Claiming Gigi Page 6

  “Okay. You’re right. You have enough to stress about with thinking about getting wedding plans going and all that. You don’t need me adding to it. I’m…I’m sorry,” Lacey stammered.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Gigi said, her voice cracking. Betraying her.

  “Gigi…” Lacey got out of her chair and threw her arms around her. “It’s going to be okay. If y’all move, we’ll come visit. We’ll figure it all out. I’ll miss you like crazy, but there’s all kinds of ways to stay in touch. Plus, it’s not like it’s Alaska.”

  Gigi laughed into her sister’s hair, “That’s exactly what I said when I heard.”

  “Sisters,” Lacey said, matter of factly. As if simply saying the word explained everything. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie. You’ll see. It’ll all be okay.”

  Gigi hugged her back, her heart breaking a little more each moment. It’ll all be okay. She sure hoped so.

  The rest of the day went by at way too slow of a pace, but by seven that evening, Gigi found herself in the spare bedroom, her true crime murder podcast blaring over the iPod doc, and her paintbrush in hand.

  She made long, fluid strokes across the canvas, the streaks of color popping out against the grey and black background. “I love you,” she said to painting.

  “Okay, you’ve officially gone too far,” Jackson said, entering the room with a few bottles of water and a bag of cheeseburgers.

  “Those smell amazing,” Gigi said, her stomach rumbling in response to the smell of meat and cheese. “I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

  “Why not? It’s not like you to miss a meal.”

  “Well thanks for that,” she said, putting on her best shocked voice.

  “You know what I mean,” Jackson laughed, handing her a burger.

  Gigi set her paintbrush down and sat cross-legged on the floor. She unwrapped her cheeseburger, then lifted up the top bun to make sure no gross tomatoes or lettuce or onion had made their way on there. When she was satisfied, she replaced the bun and took a big, gleeful bite.

  “Do you really think after four months I would dare to give you something with vegetables on it?” Jackson asked, a grin on his face.

  Gigi shook her head, then explained her reasons for the close inspection. “No, but that one time you forgot to specify no veggies on mine, and then you tried to just take them off, thinking I wouldn’t notice. Remember? It was gross. The veggies were gone but the flavor was still there. Yuck.”

  “I know, I know. The one failure I’ll never be able to live down,” he teased. “Don’t worry, it’ll never happen again. Now I just order mine the same way.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She wasn’t sure why, but the thought made her insides feel all light and swoony.

  They both sat on the floor, eating their burgers and making small talk between bites. Gigi missed this. Missed them.

  After they’d finished, Jackson grabbed a canvas and his own brush. He pulled his shirt over his head, and replaced it with the paint covered one he kept there for when he joined her. “I like this,” he said. “Us. Painting together. I mean—” he pointed to some of his finished projects “—clearly I have shit for talent, but I enjoy it.”

  Gigi laughed, a real smile covering her face for the first time since their night in the tent. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” she reminded him. “Plus, it’s fun just to create. Who cares what the end product is like, as long as you had fun getting there?”

  “Yeah, but sometimes the end is what’s most important,” he said, giving her a serious look over his canvas.

  Gigi swallowed, pretty positive they were no longer talking about painting. “Want to listen to some music?”

  Jackson faked a shocked gasp. “Seriously? And turn off your murder porn?”

  “It’s not murder porn, thank you very much.” Gigi turned off her podcast and went through her playlists, deciding on some country music.

  “Oh yea? Then what do you call it?”

  “I call it educational. Something every woman should listen to, especially this day in age.”

  “Educational my ass. All it does is talk about murderers like they’re celebrities or something.”

  “No,” Gigi countered, dipping her brush into the blue paint. “It gives an account of what happened, and then we, as the audience, learn from it. We know where not to go—”

  “The forest. Right.”

  “Yes. And we know if we find ourselves in a cult—”

  “To call your dad. You’re set for life.”

  “Exactly.” Gigi laughed and continued to paint, ease spreading over her body. “This is nice.”

  Jackson didn’t say anything, just gave her a slight nod and a smile.

  They stayed like that for a while. In silence. Each concentrating on their creations, the music playing in the background. A song switched on that Gigi hadn’t heard in a long time. She hummed along to the tune, a gorgeous love song, and realized it was kind of like her painting. Dark with pops of color. Streaks of passion. Her brush stopped its movements when she heard Jackson singing along. “Good song, right?”

  “It is,” Jackson agreed. “Very sexy.”

  They locked eyes, the air suddenly changing between them. She knew he felt it, too. The way his eyes searched hers, the way his jaw ticked…

  “Gigi—”

  Her phone ringing cut him off, the sound filling the room.

  She took the phone off the doc, then looked at the number. “It’s Preston.”

  Jackson said nothing, but she saw the anger spread over his face. He turned back to the painting, but she knew he was listening.

