Chapter 102 Chapter One Hundred And Two
Still Jace's POV
I scrolled through my phone and opened the “Lena” album full of all the different photos cute I’d taken of her during our lessons.
I pulled up the photos from the gossip blogs; Lena in my arms at Marco’s, looking like she belonged there with me.
I set it side by side with the photo of her, the only one I hated, the one taken at the last game, wearing Noah's jersey.
She looked different in both. Now she was thinner, her hair was a lot lighter. Even her face looked different, sharper somehow and more defined.
I'd liked her better before. When she was curvier and softer, back when she looked like herself instead of some carbon copy of Allison and her musketeers.
But fuck if she wasn't still gorgeous.
I realized suddenly that if the transformation kept going and she kept getting hotter, then soon there would be even more competition than just Noah.
Good. More people to crush.
I pocketed my phone and climbed the rest of the stairs.
The flight attendant greeted me at the door. Young and pretty enough with a professional smile. "Mr. Dawson, welcome aboard. May I take your bags?"
“Yeah, take this to—” I was just about to hand her my suitcase when I got a call from an unknown number.
“Who the hell…” I almost declined it, because I was getting fucking sick of people distracting me from my vacation, but then I reconsidered. After all, it could be the hospital, or it could be important.
"Talk to me.”
"Yo, Jace! It's Mason. Mason Clarke? From the spring tournament?"
I frowned. Mason Clarke. Yeah, I remembered him, one of the rich kids from Noah's old school. He was a decent linebacker, I vaguely remembered when he threw a party last summer that got shut down by cops and I had to bail him out of jail.
"What do you want?"
"Dude, I just saw your girl at this party. Thought you should know—"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I handed my suitcase to the flight attendant without looking at her. "What party?"
"Allison’s place. End of spring break bash, it's fucking crazy here, man. But anyway, I saw your girl walk in with her new boyfriend Noah—"
"He’s not her boyfriend," I snapped. "And stop with the prank calls, Mason. I'm not in the fucking mood."
"I'm not pranking you! I swear, man, she's here. Looking hot as hell too, not gonna lie. Noah's parading her around like she's his fucking trophy or something."
My hand tightened on the phone. "You're serious."
"Dead serious. Hold on—"
There was rustling, shouting voices in the background and lots of loud music. Then my phone buzzed with an incoming video.
I opened it, and everything inside me went cold.
It was Lena, not wearing one of her frumpy sweaters and jeans, now she was in a tight red dress that barely covered her thighs.
Heels that made her legs look a mile long, her hair was worn down and styled, not up in her usual ponytail. She looked like every wet dream I'd ever had and a few that I hadn't.
Noah had his arm around her waist, pulling her close as he introduced her to a group of guys. His hand was possessive on her hip, his smile was smug as he leaned in and she kissed him on the cheek.
Though Lena… something wasn’t right about all this. She looked overwhelmed. It was obvious to anyone who paid enough attention that she felt uncomfortable and out of her depth.
But she was there. With him. At a party I hadn't been invited to, wearing a dress I hadn't bought her, playing a role in whatever fucked-up game Noah was running this time.
"See?" Mason's voice came back on the line. "I saw all those posts about you two, figured you should know your boy's making moves. There is no way they aren’t having sex after this party."
"Send me the address."
"What?"
"Send me the fucking address, Mason. Right now."
"Uh, yeah, sure man. Hold on…"
My phone buzzed with a message and I saw Mason had sent the location to Alison’s beach house.
Only twenty minutes from the airport, thank the fucking stars.
I spun on my heel, nearly knocking into the flight attendant.
"Stop the plane," I said.
She blinked. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dawson?"
"Stop the fucking plane. I'm not going anymore."
"But sir, we're scheduled for takeoff in—"
"I don't care what we're scheduled for. I'm leaving." I was already moving past her, back down the stairs. "Keep the bag. I'll get it later."
"Mr. Dawson, wait—"
She tried to stop me but I was already on the tarmac running fast as my injured leg could carry me straight toward the terminal.
I burst through the doors, scanning for ground transportation and found a taxi idling near the curb.
I yanked open the door and threw myself inside.
"Where to?" the driver asked, barely looking up from his phone.
I rattled off the address Mason had sent. "Get me there in ten minutes and I’ll pay you double.”
The driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, and whatever look he saw on my face made him nod and hit the gas.