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“I’ll leave now.”
Getting more writing done is out of the question. Jaxson Jordan is coming here.
It’s not a big deal. I didn’t have a crush on him in my teens, a completely inappropriate one, considering the circumstances. I didn’t fantasize about falling into his muscular arms, laying my cheek against his powerful chest, feeling safe, protected, and like I belonged.
Oh, and also… the sky isn’t blue. I’m so full of crap.
What seems like a short time later, the doorbell rings. I pause in the hallway mirror, brush down my hair, then answer the door.
I thought Jaxson would seem shorter since I’ve gained a few inches, but he looms over me. He’s wearing a casual shirt with sleeves rolled up and his top buttons undone. His torso is even bigger than I remember. His hair glistens as if he’s recently showered. That thought gets jettisoned. I can’t think about Jaxson is the shower. He stares at me for a long moment, seeming pissed, his eyes even more penetrating than in his author’s photo.
“Hey,” I say. I’ve got to saysomething.
It must annoy him at being here, having to babysit an overreactor, and returning to the place with so many memories—where he betrayed his best friend by getting with my mom.
“Hello, Zoey,” he says. “It’s good to see you again.”
He might tell his face that.
“I feel silly for calling you.” I gesture into the house, and we walk into the living room together. “I know it’s probably nothing. I didn’t want to call the cops.”
“They wouldn’t assign her as a missing person until she’s been gone for twenty-four hours, anyway,” he says. “You did the right thing. What’s the name of her ex?”
“Axel Todd.”
Jaxson nods. He’s standing behind the couch, looking at my laptop, the page with one paragraph sitting at the top.
“Are you a writer?” he asks.
There are more important things to consider, but I welcome his interest even if I probably shouldn’t.
“Trying to be. I’m studying English lit at college.”
“So, you’re going to write fancy, wordy novels, eh?”
His tone is teasing, but I snap, “Yes, I am, actually. Not everybody has to write action thrillers.”
He smirks, turns, and walks right up to me. He’s standing way too close. Not that I’m complaining, but I’m just wondering why. He stares down with a smirk playing on his lips.
“When did you get so sassy? I remember a shy girl who wouldn’t look me in the eye.”
“It’s a miracle, right? I’ve changed in the past ten years. I’m not a kid anymore. What a revelation.”
It’s not his fault I’m resisting the desire to touch his arms, to press firmly and feel his muscles. It’s not his fault I’m struggling to stay sane, being this close to him.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. Right. Let’s start with your mom’s work. Have you got the number for her office? I’ll call up and see if she left on time.”
“I feel like an idiot. I should’ve done that.”
“Get the number, and don’t insult yourself.”
Why does he care if I call myself an idiot? Probably because he was Dad’s best friend. Perhaps because he’s Mom’s ex, technically, though their relationship—if itwasa relationship and not a wild fling—was never official.
I grab my phone from the coffee table and scroll through my contacts. I’m about to read him the number for Mom’s workplace when the front door opens.
Mom walks in, holding four large bags of shopping.
She pauses in the hallway, looking at Jaxson and me, a question in her eyes.
