Why were my hormones at full throttle lately?
I shamelessly ogled him—again—as he made his way across the room. “Hi.”
“Are you having a good day so far, Lauren?” He cast a smile that could make a girl lightheaded.
“Yes, and yours?”
“Better now. I was looking for you.”
There went my air. Was he for real?
“What are you thinking?” The one edge of his mouth curled again. It started to be his thing.
“Nothing. Did you eat? You weren’t at lunch. Is there something I can get you?” I started unwrapping trays. You could call it the Southerner in me, but it was rude not to feed a hungry person—even if they weren’t hungry.
Jackson walked over and placed his hand on top of mine. “Stop. I had lunch. You don’t need to do that for me.”
His hand was soft. I slipped my hand out from under his and started repacking the food.
He chuckled to himself. “They brought me lunch. I needed to go over script changes.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were hungry.” I shrugged.
“Thank you.” He moved in closer. “You noticed I wasn’t at lunch?”
“I noticed.”
“Dinner?” He lowered his voice.
“We didn’t plan for dinner. The production assistant said everyone was cutting out early today because of the holiday.”
“Lauren, I’m asking you to dinner, tonight. With me?”
My breathing faltered—again. It was beginning to be a habit when he was around.
“Lauren?”
“Dinner would be fine.”
My mind turned on its autopilot, as it always did when I couldn’t comprehend. I was grateful it did. I’d only had that reaction to one other guy, and I would kind of check out. I stupidly blinked a lot, and I kept staring at him, wondering what else would come out of my mouth.
“I can pick you up around seven, or we can meet somewhere, if you like?”
“Seven is perfect. Where would you like to meet?” That response made sense.
“I’ll have my assistant Adrianna call you with the details. I got your number from Ashley.” He tilted his head, watching me. “I hope that’s okay?” he asked, concerned.
I was concerned. I had no control over my responses to him. I also wanted to kill Ashley. Well, sort of.
“Great.” I nodded, and then walked away.
I didn’t stop nodding. Even my trusted autopilot was having a Jackson malfunction.
Shock didn’t begin to describe what I felt when Jackson asked me to dinner. It was more a mix of fear, anxiety, nausea, and no surprise, butterflies.
How did one prepare for a date with one of the hottest stars in America? I laughed to myself. The tables had turned. He was not who I imagined going out with. So, I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued searching for the perfect outfit.
I never understood why girls changed clothes dozens of times while shopping—until recently. For some reason, I wanted Jackson to look at me as if I were the only woman in the world. Clichéd, but true.
None of my dress clothes fit anymore, so I had to run to the mall, forty minutes away, which cut into my primping time.
I barely had enough time to get ready, and it didn’t help I was a nervous wreck. I couldn’t shake off the thought, Why me? What made me so different?
Girls at my high school had Jackson’s picture in their lockers, on their books, and plastered on their bedroom walls. One of my friends went to his L.A. premiere and camped out for three days. She said thousands of fans were there to get a glimpse of him. Jackson’s face was well known—constantly on magazine covers and TV entertainment shows.
Unquestionably, any girl would be blown away to be in my shoes. However, I seemed to be having an inner war going on concerning Jackson. My head and my heart did not see eye to eye. I was anxious and uncertain. I didn’t know what we could talk about, what we had in common.
Well, there was one thing.
Strangely enough, I got flustered every time we spoke, which unfortunately, made me more self-consciousness.
I wanted to call Ashley for moral support. I also needed her style advice, but that meant I would have had to tell her about the date—and that was not going to happen.
It was bad enough Blake cornered me into telling him, when he overheard me talking to Jackson on the phone. The only reason he didn’t get too protective was because I divulged that, most likely, it was a one-time thing.
I wasn’t that naïve to think something more would come from it. After all, it was me; and no matter what, when it came to guys, no good seemed to happen in my love life.
