Page 36 of Enemies Off Camera
“Zara.”
Jaxon’s voice cuts through the fog in my head, snapping me awake. My eyes flutter open, and I jolt upright, disoriented for a second—until I remember where I am.
I glance out the window.
We’re parked in front of my house, the SUV idling before the closed gate. I turn to Jaxon, who’s watching me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
“I slept the whole way?” I ask, my voice rough with sleep.
He nods. “Pretty much.”
“Wow.” I reach into my purse, digging for my keys. I press the button on my fob, and the iron gates begin to glide open, retreating into the thick privacy hedges lining my driveway.
As we drive up the cobblestone turnabout toward the front door, my house looks... cozy. Safe. Welcoming in a way I didn’t expect after a night like this.
“Nice place,” Jaxon says, his voice low as he surveys the exterior.
“Thanks.” I unclip my seatbelt as the SUV rolls to a gentle stop. I hesitate for a moment, then turn to him. “Do you want to come in? Just for a drink… or if you need the bathroom?”
It’s a courtesy. Polite. Not meant to be taken literally.
But he surprises me.
“Sure,” he says.
It’sa little odd having Jaxon here. He’s so tall and broad-shouldered that he almost seems too large for my cozy hallways and modest-sized rooms.
I hand him a bottle of water before showing him around.
“It’s really well decorated,” he says once we’re in the living room. “I like the color palette—browns, tans, whites. Clean. Warm.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Me too.”
We smile at each other—polite and distant, like the kind of friends we certainly aren’t.
“Come on,” I say. “I’ll show you the backyard.”
And truthfully, I don’t mind showing him. There’s something nice about sharing this part of my life, my space, with someone—even if it’s him.
Out back, I point to the casita.
“I use that mostly for yoga and Pilates. And over there,” I gesture toward a small, slightly raised area with lighting, “is my practice stage. I run lines there sometimes.”
He grunts in interest. “Zara,” he says, my name slipping out as if unprompted.
“Jaxon,” I say, matching his tone.
“Oh—by the way,” I add casually, “feel free to stay in the guest room tonight. It’s no trouble.”
We lock eyes for a beat. My heart pounds—not because I want him, but because I can see it in his face. That sullen, heavy look. He’s about to say something I don’t want to hear.
“I have a place in Century City,” he replies.
“You do?” I say, surprised.
“Yeah.” He hesitates. “But I wanted to tell you…”
I cut him off before he can finish. “Wait—before you do, I just want to say I’m sorry for falling asleep today. I get it. I really do. I’ll do better. I promise.”
