Frankie texts me every day. Wanting to know all the deets.
Frankie
I can’t wait to kiss your face!
Contain yourself, doll.
Jonah catches me grinning at my phone. “Who are you texting?” Then his eyes narrow. “Is that your friend in California?”
“As if I’d tell you.”
He shakes his head as if I’ve destroyed any positive thoughts he had about me. “This is about a guy, isn’t it?”
For fuck’s sake. “You caught me, Jonah. Frankie’s the love of my life.” And since Frankie would hate to be left out of this, I text her the news.
Hey, lover. Jonah is on to us. I think he wants to join in.
Okay, but I still get to be the top.
I laugh at that, and when Jonah glares at me, I show him the messages. He turns bright red and rushes from the room.
Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.
I’m packing when there’s a knock on my door. Of course it’s open, so Jonah walks right in.
“Vivian, I—” He stops and stares.
My bed is covered with everything I might need to pack. And my suitcases. It’s a lot. But I don’t want to leave anything. If I get this job… But I am not focusing on that right now because Jonah is glaring at me.
“What is all this?” And before I can come back with a snarky reply, he adds, “We have limited space in the van.”
What he doesn’t understand is that I need this stuff for the talent show. My outfit. My makeup. My styling tools. He’d be more likely to get it if I actually told anyone what I was doing. Not that he’d believe it.
That would take me explaining that my past freakouts were never about performing in front of a crowd. But telling him the real reason isn’t going to happen. Jonah might not ask—because that would imply caring of some sort—but he would mock me mercilessly.
“Not all of this is going.” I ignore him and add things to the suitcase. Random things because my focus is on Jonah standing behind me. “I’m still deciding.”
“Whatever. Just remember, you only get one suitcase.”
I laugh as I turn to face him. His eyes narrow. “Oh shit. You’re not joking.”
He crosses his arms, and my eyes zoom in on his biceps. Breathing gets more difficult.
His hand slamming against the doorframe. His bicep right there. The dark hair of his pit. His scent?—
“Vivian, are you paying attention? This is important.”
I want to tell him that I am paying attention. That’s the problem. I need to stop obsessing about this. Sure, Jonah is attractive. But he’s also a jerk. And I can’t stand him.
“What do you need all this stuff for?”
He already sees too much. I’m not giving him more. “Stop being so nosey.”
But Jonah isn’t letting this go. Do I tell him why I need the extra space? Or let him go on believing I’m a diva?
It’s not like I care what he thinks. He’s the most stubborn man I’ve ever met. The mulish expression on his face right now is a three out of five. He hasn’t reached his limit. If he gets to a four, I’ll explain.
He studies me as if he’s trying to figure out why I’m being so evasive. He should expect this from me by now.