I thought of calling Neesha, but her hands were full, and regretfully, we weren’t as close as we used to be. As well, I wasn’t sure if it was a great idea to tell anyone about the date.
Time was ticking, and I needed to decide what to wear. I bought several new pieces to mix with what I already had in my wardrobe, but that was a disaster. I tried belting my skinny jeans, which weren’t skinny anymore. I had my go-to gray polo dress, but it reminded me of the frumpy sweats Jackson saw me in on New Year’s Eve. Nothing seemed to work.
I resorted to fashion magazines and websites for help. One picture reminded me of the dress Ashley bought me to wear for graduation. It was a gorgeous, sleeveless, black and red abstract print Halston dress with an asymmetrical hem. It was perfect. I could wear high heels that would show off my legs, which I had to admit, were one of my best assets.
Hair and makeup were simple. I recently had my reddish-brown hair shortened to shoulder length. It was naturally curly, but I preferred to wear it straight; it was easier to tame. I wasn’t a fan of wearing makeup, but I wanted to bring my A game.
As I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, looking into my eyes, something my parents once said popped into my head. They would occasionally talk about when they first met. Dad implied Mom didn’t see herself the way he did. Mom declared Dad knew how to use his charm to get what he wanted. She insisted “his eyes burned her soul.”
“Search their eyes, Lauren,” she would say, “and you will know.”
Not sure why that was a significant memory at the moment, but I shook it off, grabbing my handbag and heading out of my bedroom.
Jackson’s assistant called to inform me he was held up on set, and therefore, couldn’t pick me up for our date, but he was sending a car. I told her, and Jackson again when he called, I did not need car service.
Obviously, no one listened.
As I walked down the front steps of Mamaw’s house to my car, I was a little alarmed when I noticed a sleek, silver Town Car with darkened windows parked behind mine. “Can I help you?”
A tall man walked toward me. “Miss Moreau?”
“Yes?”
“I am here to escort you to the restaurant, per Jackson Cruz’s request.” He opened the Town Car’s back door. That was different. Having a car and driver escort me for a first date, and my date wasn’t in the car.
As we drove down the deserted two-lane highway toward New Orleans, the surrounding bayou had an indescribable beauty. Spanish moss hung from the trees, creating an allure, which seemed unreal when enclosed in it. To sit back and take it all in was relaxing. Although, it did give me too much time to think.
The ninety-minute drive took what seemed like forever, as my anxiety grew with each passing minute. I couldn’t get out of my head, with all kinds of thoughts arguing among themselves—the “why me or what if,” and “what do I do and say when,” kind.
“Ms. Moreau?” I was unaware my door had opened. “We’re here, ma’am.”
My stomach flipped, and a mild pain pulsated behind my eyes. The driver vacantly stared at me while I tried to compose myself. I was sure he’d seen that reaction before from the countless women he probably brought to Jackson.
I composed myself and climbed out of the car. The driver opened the restaurant door, and he gave an unfamiliar name to the hostess. She sized me up before guiding me
to a backroom where Jackson was seated.
The moment I spotted him, I felt at ease. It was as though he had some magical calming agent. He also looked breathtaking in his untucked, black, button-down shirt and fitted, black jeans.
Jackson smiled as he stood, pulling out my chair.
“Thank you.” I noticed we were almost the same height with my three-inch heels. “You didn’t have to send a driver. I do know my way around the city.”
“What kind of guy would I be if I let you drive here?” He beamed.
“A normal one. Typically, the guy picks up the girl, or they meet at a designated location.”
Jackson raised his hands in the air as if in surrender. “The car was too much, but it’s what I do.”
Hearing those words confirmed what I thought. The driver had seen girls freaked out in the backseat before. “This is what you do for all your dates?”
“Huh? No! I meant that’s—”
“It’s fine, Jackson. I assumed you dated. Of course, you date. I was—”
“You’re quite the instigator, Lauren.”
