Page 33 of Enemies Off Camera
He says it like a decree. Like a king whose word is final.
Every cell in my body wants to resist. I stare at his profile, trying to figure out what to say. It’s freezing outside, and this car is warm and comfortable. But it’shimI want to get away from.
“I have to stop at my place first,” he adds. “If you’re hungry, I’ll call ahead to room service. They can have something ready when we arrive. Unless you’re still full from that sandwich.”
I tense. Does he mean the po’boy I was caught scarfing down like I hadn’t eaten in weeks?
“Was that supposed to be a joke, an insult, or is that just your personality?”
He snorts. “It was a joke. Sorry if it didn’t land.”
“You’re not great at joking,” I mutter. “Remember what you said about the girls and their ‘girlish figures’? That wasn’t funny either.”
He glances over, suddenly more serious.
“You know how many women struggle with body image? Hearing the guy they’re supposed to be falling for make a crack about them needing to eat less? That sticks.”
He falls silent. Then: “Did I really say that?”
“You did.”
“Damn.” He rubs his jaw. “That wasn’t what I meant. Honestly, I thought women liked that kind of stuff.”
“You did?”
“They were always talking about how bloated they felt, how they’d gained weight since filming started. I told production to ease up on the alcohol—it was too much. I guess I was being sarcastic, but if it came off cruel… I’m sorry.”
It’s the most I’ve ever heard him say in a single breath. He even sounds… humbled. Like he actually cares. Which is interesting.
“Apology accepted,” I whisper, feeling—for the first time—that maybe it’s time I extend him some grace.
A beat passes. “So... are you hungry? We’re almost there.”
I glance out the window. The pier is just across the street. My guess? He lives in one of the tall buildings facing the ocean.
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine.” Then I remember the earlier conversation. “But… thank you for asking.”
He glances over, his brow lifting in mild surprise. Then he nods.
“You’re welcome.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Jaxon asks if I mind waiting in the SUV while he runs up to grab his things. We’re parked outside his building, where a doorman stands like a sentry beneath a chandeliered lobby and floor-to-ceiling glass. He tells me he packed before the game—already planning to leave for L.A. tonight.
I’m curious, of course. I want to see what his place looks like. But just before the vehicle stopped, a call lit up the dash screen: Daphne – Pretty.
That’s how he saved her in his phone.Daphne – Pretty. Is that his way of reminding himself she’s hot? Or... what?
I found it tasteless. And yes—that’s exactly why I chose to stay in the car. I wasn’t about to linger while he took her call like I didn’t exist.
So now I sit. Fuming. Wondering if he even remembers he’s supposed to have agirlfriend. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
But God, I’m tired. The longer I wait, the more my body begs for sleep. Still, I refuse. Not again. I can’t risk him coming back to find me drooling in his front seat like I did during his touchdown.
Although, if he hadn’t scored, none of this would’ve gone viral in the first place.
I scowl at myself. What a petty, selfish thought. Maybe Jaxon’s right about me. Maybe thereisa streak of selfishness I haven’t faced.
