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Chapter 25
“What are you doing here?”
Allison’s eyes are wide and on me for one reason: I just screeched to a stop and parked crookedly in her parents’ driveway. The second I saw Xavier McCormack—bent over her, head tilted for a kiss—a spike of jealousy fueled my reaction. Which is why the truck’s engine is still idling, and the driver’s-side door is hanging open.
“What am I doing here?” I demand of Allie, but I’m stalking to Xavier, my fists balled.
“We broke up last night, Jax. You were clear about that.” She clutches Xavier tighter as my vision goes red with rage.
I have no idea what she’s talking about. Last night I got dressed in her bedroom, kissed her good night, and left. I also left my cellphone here, which is probably under the coffee table where it fell out of my pocket.
“What the hell are you—” I cut myself off when I catch the slight widening of Allie’s eyes paired with the subtle lift of her brow. That’s when I blink and snap my gaze from her to Xavier to the guy with a very large camera perched on his shoulder filming this entire thing.
Shit. Shit.
I don’t know if he’s a paparazzo or a cameraman from a reality TV series or a guy Xavier hired who wanted to make a quick hundred bucks. I don’t know anything.
I blink again, correcting that thought. I know one thing. I’m in love with Allison Murphy and she’s clinging to Xavier McCormack. I assume she’s putting on a show for the camera guy and whoever nabs this footage and broadcasts it for anyone who cares. Most likely Allie’s future employers, who will be watching to see if she’s still marketable. So they can decide whether or not she’s worth paying as much or more than the douchebag who’s smirking at me.
“I’ve forgiven her for her indiscretion,” Xavier tells me, the smug asshole.
“You two were over when we started.” My teeth are bared, my spine rigid. I would love nothing more than to pummel the life out of this jerk, but Allie stops me. Not with her words but with a barely there head shake that the camera guy misses since he’s aiming the lens at me.
“Jackson. What are you doing here?” Allie dips her chin like she’s trying to remind me of my line.
Oh. She wants me to play along. Well, fuck that. I don’t want to play along. I want to beat the life out of Mr. Oscar-napper for the world to see.
But that wouldn’t be for Allie—that would be for me.
Without much of a choice, I mutter, “I forgot my phone.”
Relief shows in the relaxing of her shoulders before she crosses her arms and addresses me with a terse expression preceding an award-winning performance. “You should have thought about that when you left me high and dry. I thought we were starting over.”
“I thought you were over this guy.” I gesture to Xavier. Unable to help myself, I add, “I thought you said he was a tiny-dicked nobody who couldn’t act for shit.”
“She’d never say that,” Xavier says, but there’s a question in his voice.
“I wouldn’t.” Allie slides her hands over his chest and pegs me with a look that might be pity. She’s so damn good this is beginning to feel real. But it’s not, I remind myself.
“Go home, Jax,” she tells me. “You broke me last night and I’m not in a forgiving mood.”
“Is he here to white-knight you back to L.A.?”
“I was always going back to L.A.”
And there it is. The truth buried in the lies we’re standing here spouting for the public eye. Fact: she was always going back to L.A. I shove my hands in my pockets and stare her down, trying to decide what comes next and realizing it doesn’t matter. I climb in my truck and briefly consider running Xavier over. Tempting. Very tempting.
Instead, I dare myself to do something else brave and un-take-back-able.
“I love you, Mini.”
“She doesn’t want you,” Xavier blurts out, ruining the moment. Allie’s face is a mask of shock for a beat before she recovers with an expression that’s more controlled. Slipping into anger as seamlessly as an eye blink, she says, “I used to love you.”
On that note, I back out of the driveway and squeal my tires as I zoom from her neighborhood.
It’s for show. All of it.
She didn’t mean what she said.
