “I’d be amenable.”
“If you weren’t my boss, I would.” I squeeze his hand harder. Rub my thumb across the top of it. These are his instruments. This is the way he makes music, the way he entertains crowds.