She clasped her hands together and was clearly excited but a moment later her enthusiasm died. “Am I dressed okay?” She wore dark-colored jeans and a sleeveless green top paired with black pointy flats.
“You’re good,” Jackson said. “Like I said, it’s nothing formal.” His attention veered toward me once more. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be ready.”
I’d been so enraptured with our bubble these past months that I prayed it didn’t burst when we were subjected to the rest of the world, his press conference being the first exposure.
42
Without realizing it, I’d chosen a short-sleeve lightweight sweater the same color as Jackson’s button-up. I paired it with dark-washed jeans and cheetah-print flats. Abby grumped because I was more dressed up than her, but we were both in jeans. Only after the fourth time of me telling her she looked great did she stop pouting.
With my hand locked on to Jackson’s, he led us to a dark gray SUV. Trevor, Elton, and Lance waited by the rear of the vehicle.
“Who is that?” Abby whispered in my ear, tugging on my free hand, pointing at the man who just started talking to me again. “He’s cute.”
“That’s Trevor. He’s Jackson’s trainer.”
“Introduce us,” she rushed to say just before he was within earshot.
“Right on time,” Trevor said, opening the back door for us. “Hi, Sophie.” He pushed a strand of his dark hair off his forehead, briefly looking at Abby with interest.
“Hey, Trevor.” I pointed toward my sister. “This is Abby.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Abby,” he said, his eyes brightening the moment they connected with hers.
Abby’s excitement was palpable, and while I wanted to tell her to play it cool, who was I to give anyone advice on how to act?
After I introduced her to the two other guys on Jackson’s team, Elton slid behind the wheel, while Lance occupied the passenger seat. The SUV had three rows, all of them with captain seats. Trevor and Abby sat in the second row, and Jackson and I took up the third.
“Are you nervous?” Abby asked, turning in her seat to talk to Jackson.
“Nope.”
“Not even a little?”
“Jax is an old pro at these things,” Trevor said. “Wait until you see him perform for the crowd. He’s something else.”
“Is that right?” I asked, angling my body toward the fighter. “And what do you do that’s so entertaining?”
“Nothing. He’s fucking around,” he replied, his tone slightly bitter.
“Tonight is going to be different,” Lance said from two rows up.
Jackson mumbled something beside me, but I couldn’t make out what he said. I reached across the small aisle and touched his arm. He looked at me, but his expression was strained. I was seconds away from asking him what was wrong, but something told me not to.
“So, Abby, is this the first one of these you’ve been to?” Trevor asked.
“It is. Will there be a lot of people there?”
“Absolutely. Press. Fans. And of course, Jackson’s opponent and his team.”
Again, Jackson spoke under his breath, only this time I felt I should say something. At the very least, show him I was here for him if he needed me.
“Are you okay?” I asked in a hushed tone, hoping for a bit of privacy, although I wasn’t sure that was feasible with everyone in such proximity.
“I’m fine. I just want to get this over with.”
“Because you don’t want to see the guy you’re fighting?” For the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name. “I don’t think you can get away with it, since you’ll be dancing around in the ring with him in two days.”