“I don’t always use my filter. Words can stumble out, especially if I’m nervous. I need to pay more attention to the connection between my brain and my mouth.”
“Why not let me pay attention to your mouth?” His eyebrows lifted, as my eyes widened. “You look great, by the way.”
“Um, thank you.” I did a little dance in my head. Fifteen outfits later, I got it right.
“Is this your first time here?” He interrupted my inner celebration.
“Yes. I never knew this restaurant was here.”
“Adrianna recommended this place. It’s supposed to be the best Asian Fusion restaurant in the state. She told me you said this would be fine.”
“It’s great. I actually enjoy all types of food. I’ll try anything once.”
“Anything?” He grinned as he slid closer.
“Yes,” I repeated, “I will try anything once.”
“I’m going to remember that,” he said, amused.
“You do that.” We were totally flirting.
“Mr. Thompson, are you ready to order?”
That had to be Jackson’s alias. I wasn’t sure he needed one, considering everyone knew who he was.
He directed me to order first.
“I’ll have the wonton soup with the emperor roll.”
“Chicken with black bean sauce, and we’ll start with the sake.” Jackson pointed to the menu.
“Yes, sir.” The waiter hurried away.
“You just ordered us drinks?”
“Did you want something else? They have a full bar.”
“I’m fine. Don’t you have to show ID?” I lowered my voice.
“Certain privileges come with my career.”
I knew that.
“And you assume I drink?”
“You don’t drink?” He looked shocked.
Of course, he wouldn’t know my age. “Um, I’m eighteen, Jackson.”
“I would have guessed you were at least my age.”
“You’re twenty-two, right?”
He nodded.
I hoped my Google stalking wasn’t obvious. “It must be because girls mature faster than boys,” I added with a grin.
“I won’t tell, if you don’t. You are full of surprises, aren’t you? I never met anyone your age who didn’t drink, given the chance.”
“I’ll have one drink.” Blake was going to kill me. I could hear him repeating, “You hypocrite.”
“Okay, rebel.” Jackson laughed. “Let’s see if we can get at least two into you. Though, I wouldn’t want to be accused of luring you away from your virtuous ways.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Maybe a change of subject. “Do you enjoy acting? I hear it can be fun?”
“I wouldn’t say fun. It’s in my blood. The audience applause is similar to your first high.”
Why didn’t his statement shock me? “So, you prefer the stage?”
“No, movies.”
“It must’ve been nice knowing what you wanted to do.” I was clueless about my future.
“Do what you’re passionate about,” he said strongly.
We stared at each other for a silent moment until I flinched from the finger trailing up my thigh. Normally, I would have grabbed the jerk’s hand and flipped him over the table. However, Jackson lured me in as his hand continued to move up higher.
“What do you like to do for fun, Lauren?”
It took me a second to realize I hadn’t stopped Jackson’s hand. He was amused when I grabbed his hand from my lap. I composed myself and answered his question. “I read, listen to music. I don’t go to movies often or watch TV. I know; I’m not very exciting.”
By the look on his face that surprised him. “Again, you’re very different from anyone I’ve dated.”
“Then why did you ask me out?” I could see that threw him. “You fully admitted I’m not your type. So, why me?” I thought I was being sincere, but his boisterous laugh was a shock.
“I c-cannot believe y-you asked me that.” He paused to breathe. “G-Girls are h-happy I asked them out at all.” He could barely get out the words between gasping for air.
“I’m not most girls, Jackson!” I didn’t mean to snap, but laughing at me wasn’t going to fly.
He heeded my warning and leaned closer to me. “No, you most certainly are not, Lauren.”
“Why did you ask me out to dinner, Jackson?”
His expression changed, and he took a moment to answer. “Honestly, I don’t know, and I should be rethinking this with your snarky attitude,” he joked. “But, when I first saw you, there was something there that seemed intensely familiar, and you looked incredible. Even in sweats.”
Of course, he noticed.
