Page 46 of Break Point

“That’s more like it,” I say. I leave my hand on her leg for a second, but curl my fingers against her leggings and pull my hand away the moment the creep factor sets in.

“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat.

Jaden doesn’t respond, and I spend the next block of travel feeling like a complete asshole until I feel her fingertips tickle along the back of my hand, coaxing my fingers to flex and make room for hers. I smile at her faintly when her hand squeezes mine, then spend the next few miles staring at the way our skin looks woven side by side, until my dad pulls into the restaurant’s valet and she lets go.

I’m thankful that Amelia is wearing a Cordon sweatshirt and jeans so that Jaden doesn’t feel too underdressed. As it is, my postgame button-down and khakis make me feel more like an intern than a grown-ass man in this place. The entryway is made of water and glass, showers raining over jagged edges stained a dozen shades of blue to make it look like an ocean. The fishy scent isn’t my favorite, but Amelia loves seafood, so at least my sister will get a nice dinner out of what promises to be a shit show. There’s no way both of us are getting out of here unscathed.

“Is this one of those places where they don’t put the prices on the menu?” Jaden whispers at my side. I nod and breathe out a silent laugh. I wish her hand would find its way back to mine, but I’ll take the warmth of her arm brushing against me.

“Do you like lobster?” I quirk a brow.

Her head bobs side to side as she shrugs.

“Well, if you can stomach it, order that. It’s the most expensive. I might order two.”

She laughs out loud, quickly covering her mouth with her palm, but when our eyes meet, she drops her hand and blinks her eyes wide.

“You’re not kidding?”

I shake my head. I’m going to push for expensive wine too. And an appetizer or three. Whatever I can get out of this torture. The man can afford it.

“I think my wife is already here with some of our guests. Ah, yes, there she is.” My dad ushers us into the restaurant, bypassing the poor twentysomething working the host stand. We weave through the dozens of tables toward the large one near the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the hillside and city lights.

“There are my babies!” Savannah squeals, stretching her arms wide and flaring the sleeves of her bright-yellow blouse. She looks like a moth. I endure her hug and kiss, which I am certain leaves a smudge of bright-red lipstick on my jawline. My sister takes a strategic route around the other side of the table to get out of having to embrace our stepmom for now. Savannah is forever trying to force Amelia into becoming her bestie.

Unfortunately, I failed to protect Jaden from Savannah’s clingy hands. She swoops in to hug Jaden while I’m distracted by sliding one of the heavy chairs out, and by the time I turn to offer it to Jaden, I’m met with her pleading expression as her chin gets lost amid the ruffles that line the shoulder of my stepmom’s sleeve.

“Tell me all about it. How did you two meet?” Savannah lets go of Jaden and immediately clasps her hands in front of her as her gaze sways from me back to Jaden again.

“We’re both—”

“We’re both athletes at Cordon. I’ve known Bryson since freshman year,” Jaden cuts in.

My mouth pulls into a lopsided smirk as my gaze shifts to her. Somehow, without me having to warn her, I think Jaden knows it’s best to avoid the topic of Amelia’s app.

“How nice. So you’re a cheerleader, then?” Savannah claps her hands in emphasis, and I turn to my side to stifle my chuckle.

“Uh, no. I play tennis.”

I’m becoming familiar with that edge in Jaden’s tone. It’s somewhere between indignant and snarky, and when it’s not directed at me, I must admit I like it.

“Oh . . . cute. We play tennis sometimes, don’t we, Jacob?” Savannah scrunches her fingers in my father’s direction, her fake nails clicking together.

“What’s that?” my father says, feigning interest.

“Tennis. Bryson’s new girlfriend plays tennis, and I was just telling her that you and I play sometimes. At the club.” Savannah makes as if she’s swinging a tennis racket while my father nods and smiles at her. He’s placating her, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her overdone grin remains as she shifts her gaze back to Jaden.

“We have a great club,” Savannah adds, wrapping her spindly, long fingers around Jaden’s wrist. “It’s right by the PGA golf course. You’d love it.”

“Uh . . . oh. That’s great. I bet it’s nice.” Jaden’s attention bounces from the diamond-adorned hand grasping her to my stepmom’s smiling red lips. She’s trying her best to engage with Savannah, but she needs rescuing. I gesture toward the chair I pulled out for her so she can get some space from my stepmom’s insipid conversation.

“How often do you do this?” Jaden mutters, leaning my direction as I take the seat next to her.

“Too often,” I answer, plastering on the forced smile I’m going to have to keep up for at least an hour. My jaw typically hurts by the end of evenings like this.

My father must be schmoozing his guests, because he orders three different rare wines for the table before our server even has a chance to greet us and explain the specials. I’ve never really seen Jaden drink, but she’s not shy about clutching her glass the moment the pouring stops.

“I’m gonna need this,” she says through a breathy laugh before taking a sip.