“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you more. Sweet dreams, baby girl.”
After we hang up, I lie back and close my eyes. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me I barely touched my dinner. No wonder I can’t sleep.
Throwing back the covers, I pull on a pair of sleep shorts under my oversized T-shirt and tiptoe downstairs. The house is dark and quiet, with just the dim glow of the stove light illuminating the kitchen.
I move quietly, opening the refrigerator and taking out what I need to make a sandwich. The cool tile feels good against my bare feet as I assemble my midnight snack—turkey, provolone, lettuce, and a smear of some fancy mustard Jax seems to be addicted to.
After a few bites, I let my attention wander until it catches on a partially open door across the room.
I know I shouldn’t. This isn’t my house. Jax has already shown me his art studio, but curiosity still gets the better of me.
Wrapping my half-eaten sandwich in a paper towel, I tiptoe across the room, push the door open and step inside.
Moonlight streams through the open curtains, casting everything in a soft blue glow as I take another bite of my sandwich and look around, careful not to disturb anything.
There’s a stack of books on game design, a few framed photos—one of him with an older man I recognize as his father, and another with Ryder.
My gaze lands on a sketchbook lying open on the desk, and I can’t resist.
The page shows a sketch of a woman’s profile with her hair flowing over one shoulder, eyes closed as if lost in thought. The details are so precise—the curve of her neck, the slight upturn of her nose—they almost remind me of…
My breath comes faster as I flip backwards through the book until I come to another drawing. This one is much more revealing. The angle suggests it was drawn from inside, looking out through a window.
The woman is stretching her arms above her head, arching her back. Every detail perfect, right down to the set of dimples resting above her butt. A set of dimples that look awfully familiar.
My heart stutters to a stop as I stare at the page in disbelief.
It’s me. Completely naked. Standing if front of my bedroom window.
Hands trembling, I flip through page after page only to come to the realization that all of the sketches in this book are of me. Just me. There’s even one where I have my arms raised above my head, face tilted toward the sky, doing yoga by the lake.
Heat flushes my cheeks as I snap the sketchbook closed, taking it with me as I quietly storm upstairs.
Dropping back onto the bed, I flip through the sketches again. As I study each drawing more carefully, I start seeing details I missed before. The careful shading of my hair falling across my shoulders. The exact curve of my hip. The way my eyelashes rest against my cheeks.
How long has he been watching me, studying me?
Before I moved to Lakeside, I’d only visited maybe a one or twice a month. I remember seeing him a couple of times, but it was always from afar, and I always turned around and headed in the other direction every time in order avoid a confrontation.
Was it the same for him? Were there times when he’d seen me and I hadn’t noticed him?
There’s reverence in these lines. The attention to detail proves it’s not just about my body; it’s about capturing moments in time.
I flip through page after page. A headshot of me laughing. Sitting under the oak tree in my backyard reading. There’s a gentleness to them, a softness that feels intimate in a way that makes my chest ache. It’s like he sees me in ways I can’t see myself.
Is this... obsession?
Jax doesn’t seem like the type to obsess over anything or anyone, much less me.
Why didn’t he show these to me before? I vaguely remember him shuffling some things around while I looked around the first time he showed me this space. Was he trying to hide this from me? If so, why?
A sharp burst of annoyance hits. I have half a mind to go wake his ass up right now and ask him.
Resigned, I let out a tired sigh and check the time. It’s late. Operation Interrogate Jax can wait until morning.
forty-three
