And not just on the physical level. He and Ethan have a very flirty rapport that goes beyond looks or attraction: They speak the same language about design, about craftsmanship. And no way is Jackson the first man Ethan’s been with.
He knows Ethan’s gay, or at the very least bi. And he also knows that their marriage is a farce. Maybe it hasn’t always been—they do have children together—but Abigail is banging Alexander, and Ethan is hooking up with Jackson. Not exactly a storybook romance or family values.
So, what gives?
He still can’t believe Ethan’s explosive reaction, his threat to kill Jackson if he told a soul. Ethan’s just lucky he hadn’t blabbed it yet to Charleigh. But, seriously, he hadn’t seen that blow coming at all. That cruel, ugly, hateful threat:You tell anyone, and you’re dead meat.
So, yeah, he’s going to Dallas to get out of that bonkers town for a minute, lick his wounds. But also, he’s on a mission. He’s going to snoop. Sniff around about Ethan.
He mentioned that he lived in Greenville. Jackson’s certain Ethan must’ve hit some of the gay bars there.
And he intends to find out.
It’s not that he still wants to be with him, not after that rage he flew into last night; it’s more to help process it. To confirm that what he had with Ethan was real. That there are other men he’s been with. And if so, how did he end things with them?
58
Jane
When I pull into the dirt parking lot, Luke’s Camaro is already there.
I see him on the grassy banks, to the left of the old boathouse, talking to Nellie.
Sigh.
I jerk the gearshift into park, swing open the door, bolt from the truck.
I’m still officially ignoring him, so I head down the hill in the direction of the dock, on the other side of the boathouse.
I’m wearing my skimpiest bikini, the most revealing one I own. I bought it in secret at a thrift shop in West End in Dallas. On the way out here, I pulled over on the side of the road, changed into it.
It’s crocheted; you can practically see my nipples through it. Which is the whole point.
I fly down the hill, hair waving behind me, feeling sexy, powerful.
I’ve got my shades on, so it’s easy to ignore Blair’s wave, pretend I didn’t see it.
Instead of going over to her, I shimmy over to Tommy, who’s all but gawking at me. He’s such an easy target. He’s standing on the dock with everyone else, including Blair, and I rush over tohim, throw my arms around his neck, purr in his ear: “Heeey.” I press my chest against his.
When I feel him get hard in his swim trunks, a smile tugs the corners of my mouth up. Victory.
“Well, hey, Jane,” he says, his words all awkward in his mouth.
I can feel Blair’s eyes on me, needling into my back. Still dangling from Tommy’s neck, I twist around, and sure enough, Luke, who definitely just heard me, is walking over to us, jaw squared. Blair’s got a hand planted on her hip, eyes narrowed.
Good. Serves them both.
Again, Blair doesn’t actually know that Luke and I are a thing—we’ve been so undercover—so it’s not even rational that I’m mad at her—but fuck it, I am. I hate her right now, hate the sight of her. Hate her rich-girl prissiness, hate the way she flings herself at him every chance she gets.
So I decide to dig the knife in deeper.
I dive off the dock into the chilly water, which burns my skin; it’s so cold after being out in the heat. I paddle out a little ways, call out, “Hey, Tommy, can you bring me a beer?”
I’m treading—where I’ve swum out to, it’s too deep to stand—and as I’m waiting, I eye the old metal boathouse, watch as the wake from a speedboat that just passed slaps the bottom of it.
I swim back toward the dock, rest my arms on the baking wood, watch as Tommy scrambles to fish two beers out of the cooler, grinning like a loon as he does so. He lowers himself down the ladder, passes me my beer.
“Cheers?” He grins at me expectantly, like I’m gonna kiss him or something. I have half a mind to, and I’m sure he’d appreciate it, especially after Blair’s performance at the party last night, but I have no desire to kiss Tommy. I’m just acting. But I do move toward him, so close that our arms on the deck are touching, close enough so that I can feel his hot breath on my neck.
