Page 35 of Enemies Off Camera
The sound of it—him laughing that way with her—twists something sharp in my stomach.
“Goodbye, Tiffany.”
He ends the call and immediately breaks the law by picking up his phone and fiddling with it. My head’s spinning. Do I call him out? Pretend I don’t care? Keep quiet?
I try. Really, I do.
“I thought women hated you?” I blurt out.
His eyes stay on the road. “Not the women I know.”
I scoff. “You mean women with nice asses?”
Jaxon chuckles, not at all apologetic. “Sorry you had to see that. We started one way, and now we’re friends. She’s married now.”
I frown. “Then what can’t you do with her anymore?”
“Sometimes we’d hit this private club after games. It could get wild—too wild. I can’t be seen there for a while. At least not for six months.” He winks.
“Oh,” I say. That makes sense. Sort of.
He glances at me. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“A few of the ladies said you told them you’d introduce them to better guys than me.”
My eyes roll almost involuntarily. Of course those words would come back to haunt me now.
“I know some decent guys,” I say with a shrug. “Didn’t mean I was dating any of them.”
“Who were you dating?”
I pause. Toby Lane flashes to mind. Real name: Blaine Bello from Dayton, Ohio. He was a walking red flag who couldn’t keep it in his pants.
“Wasn’t it Toby Lane?” Jaxon asks, cutting into my silence.
My head snaps toward him. “How do you know that?”
“I looked it up.”
“You researched me?”
“I would hope you researched me.”
I go silent. Because, no—I didn’t. Not really. I barely thought about Jaxon until yesterday. And now, sitting next to him in this warm car, I realize Roger had been right. I hadn’t taken any of this seriously. Not the gig. Not Jaxon. Not what it would mean if we failed.
He lets out a low snort. That tells me he’s having the same thoughts as I am.
There’s so much I could say. About Toby. About all the guys before him. About how I always seem to fall for the ones who hurt me and ignore the ones who never would. How the women from the show feel exactly the same—they love me until it stops serving them, and then they’re out.
But I don’t say any of that.
Because I don’t trust Jaxon with it.
Instead, I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. It’s safer that way. Safer than blurting something I’ll regret. Easier than admitting that I can feel it—he’s done. Done pretending. Done playing boyfriend. Done withme.
TWENTY-SEVEN
