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I narrow my eyes. “You’re being weird.”
“That wasn’t an answer,” Ember points out.
“One-ish,” I concede, sighing for effect.
“And?” they say in unison.
“And nothing,” I insist. “We just stayed up talking, we get along really well actually. He’s funny once you get past the… Jax-ness of him.”
“Oh, you mean the crippling attractiveness?” Ember offers.
Luna nearly chokes on her coffee.
“Oh my God.” I wave my fork at them. “You’re impossible. We are just friends,” I stress slowly. “Besides, he was a perfect gentleman despite whatever reputation he apparently has, and I’m not interested in dating anyone anyway.”
They exchange a look over their coffee mugs, looking far too amused by my answer for reasons I don’t entirely understand. I pretend not to notice, deciding I should attempt to change the subject instead.
Ember beats me to it, pulling out her phone, “So, uhm, I was scrolling the convention group earlier and well, people are being awful about him.” She looks apologetically around the table. “Do you think he reads this stuff? Because I’d be devastated if it was me and I’m worried he’ll see it and be upset.”
“I doubt it, he likely doesn’t read about himself online after all these years. The internet isn’t a kind place,” Luna says thoughtfully. “The admins are usually really good at blocking negative people too. But since it’s set up day they’re probably not even online. I bet you my weekend takings those people posting now don’t even attend the conventions; they just like to be mean and stir up drama.”
“True. But, listen to this,” Ember says. “‘Jackson is rude, moody, and not worth the money!’ There’s also this one ‘he acts like he’s above everyone, prick.’ And someone else literally wrote ‘hope he brings a smile this weekend, he ruins the experience!’ They are so rude.”
“That’s horrible,” Luna gasps.
I shake my head, suddenly defensive in a way that surprises even me. “People get so brave online. I bet not one of them would be that rude or mean to his face. He’s not like that; those comments are misinformed and just plain mean.”
They nod in agreement as I glance down at my coffee, attempting to hide the small smile tugging at my mouth. I’m glad they’re defending Jax. The version of him, people seem determined to believe in online doesn’t match the man I spent hours talking to beside a fire until one in the morning, and it’s reassuring to know that for once, my instincts are right.
As if conjuring him by thought alone, Jax appears in the doorway, Lennie right behind him. They’ve just finished their morning run and holy mother of all things holy. He is… Hot!
Oh!
His hair is tousled and there’s a sheen of sweat glistening across his body, making his fitted black running top cling to every inch of him. The definition of his arms, and the unmistakable outline of abs beneath the fabric send heat flooding through my body.
His shorts aren’t much better. Or worse. Depending on how you look at it and I am definitely looking at it.
Oh, wait, shit am I staring?
Our eyes lock for one brief second before the corner of his mouth lifts into a slow, knowing smile—giving me a nonchalant wave, as he walks towards his room.
I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding, and my brain immediately clicks. Oh, so that’s why people in books keep saying that. Apparently, I’m now a walking cliché.
Ember lets out a very smug little laugh. “That was...”
“Not. One. Word,” I croak.
Chapter 16
Saint
Bri’s little red Peugeot rattles every time she changes gears, and the dashboard vibrates like it’s held together entirely by grit, tenacity, and sheer bloody-mindedness, which, now that I think about it, describes its owner pretty well too. Music drifts from the speakers as we cruise through the countryside, Guns N’ Roses giving way to Bon Jovi, and Bri occasionally hums along or butchers half a chorus under her breath while she taps her fingers against the steering wheel. I smile softly at her, enjoying the cool blast of the air conditioning. Thank God that works.
The scenery here is stunning, rolling green fields scattered with sheep. Horses grazing lazily behind fences. Wildflowers and sunshine stretching for miles ahead, and a feeling of peace amongst it all. It’s the sort of open, breathing space London doesn’t have room for. Even after six months of living in Port Seton, I still catch myself staring at the openness of Scotland sometimes, like I’m in a dream filled with beauty. Yet missing the one most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I like it here. I like being able to smell the sea in the mornings when I open my flat windows, and having the harbour practically on my doorstep. This country just seems to exhale instead of rush.
“So,” Bri says, glancing at me briefly before focusing back on the road. “How have you made it to thirty without learning to drive?”
