Page 21 of My Fiancé's Brother
“Just…” Matt paused. I could hear the strain in his voice. “Jackson is welcome to stay with us for as long as he needs to.”
“Of course. Can you tell me…”
Matt cut me off. “I don’t want to get into it right now, okay?”
“Okay.”
More silence between us.
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“Yes, Emily. I'll be home for dinner.” His tone sounded annoyed. Cutting.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay. See you then.”
He disconnected the line.
I stood there for a long moment. Thinking. What exactly was going on here? Why was Matt so agitated? What did he mean that he and Jackson grew up together? None of this was making any sense. How could I date Matt an entire year and never know that someone else grew up with his family? In his home? Is that what he had told me? This whole thing was weird. I needed to know more.
At the endof my shift, when I walked out of the gallery, my heart hitched when I saw the big black truck. Jackson moved with grace. A baseball hat adorned his head, pulled low over his eyes. Without speaking, we walked to the passenger side. He opened the door for me. The man had the most incredible forearms.
“I can do it,” I lied, knowing full well that it would take a miracle to step up that far in this skirt.
He ignored me. His big hands wrapped around my hips. My body went completely still while my heart hammered. He easily lifted me up onto the seat.
I sounded breathless. “I'm never wearing this skirt again.”
“That would be a shame,” he teased, a smile on his lips.
I fumbled with my seatbelt. His flirtations meant nothing. He probably flirted as easy as he breathed. I wasn’t going to make a big deal about it. I remember that fateful day in university. I had been late for class and racing around the corner. I had slammed into a warm wall. Huge hands had grabbed me by the shoulders, and I could still remember that slow-motion moment of looking up and seeing the hockey player. His name was Seth, and he had the most beautiful eyes. I had walked around in a daze for weeks after that. Replaying the feeling of his hands on my arms.
Yep. My therapist might have had a point on the unhealthy part of my crushes. She used to tell me that no good came from living in make-belief.
Jackson started the truck. And even though I had mentally prepared myself for his driving, I was breathless within seconds. I stole a glance at him. He had changed into a navy t-shirt and jeans. His longish hair stuck out in tuffs from beneath his baseball cap. The man was sexy. Crush or not, I would give him that. And he probably knew that about himself. He emanated his big manly pheromones. I bet women within miles of him were lifting up their heads and sniffing the air like wild animals catching the scent of their prey. But even if he was near me, it gave me no license to indulge in any of my little fantasies. I had paid good money for therapy, and we had all moved well past the crushing stage of my life when I started dating Matt.
“How was your shift?” Jackson’s question pulled me out of my thoughts.
Green eyes looked at me when I didn’t answer.
Think. Use your words.
“We’re showcasing some new artists this month. They’re so grateful and enthusiastic that it makes it a lot of fun.”
“Do you ever think you’d want to show off your paintings?”
A snort escaped out of my nose. The thought was absurd. “No. I mean, my art isn’t even real art.”
“Did some asshole tell you that?”
I startled and looked over at him. He was giving me an intense look. Like he was willing to have a word with someone if they did tell me that. “No. I mean, I’ve never tried.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you know you're not good enough if you don’t try?”
“I just know.”
