Page 72 of Worth the Wait

The betrayal stings more than it should. Even knowing Christine's motives were suspect, I'd felt a thread of genuine concern beneath her warnings. Now that sympathy evaporates, replaced by righteous indignation.

I grab my phone, typing out a quick message to Jackson.

Me: You won’t believe what Zoe just told me about Christine. Where are you?

“I know, right?” She shakes her head, downing the rest of her drink. “Trying to decide if I should have another or call it a night.”

A reply from Jackson interrupts.

Jackson: At Donovan's with Scott from law school. He's in town. Come join us when you're done with Zoe?

I show the text to Zoe, already reaching for my purse. "Mind if I cut this short? I need to tell Jackson about this."

"Go," she says, waving me off with an indulgent smile. “I think it’s best I call it a night anyway.” She yawns, stretching outher arms. “Just promise me all the dirty details later. And I mean ALL of them."

The bar thrums with Thursday night energy as I push through the door, scanning the crowded space for Jackson. I spot him near the back, his broad shoulders and dark hair unmistakable even in the dim lighting. My heart does that ridiculous flutter it always does at the sight of him.

I start to move toward him, then stop abruptly.

Two women stand at their table—both stunning, both laughing at something his friend just said. One places her hand casually on Jackson's arm as she leans in to hear better over the music, her red fingernails stark against the white of his shirtsleeve.

Something hot and unfamiliar surges through me, a visceral reaction that takes me by surprise. Jealousy. Pure, unadulterated jealousy.

I stand frozen, watching the situation unfold. The logical part of my brain knows this is innocent, Jackson texted me himself to join them. But the primitive, possessive part of me wants to march over and peel those manicured fingers off his arm with a warning.

Before I can decide how to proceed, Jackson looks up and spots me. His face transforms into a smile so genuine, so clearly meant just for me, that some of the jealous knot in my chest loosens. He waves me over, saying something to his companions that makes them turn in my direction.

I plaster on a professional smile and make my way through the crowd as the women walk away.

"Tarryn," Jackson says, his voice warm as he pulls out a stool beside him. "This is Scott from Harvard. He’s in town for a conference.”

"Nice to meet you," I say warmly, reminding myself that jealousy isn’t healthy or productive.

"Jackson's been singing your praises," Scott says with an easy smile. "Says you're the most brilliant attorney he's ever worked with."

"He exaggerates," I reply, though the compliment warms me despite my lingering discomfort.

We chat for a few minutes, mostly about Scott and Jackson's law school days. Eventually, Scott checks his watch and sighs. "I should probably call it a night. Early flight tomorrow."

"Shall we?" Jackson asks, gesturing toward the exit.

"Sure," I agree, eager to tell him about Christine and escape the crowded bar.

The night air is cool against my heated skin as we step onto the sidewalk. Jackson walks beside me, close but not touching, a thoughtful silence stretching between us.

"So, what was the big revelation about Christine?" he finally asks as we turn onto his street.

I explain Zoe's bombshell, watching his expression shift from surprise to understanding.

"That explains a lot," he says, shaking his head. "She wasn't protecting you—she was projecting her own guilt. Classic displacement."

"Exactly," I agree.

As we approach his building, Jackson slows his pace, turning to study my face in the gentle glow of the streetlights. "Is something else bothering you? You seem… tense."

"I'm fine," I say too quickly, avoiding his searching gaze. "Just processing everything that happened today."

"Tarryn." Just my name, but the way he says it—part exasperation, part tenderness—makes something twist in my chest.

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