Every time I’m ready to write Jackson Hendricks off, he does something that surprises me.

Our little conversation from a couple of days ago keeps playing in my mind. We haven’t had time to really talk since then, but I just keep seeing the way he looked at me, like it was the old Jackson all over again. I haven’t seen him so much as talk to Holly either, which makes me think that I was just being stupid the other day.

Still, I just keep thinking about how I don’t really know him. He’s been through a lot overseas, and it’s made him harder. I don’t remember him having such an edge before he left, but there are scars on his skin and inside of him that I’ll likely never understand.

And yet… that old Jackson is still there. It makes me wonder if the old Tara is still inside of me, too.

I’m sitting home alone after work, tired and a little stressed, going over the script again. We’re in a critical part of the film right now, and we have to make sure we get these action scenes just right. They’re long and grueling on Jackson, I can tell, but he doesn’t complain at all. In fact, he walks around set and keeps everyone’s spirits up. He encourages the stunt guys and basically acts like a high school football quarterback in the locker room or something. Which I guess is basically what he is.

My phone buzzes and I ignore it for a second, finishing up what I’m doing. When I finally pick it up, I frown at the message on my screen.

“Car’s out front, come hang out.”

It takes me a second to understand that it’s from Jackson. We exchanged numbers early on in this, since I’ll need to get in touch with him for work stuff.

I unlock my phone and type a message back. “What are you talking about?” I send.

“The crew is all hanging out, and I think you should be here.” His response comes quickly, and I bite my lip.

I don’t normally hang out with the crew. Honestly, I’m not usually invited. The script girl is considered the director’s pet, and the crew typically doesn’t mingle with that side of production. They’re afraid I’ll dime them out to Lionel or something like that, which isn’t the case at all. On past films, I just accepted that as part of the job and moved on.

“I don’t know,” I type back. “I’m tired and we shoot early tomorrow.”

“Come on. There really is a car out front.”

I sigh and stand up, heart beating fast. I go to our front door and sure enough, there’s a black town car sitting there.

“You’re crazy,” I type to him. “I can’t just walk out the door.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. Come on, Tara girl. Come have a little fun.”

I stare at the text for a second. “Fuck it,” I say out loud to myself.

I run into my bedroom and get ready as fast as I can. Obviously I don’t have time to go crazy with it, but I get changed into something a little more casual and I manage to fix myself up enough to be presentable. When I’m done, I head outside and get right into the car.

The driver starts going without saying a word to me. I get out my phone and send a quick message to Jackson. “I’m on the way.”

“I knew you would be. Hurry up.”

I smile to myself and tuck my phone back into my little clutch. I haven’t been out at a club after work since the first year I moved out here. I have butterflies in my stomach, which is totally unlike me. I’m not normally nervous for this sort of thing.

But it’s Jackson. He makes me nervous, though it’s in a good way. I like being nervous around him. I like that he pushes me, makes me question the things around me. We’re not even close and yet he’s already making me feel good.

The car finally pulls up outside of a club that I don’t recognize, which isn’t a surprise. I don’t really go out clubbing much. I did a little bit when I was younger, but now I’m more focused on my career and I just don’t have time anymore.

My heart is beating so fast as I get out of the car. There’s a line to get in and I frown at it. There are probably fifty people waiting to get into the building, but as soon as I start to walk toward the back, I hear someone call out my name.

“Tara!”

I turn and spot Jackson grinning at me from behind the red velvet rope. I walk over and the bouncer lets me past. He grins at me and kisses my cheek, sending electric thrills down my spine.

“Glad you came,” he says.

“Yeah, well, you said you needed my help.”

He grins at me. “I definitely need you. Come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me into the club behind him.

I can’t help but notice that he said he needs me, not my help. And he’s pulling me along by the hand like it’s not a weird thing to do at all. I’m getting sucked back into his world, but it’s hard not to be. Jackson is the kind of guy that can make you feel like you’re at home no matter where you are.

The club itself is sleek and new. There’s a wine bar, a beer bar and a liquor bar, all broken out separately. The music pulses into my ears and I’m glad that I put on a sleek black dress instead of my normal drab work clothes.

Jackson pulls me along behind him and we end up at a private booth filled with people. I recognize them all from the set. There’s Paul the lighting guy, Jackson’s assistant Marney, Rick the gaffer, Louis the cameraman, and a few other guys. Everyone welcomes me when I arrive, and Jackson pours me a drink from their bottle service, but I can tell that everyone is a little uptight with me around.

