Page 223 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

I know what he’s asking, but I’m afraid to tell him the truth. “My love for you hasn’t.”

He nods, accepting what his gut tells him, and we start walking back to the main entrance. “Where’s your suitcase?”

“I rented a car at the airport.”

My eyebrows arch, and I have to lift my jaw off the ground. “You’re such a New Yorker. I didn’t know you knew how to drive.”

Wrapping his arm around me, he says, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, baby.”

The release of tension feels good, even if it is short-lived.

I wait while he pulls the car around to pick me up. I stand from the bench where I’m waiting as soon as I see it.Sleek. Black. Lamborghini.He shifts it into park and comes around to help me in. “I should have guessed you’d rent a luxury sports car.”

“It’s not every day I get to drive one of these babies.” He shuts the door and runs around to the driver’s side and gets back in.

“It’s not every day you get to drive at all. Are you sure you can handle her?” I’m met with a dead-eyed glare. Raising my hands in surrender, I laugh under my breath. “Just saying, if you need me to drive her home?—”

“Settle down. I may be a city kid, but I’ve got this handled.”

He did. He handled the car like a dream . . . until he met rush hour on the 405. After the fourth stall-out, he looks at me andsays, “She’s meant for speed, not sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

“I can’t give you speed since they’re residential roads, but I can show you a detour if you get off at the next exit.” The pace is slower, but there’s more time to reflect on my feelings that returning to seeing my dad has evoked, and even the visit with my mom before that.

Driving down the palm tree–lined street, Jackson shifts gears, and says, “I don’t know if you remember, but my dad had a heart attack a few years back.”

I sit up, adjusting my seat belt. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t remember.”

“He had it while selling the business. The stress of negotiations finally got to him. My mom had also been begging him for years to retire. That retirement and the life he worked so hard for was almost taken away. He’s fine now. Best shape of his life, but we know we’re lucky to have him.”

“I can only hope my dad has the same outcome.”

He reaches over and gently squeezes my leg. We haven’t felt ourselves, but that gesture gives me comfort. “He’ll pull through better than ever.”

Leaning my head back, I feel like I can finally breathe again. “Promise?” I turn to him and smile.

“Promise.”

When we reach the driveway, I give Jackson the code to punch in, and the gates open. Pulling up to the house, he says, “Beverly Hills is always exactly like what you see in the movies. I don’t know why that always surprises me.”

“It’s like that on purpose. It’s all a Hollywood façade.”

Jackson thinks I don’t know much about him, but there are certain things I do know—he was raised by his parents, who are still happily married and in the seat of wealth. He’s from newish money compared to some in Manhattan. He comes froma respected and reputable last name. He knows money. He’s just not pretentious.

I give him the quick tour, which means I take him directly to my room because I do not have the energy to walk him around the estate. “My dad’s chef might be here if you’re hungry. There’s a menu in the top drawer of the nightstand.”

“A menu? Like room service?”

Why do I feel embarrassed?He knows that’s all my dad since my personal financial situation hangs by a thread. I have no room to brag. But then I remember what my dad said. I didn’t get a chance to enjoy the news of the trust fund under that circumstance, but now . . . No, I still can’t. The money feels different now. “Yeah. I’m not going to eat. I just need to sleep.” I brush my teeth to rid myself of my coffee breath and then kick off the flip-flops I found in the closet. When I slip on my pajamas again, the shorts are skintight and ride up, but I can’t think about that right now. I tug on the T-shirt that doesn’t quite reach my belly button and return to the bedroom.

From the chair closest to the closet, Jackson’s eyes take me in as soon as I leave the bathroom. If we were home, we’d soothe any troubled waters with great sex. No one can ever say we aren’t pure chemistry, but I’m craving a different connection with him.

When I bend over to grab my scrunchie from the suitcase where I dumped it early this morning, I hear a chuckle. “Spoiled?”

I pop back up, having already forgotten what’s written across the back of the shorts. “It used to be something I laughed about in high school, not even realizing how true it was. Now I cringe.” I crawl back into the bed I never made before I left.

“Cringing is the last thing on my mind when I see your ass.”

Normally, my body would react instantaneously to him, but now I’m the one keeping secrets, so where does that leave us?

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