  She walked up to him, not quite sure how to proceed. The plan had always been to meet up with Preston when he came into town. To show up looking fabulous, have plenty of pictures of Jackson on her cell, plus with them living together they had plenty of snapshots on social media, and then he’d show up and join them. Their scheme was every bit as believable as they’d planned. But now, somehow, the entire thing just seemed inappropriate. The last person she wanted Jackson around was Preston. Hell, she didn’t even want to be around him. After everything that had happened over the last week, Preston was the furthest thing from her mind. “Jackson, what do I do?”

  He looked at her, then down at the still ringing phone. He took a deep breath, then scooped it up from her hand and pressed the accept button, then put it on speaker. “Hello?”

  “Um…hi. Is G there?”

  “She is, but you’ll have to give her a second. We just got out of the shower.”

  Gigi’s mouth fell open, to which he replied with a simple shrug.

  “Oh. Okay. Is…is this her fiancé?”

  “Yeah. It’s Jackson.”

  “Hey, Jackson. Nice to meet you. I’m—”

  “Oh I know who you are,” Jackson spat out. “She’s told me all about you. Man. We just laugh—”

  “Thank you, babe. I’ve got it,” Gigi said, grabbing the phone from his hand and giving him an irritated scowl as she took the phone off speaker. “Preston. Hey.”

  “Hey, kid. Guess what.”

  Gigi waited for him to keep going, but of course he didn’t. He just had to hear her ask what was going on. Had to know how important what he had to say was to her. Asshole. “What?”

  “I’m coming into town for the weekend. How about those drinks?”

  “This weekend? Wow. That’s super short notice.”

  “You know how it is. So I’ll text you a place to meet tomorrow night. Okay?”

  “Tomorrow? I don’t know. I’ll have to see—”

  “Perfect. I’ll text you. Later, kid.” And then he was gone.

  Gigi hung up the phone and turned toward Jackson. “It’s happening. He wants to meet up tomorrow night.”

  Jackson didn’t say anything in return, but she could feel the anger pulse off his skin like a rabid animal.

  “Are you upset?�
�� she asked. “Because you seem upset.”

  “Nope,” he said.

  “Then why are you being short with me?”

  Jackson washed off his brush in the small cup of water, then put it down. He ran his fingers through his hair, then started to pull off his scrap shirt. “I’m not being short. I’m just tired. This is it. This is the whole point of what we’ve been doing here, right? Make him see how hot you are. That you don’t need him. That you’ve moved on.”

  “Right,” she whispered.

  “Perfect. Then tomorrow night it is.” Jackson tossed the shirt on one of the empty chairs, then picked up the discarded burger bag. “I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he was gone. Just like that.

  Gigi wrapped her arms around her waist, then looked around the room. This was the place she came to relax. To get in touch with her creative side. To shut out the world and all the bullshit in it, and just be Gigi. And now, because of whatever this was between them, her one place of pure happiness had been tainted. It was sad. Cold. Lonely. Like her. And it royally pissed her off.

  Chapter 8

  Dammit,” Jackson grumbled. The finalists were supposed to find out any day now who’d been selected, and he still hadn’t heard a thing.

  Or you just didn’t make the cut, jackass. Nothing unusual about that, right?

  “Fuck you,” he said out loud to the voice, signing out of his email and then shutting down the laptop.

  Oh yeah? Fuck me, huh? I’m not the one who shit away a perfectly good opportunity to make something of myself. You’re probably not even that sad about it, are you? Why would you want the chance to be somebody when you have a perfectly good piece of ass at home? Pussy always did win out with you. Didn’t it, boy?

  “You always were an asshole when you were alive, why should it be any different now?” Jackson stretched his arms over his head, his father’s voice finally fading into the background. He’d been a nasty sonofabitch. A drunk. A mean drunk. What’s worse is Jackson always got the impression his father liked to be that way. Took pleasure in it. Got off on seeing Jackson afraid, his mother doing her best to take the brunt of his father’s aggression. Sometimes she even succeeded. Other times she didn’t. Those were the times his father enjoyed best.

  He did a good job over the years of learning to keep his old man at bay, but, sooner or later, he always came back.

  Jackson wasn’t an idiot. He knew why he was suddenly hearing his voice again.

  He ran his hands through his hair, massaging his temples with his thumbs as his thoughts went to a petite, blonde haired, blue eyed, pain-in-the-ass beauty. Gigi.

  The music played off his phone, filling up his studio. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then turned his head to glance at the bottom drawer of the desk. He sighed, accepting defeat, and leaned down, wrapped his fingers around the cold knob, and pulled it open. He grabbed a single manila folder, the only one in the drawer, and tossed it on his desk. He flipped it open with his finger, and there she was, staring back at him.

  He’d kept physical copies of every picture he’d ever taken of Gigi. Some where she looked straight at the camera, others where her attention was strategically focused elsewhere, and those she had no idea he’d even taken. Well, he was pretty sure she’d had some idea he’d taken them, but she hadn’t seen them. She would always laugh and tease him about the need to constantly have his camera wherever he was. They could be sitting on the couch and he’d have it, playing with it.