I slug back my first drink, trying to let everyone know that I’m okay and not a rat, but also trying to loosen up.

“Easy there,” Jackson grins at me as I pour another.

“We’re here to have some fun, right?” I ask him.

“You’re not wrong.” He pours himself a drink and knocks it back. “But I’m guessing you’re not much of a drinker.”

“Why would you think that?” I ask.

“The face you’re making right now.”

I laugh and look down. “Is it obvious?”

“You clearly hate it. Like someone is stomping on your toes.”

“Ugh, okay, I’m trying at least.”

“I know. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”

We fall into the booth and everyone starts talking again. I sip my drink and do my best to pretend like I don’t hate the taste of vodka. Paul tells a story from his days doing lighting for erectile dysfunction commercials, which gets a big laugh from everyone. Jackson meanwhile sits close to me and laughs along with everyone else, but I keep catching the looks he’s giving me.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed like this,” he says to me.

“Really?” I ask him.

“Really. You were a little more, uh, casual in high school.”

I laugh and bump his arm with my shoulder. “I had great fashion sense back then.”

“Nah,” he says, grinning. “Not at all. But nobody did.”

“That’s true. I seem to recall you wearing sweatpants to school.”

“Hey,” he says, laughing. “I was an athlete.”

“Sure. You were also a slob.”

“Glad to see you’re all grown up at least,” he says, eyeing my body. Normally I might feel self-conscious, but right now I don’t mind.

“You’re all grown up yourself, you know,” I say, and I mean it. He looks fantastic in an expensively tailored suit, probably bespoke. It fits him like a glove, accentuating his every perfect muscle, and it makes him look fancy and in control.

I hate to admit it to myself, but he looks fantastic. “Of course I look great,” he says in my ear. “Hey, let’s go dance.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? You dance?”

“Of course I do,” he says, laughing. “Girl, I’ll show you just how good of a dancer a Navy SEAL can be.”

I laugh as he pulls me up from the seat and tugs me out toward the dance floor. I don’t know what I’m doing but I feel so good as I follow him out there. We start to dance together, and although I feel a little self-conscious at first, at least Jackson wasn’t lying.

He’s a good dancer. He moves his hips and pulls me toward him, gliding along my body, and I fall into his rhythm. Soon, we’re dancing close to each other, eyes locked as one song turns into two. We sway and move to the music, keeping pace with everyone around us, although it feels like we’re alone in the world.

“Remember this?” he says in my ear. “Sophomore year.”

I can’t help but smile to myself. “We danced for hours,” I say to him.

“Yeah, we did. You looked amazing. Red dress.”

I laugh again, remembering that dress. I pull him closer to reach his ear. “Your suit was too big.”

He grins at me. “It was my dad’s.”

“Of course it was.”

We laugh together, and he tips his head closer to me. He grabs my waist and pulls me against him. I can feel his hard body pressed against mine and my heart is racing through my skin, threatening to make me freaking pass out.

I tip my chin up toward him, not thinking about it at all. His lips are so close to mine, and I know he’s going to kiss me. God, I haven’t tasted that kiss in so damn long. I can remember the last time, it was just like any other day. I didn’t know it was the last time back then. Sometimes I wish I had known, so that I could have savored it.

Now though, I have a second chance. I can taste him again, feel the way it used to feel. I remember kissing him was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It made me alive, made everything seem so much better.

He left me, he broke my heart, but he’s here now. And I want to taste him so badly.

“Hey, you!”

Jackson turns away from me. Holly Hart appears next to him and they hug quickly in greeting. She waves to me and says something to him.

He frowns at me and says something to her. She waves and heads off back toward the table, but the moment is gone.

I don’t know what I was thinking. He turns back toward me, but I step away. “Sorry,” I say to him, shaking my head.

“Tara, hold on.”

But I’m already turning and walking away from him as fast as I can. I don’t want to run and I’m definitely not going to cry.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t just let him back into my life like this. He broke my heart. I’m not ready to trust him, not yet. Seeing Holly just made me realize how much I still don’t know about him.

Maybe he makes me feel like my old self, but that girl is gone. I’m a different person, and so is he. I can’t just fall back into old habits.

I hurry away from him, trying to keep it together.