I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from saying anything at all and tore my eyes from her face, my heart racing again.
Telling myself to snap out of it, I felt nothing but gratitude when Cletus stepped forward to say, “The suit is quite elegant, isn’t it? I recommended the tailor.”
“Only because Billy recommended the tailor to you,” one of the other Winston brothers cut in, making everyone chuckle.
I took the opportunity to take a step back, hoping we could use the shift in conversation to make our getaway—but not because I didn’t want to see or talk to Raquel. We needed to leave because I wanted to see and talk to her so, so much more than any man should when he’s involved with someone else. Especially when the woman preoccupying his thoughts was engaged.
Speaking of which, every time I thought about Raquel with that cheating, scummy SOB, I saw red. It enraged me. The idea of him getting to touch her, being on the receiving end of her smiles and sweetness. It was a travesty. She deserved so much better.
So does Charlotte.
Dammit.
I am a bastard.
And that was the truth. My father had said he was proud of me, how much I’d changed, how disciplined I’d become in my personal life. I didn’t deserve it—his pride or his praise—and Charlotte certainly didn’t deserve to be with someone who couldn’t stop thinking about someone else.
This doesn’t matter. Raquel will be gone soon. She’ll leave, just like before. Why would she stay? She’s a huge, world-famous movie star. There’s nothing of interest to her here. Charlotte and you will continue on, you’ll build a life together with hard work and dedication, and none of this will matter.
“Well, we should leave y’all to your dinner.” I reached for Charlotte’s hand.
Charlotte pulled her fingers from mine, digging in her purse. “Just a sec. Before we go—do you mind if I take a picture?” To my horror, Charlotte had retrieved her phone and addressed her question to Raquel.
“Sure. Absolutely. No problem.” Raquel readily agreed, and before I could think to object, Charlotte bent close to her, lifting the cell up as though to take a selfie.
“Please, allow me.” Cletus stepped forward, taking the phone from Charlotte. “I can’t abide two-person selfies. One person’s face looks like a billboard, and the other looks like a doll head.”
The women grinned, and Cletus snapped several shots. “Y’all want to do some poses?” he asked. “Sienna, jump in there and do that Charlie’s Angels thing.”
“Oh! Good idea.” Sienna grinned, jumping in and bringing Cletus’s wife and Ashley along as well.
“Any other poses?” Cletus turned to Jethro and then me, as though to solicit ideas. “Maybe—”
“No more poses,” I said, giving my head a little shake.
“Having a bad day, Jackson?” Jethro’s voice spoke from somewhere behind me. I ignored his question.
Cletus stared at me for a tick, a look that might’ve seemed harmless had I known him any less, and then said, “Jackson, do you want a picture with Ms. Ezra?” all curious innocence and solicitousness. So, in other words, he was being sneaky as hell.
I glared at him. “No, thank you, Cletus. I’m sure Ms. Ezra would prefer—”
“Come on, Jackson!” Charlotte marched over and moved behind me, pushing and steering my body until Raquel’s shoulder brushed my arm. I sucked in a breath.
“There.” Charlotte stood back, grinning at us. “Give me your phone, Jackson. I’ll take the picture.”
“Here. Use mine.” Suddenly, Cletus had his phone out, unlocked, and in front of Charlotte. “I’ll send it to him later.” Eyes on me, a sinister smile curving his lips, barely noticeable behind his bushy beard.
But I saw it. And I knew what it meant. He had plans for that picture. It’s a good thing I’d taken the time to become friends with Cletus Winston over the last several years, because if this is how he treated people he liked, I shuddered to think what he did to those folks he didn’t.
“Thanks, Cletus,” Charlotte said cheerfully, accepting the offered phone, once more oblivious to anything other than what was right in front of her.
Meanwhile, I stared stiffly forward, trying not to breathe. I could smell Raquel’s perfume, floral and sweet, and the scent brought everything from our night together rushing back. This is torture.
“Raquel, is it okay with you if Jackson puts his arm around your shoulder? No pressure.” Charlotte pointed between the two of us.
“Charlotte,” I grit out, glaring at my friend—I mean, my girlfriend. “I’m sure Ms. Ezra doesn’t want strangers touching her.”
“No. No, it’s good.” Raquel encircled my wrist with her fingers, lifting my arm over her shoulders and stepping closer, the whole of her luscious body tucked against the side of mine before I’d had a single second to prepare for the scalding contact.
I felt Raquel’s chest expand, press against my torso as she breathed in deeply, and I grit my teeth harder. I wanted to imagine myself taking a swim in the Artic Ocean but couldn’t quite manage it, instead sending a prayer upward that this elegant suit I wore hid the less than elegant erection in my pants.
Instinct kicked in, and I breathed out, separating myself from where I was, who I was with, and the cluttered chaos of my mind.
Relax, I told myself. Slow it down. Go somewhere else.
I suspected any kid who has been bullied in school, any boy who was small and scrawny for his age, anyone who felt awkward and ugly growing up, learns how to do this without trying. It was an innate skill I now used whenever I found myself in a dangerous or uncertain situation at work, when tensions and adrenaline were running high.
I told myself to slow it down. Slow my mind down and pretend I was an observer, a bystander not in the thick of the action. I didn’t have to feel scared or shitty about myself if I didn’t wish to. I could simply pretend.
Just pretend, for a moment, that you’re watching from somewhere on the other side of the room, what do you expect to see? You expect that Jackson James has never met Raquel Ezra before right now. Pretend you don’t know she loves to fish, and that her favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, and that she’s great at chess, and is funny and charming and kind.
Pretend for a moment that Jackson James is meeting one of his favorite actresses for the very first time and he has no idea what her warm, soft body feels like curled against his while he sleeps, the sound of her laugh, the texture of her skin, how she tastes, how her body tenses and flexes when she comes, the sweetness of her touch.
Just . . . pretend.
I breathed out. I relaxed.
“There. That looks nice.” Charlotte beamed at us both and sing-songed, “Smile!”
Then it was over, and I pulled away. I turned to Ms. Ezra, movie star, and without meeting her eyes, I said, “Thank you. Goodbye.”
I nodded to each of the Winstons and their significant others, waving politely as I pulled my girlfriend toward Hannah Townsen at the hostess stand. We needed to sit down and get on with the rest of our evening.
And I needed to get on with the rest of my life.
Chapter 8