  Jackson carefully scattered the pictures on the desk, taking in everything that was Gigi. Attraction was such a strange thing. Anyone with eyes could see Gigi was beautiful. It wasn’t some sort of secret, but he couldn’t imagine anyone thought she was as gorgeous as he did. He’d been around plenty of attractive women, but they never found their way inside like she had. From the second she’d fixed her eyes on his, he’d been done for. He was a goner then, and he was a goner now. There was no saving him.

  But you aren’t the one she’s going on a date with tonight, are you pretty boy?

  Jackson’s face heated at the thought of that douchebag getting within two feet of Gigi. He’d left her. What’s worse, he cheated on her. First, he’d made her feel like she was nothing better than the gum on the bottom of his shoe, and then he’d fucking left her. He’d give anything to have just five minutes alone with him, but he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Guys like Preston never got it. They were the ones who thought they were too fucking cool for everyone else. He probably knew shit about fancy wines, and thought that because he traveled it actually meant something about him as a person. Idiot. All it meant was he could get a passport.

  His phone buzzed, breaking through the music. He put the pictures back in the envelope, then placed it in the drawer. He crossed the room and grabbed his phone off the doc, feelings of both relief and frustration tightening his chest when he saw it wasn’t Gigi.

  She’d be getting ready for her date soon, and they hadn’t gone over the plan.

  Initially they’d always thought he’d go with her, or at least meet her there at some point. Let Preston get an eyeful of soon-to-be-married Gigi. Make him regret the day he ever thought he could take her for granted.

  The thought of Gigi getting ready to go out with Preston made him physically ill. His stomach began to turn, his heart pounding harder than it should, and his thoughts started going places he really didn’t want them to fucking go. Just the idea of Preston trying to get a kiss made his blood turn to fire. And to imagine Gigi actually going for it… No. There were no words for that.

  But a deal was a deal, and she’d held up to her end of the bargain a long time ago. He slipped his phone in his pocket, then grabbed his keys off his desk. Time to rock-and-roll, he thought.

  He was just about to walk out the door when his phone buzzed again in his back pocket. He took it out, his heart damn near stopping when he saw it was the head director of the contest. He held his breath and opened the email, his eyes scanning the letters and doing his best to make them into words.

  He reread the email three times before finally placing it back in his pocket. He’d been waiting months for this moment, to find out one way or another, and now that he’d gotten an answer, he knew just what he had to do. He just hoped he could handle it.

  Gigi,” he yelled as soon as he got in the front door. He threw his keys on the coffee table, then looked toward the stairs. “Hey, I’m here.”

  He went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, then headed up to the second floor. It really was too bad he didn’t drink, because he could use a nice, big shot of tequila right about now. Just the thought of it made his mouth water, which only reinforced his belief that quitting when he was in his early twenties was the right choice. “Gigi,” he yelled again, first checking her painting room, then heading to hers. “What are you waiting…” his words trailed off when he saw her. Shiiiiiiiiit.

  Gigi stood in the master bathroom, her eyes wide and nervous, as she looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a sexy-as-sin little black dress, and it fit like a fucking glove. It hugged her tiny body perfectly, tying around her neck in a halter style. She’d pinned back her hair, done her makeup a little more dramatic than usual, dark eyes and hot pink lips, and finished the ensemble off with some hot pink heels.

  Jackson did a doubletake when he realized she wasn’t in her normal black combat boots. He’d never seen her without them. If she was wearing shoes, she was wearing her boots. Not that she looked bad in the heels by any means. Hell, she looked like every red blooded American male’s wet dream come true.

  She clasped a shiny black necklace around her neck, then turned to him, placing her hands on her hips, then up toward her hair, then finally crossed over her chest.

  Jackson said nothing. Just stared. And stared. And then stared some more.

  Finally she threw her hands up, her expression pleading for some sort of response. “Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”

&
nbsp; “I…uh…”

  “I look like an idiot, don’t I? Dammit,” she turned back to the mirror, her fingers playing with a few strands of hair.

  “No, Gigi, no.” Jackson walked toward her, then slipped his arm around her waist.

  She looked up at him, surprised, but allowed him to turn her toward him.

  “You…” he heard his voice begin to shake, so instead of finishing he turned her back to the mirror, adjusting her necklace. He looked at her in the mirror, their eyes meeting I the reflection. “You’re amazing,” he assured her, the words hurting him more than he cared to admit. “I mean it. You look beautiful. You just took me by surprise is all.”

  Gigi smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She ran her fingers over the dress, picking off invisible fuzzballs or who knew what. “Okay, I’m meeting him in thirty minutes. What’s the plan?”

  Jackson couldn’t help but glance back down at the pink heels, and he immediately felt bile begin to rise in his throat.

  “Jackson, what’s the plan?” she asked again.

  He looked up, suddenly furious with her. Furious she was so against them even trying if he moved Dallas. Furious she had put a stop to things when they’d finally began to try. And furious she was getting dolled up for him. “I think you should do whatever you want tonight.”

  Gigi turned to him, her face giving away how much his comment had hurt her. “What do you mean?”

  “Look, Gigi, just do what you want.” he said again, the very mention of her name bitter on his tongue. “We both know you still have the hots for this fuck, so why bother pretending this is anything but you trying to get him back?”