Jackson continued. “I had to get to know you—no—I wanted to know you.”
I couldn’t think of a response for what he confessed. I thought maybe he was bored and thought, Why not her? I wasn’t expecting his explanation. I had greatly misjudged him. “Jackson, I think, for the first time, I’ve been left speechless.”
“That’s what I thought when I first saw you.”
Silence.
My chest caved in, and my hands started to tingle as he reached for one. I was dumbfounded watching him lightly circle my palm with his index finger. The sensation from his touch was sending my body all kinds of signals I didn’t know or understand—they were explosive, sensual, and my head started to spin. Yet, all those messages were received by my brain and heart at the exact same time.
The server abruptly broke Jackson’s spell when he refilled our drinks. Jackson released my hand, glaring at the waiter.
I noticed the music had changed to Dixieland. “Are you enjoying the South?” I sounded winded.
“It’s rubbing off on me.” He smiled. “Last time I was here, I shot my scenes back-to-back and left. The stunt work in this film will be more intense, and they planned for several battle scenes. I’m happy to say, I’m scheduled here until June.”
“Do you miss your family when you’re shooting?”
“I miss my mother the most, but she’s used to me being gone.”
“You said you started at an early age?”
“I was in sixth grade when my agent saw me. He was visiting his sister and her family. His niece was in the same school production, and then everything changed. One minute I was a simple lad playing in my papi’s fields.” He shook his head and laughed. “The next, I was posing for a spread in Teen Scoop.”
“But Jackson, being a child actor couldn’t have been easy. They seem to be the ones in the news or plastered all over the tabloids.”
“Being a child star definitely isn’t easy. I mentioned my schooling was done on set, and I missed out on everyday teenage stuff. I’m not saying I’m not grateful or would change anything. I know I had to sacrifice in areas to achieve where I am today. Nonetheless, it was all worth it.”
“How did y
our family handle everything, all the changes?”
He sighed. “I was adopted, Lauren. They support me in whatever I do. Most of my family is still in Puerto Rico. My mom, dad, and little sister came with me to L.A. My twin older brothers stayed to finish their senior year at that time. They both now have families and help Papi, my grandfather, on his farm. It wasn’t easy for my parents at first, Lauren. My dad had to work two jobs, and Mom took on side projects so I could have everything I needed to get jobs. Eventually, we called L.A. home. Now, my parents don’t have to work. Though, my dad tinkers with his cars. Tell me about your family. I met Blake; he’s a cool guy. Is he your only sibling?”
“Yeah. We both live with my grandmother, Mamaw. Although, Blake often stays at his friend’s apartment, so we rarely see each other. I stay with Ashley sometimes; the one you met at the club. She lives closer to New Orleans.”
“Is Ashley your aunt?”
“She’s like an aunt. She’s my mom’s best friend.”
“What about your parents?”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. “My dad died when I was ten. He was murdered.”
One evening in New Orleans, my father was finalizing some business deal. I never fully understood exactly what he did for a living. My mother would say security systems, but Dad would always tell me it was complicated.
That night, he had stopped outside of town for a late supper before driving home. While walking to his car, he was beaten, robbed, and shot, left to die on the street. That was the story Blake and I were told.
At first, we thought nothing of it, but Blake kept saying something was off. He felt my mother’s account of our father’s death was not the whole truth, because she fumbled over her choice of words every time we asked her questions. When Blake brought that to my attention, we both surmised there had to be more to the story.
When my mom had trouble dealing with our father’s death, she would go to Ashley’s house for comfort. Blake followed her one night and overheard them talking on Ashley’s porch about the brutality of Dad’s murder.
It turned out to be a gang of men who beat Dad to an inch of his life, with metal objects, before ending his life with a bullet between the eyes. The attackers left barely enough of our father’s bloodied body to identify; the coroner had to use dental records to confirm his identification.
The Devil has a British Accent: Book One: Jackson (White Carpet #1) Page 4
