Page 14 of Jacob

“She’ll have a new boyfriend soon,” I say unconvincingly, finding myself clenching my fists at the thought.

Lincoln spots my distress. “Alright, caveman. Whatever. I look forward to hearing from you while you’re in London wanting me to talk you out of knocking on her hotel door and fucking her senseless.” He chuckles, swinging his car door open and sliding into the driver’s seat. “Call me when Owen sobers up and you find out who the hell Evangeline is?” He slams his door shut.

Firing up his stunning sports car, he gives me a brief wave before he drives carefully down my gravel drive and slips out onto the country road. Lincoln opens his baby up, disappearing with loud pops and bangs from his Porsche 911 exhaust into the cold night.

I sigh, my hot breath evaporating in a huge puff of smoke. He’s right, I should speak to Owen. But I don’t know how.

Where do I even start?

Closing my front door, I lock us in for the night and head back along the glass corridor that divides the living spaces of my home from the bedrooms.

I move mytired-from-the-gym body into the bedroom, snick my door shut and wander into my adjoining bathroom then peel off my gym kit and throw everything into my hamper, including my sneakers. I’ve been working out so much lately that they need a good wash, or they are likely to walk themselves to the washing machine.

Before jumping in the shower, I admire my new tattoos in the bathroom mirror. I’m still getting used to how different my body looks, covered in black ink, and my hard work at the gym has really paid off. I’m bigger and broader now than I have ever been. I don’t look anything like the slim, lanky boy I used to be.

I only joined the gym to pummel Skye out of my system and make myself feel better. That was a big fat fail. However, the by-product of all the workouts has my body in the best shape of my life… My head and my heart? Now that’s another story.

Turning slightly, my eyes linger on the black and aqua-blue clouds with multiple interwoven symbols across my back. Only I know what they signify, and that’s the way it will stay.

Freshly showered, I jump into my king-sized bed, pull the navy-blue comforter up to my waist and rest my weary bones.

Sliding my phone off the nightstand, I set a reminder alarm to check on Owen every hour. I’m a fucking babysitter for a thirty-year-old who weighs over two hundred pounds of solid muscle.

But he needs me, and he would do the same for me.

Opening the video app on my phone, I click on my subscribed channels and do what I’ve been doing every night since she started her hand lettering channel. I watch her.

Selecting her latest video, I turn the volume down to the lowest setting so Owen can’t overhear and gaze at the screen. “Hi and welcome to anotherHand lettering with Skyetutorial.”

While the hand lettering she creates is oddly hypnotic, my eyes focus on her ocean blues and kind smile on the small inset video on the bottom right-hand side of the screen.

I wish I could make it bigger.

She bites her soft pink lips, sticking her tongue out as she concentrates. What I wouldn’t give to have a taste of that tempting mouth. I pause the video at the point when she lifts her head and looks straight down the camera lens.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself before closing down the app, and slap my phone face down on the bed.

Rolling over onto my side, I close my eyes with the hope that maybe tonight I can get a couple of hours of sleep at least, in between Owen-sitting, but my mind is plagued with thoughts of her.

6

JACOB

Wheeling my suitcase into the kitchen, I get the fright of my life when a voice calls out, “Morning.”

Skye.

“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out gruffer than expected. I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.

Owen steps through the sliding glass doors from the back garden. “Sorry, I went to get some fresh air.” He runs his hands through his disheveled hair. He looks wrecked. I was up every hour to check on him and twice I found him with his head in the toilet. “Skye says you’re off to London?” He grips his hand to his stomach, presumably because he feels sick again.

“I arranged to meet you at the airport.” I look at Skye and almost moan out loud. She’s wearing my favorite skirt. The black and teal plaid pleated one and those fucking socks.

Motherfucker.

“I thought I could leave my car here instead and we could travel together. I had Shona change my arrangements.” She smiles cheekily.

You’re playing with fire, Butterfly.

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