I Can’t Make You Love Me

Chapter Eight

Morning jogs were probably Jared’s favorite part of the day. The fresh air woke him up better than any caffeinated beverage and people often stopped to watch him go by, which was a bit of an ego boost.

Like your ego needs anymore boosting, Paris always said. Jared chuckled at the thought and turned around the corner.

He hadn’t realized his usual jogging route took him right past Jaelyn’s building, but he certainly noticed it today. As he passed, he looked up toward what he thought was her window and saw it was open, the white curtains fluttering in the morning breeze.

Jared was still looking up when a voice next to him said, “Stalker, much?” His head swiveled around so fast, he heard the bones in his neck crack. Paris was by his side, jogging along with him, dressed in pink workout pants and a matching sports bra. She was looking at Jared accusingly and he noted that she had already done her makeup – foundation, lip liner, the whole nine yards.

“You know this is my jogging route, Paris, you know that,” said Jared calmly. “Don’t be a jealous Jane.”

“I’m not jealous,” she retorted. “I just want you to admit that you’re interested in her.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because you took her to the VMAs. You ran away with her afterward. God only knows what you did then.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I drove her home and then I went home.”

“And you expect me to believe you didn’t make a move?”

“I wouldn’t dream of expecting that,” Jared chuckled. “In what universe could I ever hope to explain to Paris Whitney Hilton that a man and a woman can have a nice evening out without it ending in sex?”

“In a universe where you’re capable of a nice evening with a woman not ending in sex,” answered Paris. Despite the misconception that Paris couldn’t do anything for herself, she was keeping pace with Jared and even sweating less.

“Believe what you’d like,” said Jared. “I don’t owe you an explanation for my actions.”

Paris made an annoyed sound and jumped in front of Jared, stopping him in his tracks. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“It’s all I can think about,” he said sarcastically.

“I think that you’re afraid that if you admit you like her, you’ll be vulnerable. If you like someone, they can hurt you or worse – make you look bad. And I think you’re terrified of that happening.”

“You know,” said Jared sourly, “I think I’ve been psychoanalyzed enough for one week. So, if you don’t mind, you’re ruining my morning run.”

He moved past her and resumed his pace, ignoring Paris’ voice calling after him, “Well, you’re ruining my life!”

While Jared understood Paris exceedingly well, he was having a hard time understanding her motives. It would be one thing if she were undermining Jaelyn or attempting to compare herself to Jaelyn, but she wasn’t even talking about Jaelyn that much. Most of her comments had been about Jared himself. What was she trying to accomplish? And why was she trying so hard to convince him that he was scared of looking bad? After all, wasn’t “no publicity is bad publicity” one of his most frequently used mottos?

And, to be honest, he really didn’t want to admit he liked Jaelyn to Paris because he simply didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

Paris, he decided, just wants to confuse me. If I’m confused, I’ll make a mistake.

By the time he arrived back at his house, he was convinced that Paris was using some warped reverse-psychology on him. After all, she was actually a very smart woman and, if he didn’t know her so well, such tactics might have proved fatal. He just had to remember that her words were just that – words. Paris Hilton was notoriously all talk and no action and Jared doubted that was going to change anytime soon.

........................................................

Paris tapped her foot impatiently, looking over Hugo’s shoulder and sighing loudly. She hadn’t shelled out so much money to stand around, watching some geek mess around on his computer, and she’d already been waiting a half hour, all while listening to him carry on about what an honor it was to be helping her. The man looked up, wiping sweat from his receding hairline, and said, “It’s loading, Miss Hilton. Sorry it’s so slow. My internet’s not the best.”

“I’m not paying you to give me excuses,” said Paris, rolling her eyes. “I’m paying you for the software.”

“Yes, Miss Hilton.”

There was a soft ping! from the computer speakers and Paris leaned forward eagerly.

A series of thumbnails took up Hugo’s computer screens, all of the same red-haired woman doing various activities – walking out of Starbucks, onstage at a concert, standing at a table outside a Coffeeshop, hugging a handsome man on the red carpet... Paris felt another flare of jealousy in his chest. It was even stronger than the one she’d felt this morning when she’d seen Jared looking up at Jaelyn’s apartment as he passed.

“Anything that isn’t from a paparazzi site?” Paris asked impatiently, leaning closer so she could scan the photos.

“Well, you didn’t give me a very good photo,” said Hugo hesitantly. “Most of these are shot from a distance and—”

“Just shut up and let me look,” snapped Paris, yanking the mouse away from him. She scrolled through the pages, leaning so close her nose was practically touching the screen. Hugo was bearing most of her weight on his shoulder as a result and would have been protesting if the position didn’t give him such an excellent view of the side of her left breast.

“Yes!” she exclaimed suddenly, straightening up and making Hugo jump so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

“What is it?” Hugo asked, once again wiping sweat from his forehead. With shaky hands, he pulled off his glasses and wiped the steam from them with his shirt.

“There. That one.”

Hugo replaced his glasses and clicked on the thumbnail, bringing up a large photo of the same girl. She was young in the photo, probably thirteen or fourteen, and she was riding a fat, brown pony. Her brown hair was in two braids and she was wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and cowgirl boots.

The photo came from the Facebook page of a woman named Faith Carter. Following the link, Paris was thrilled to find that the woman was almost identical to Jaelyn. The caption under the photo read JJ riding her birthday horse Patches.

“I’ve got her,” Paris whispered triumphantly. “I’ve got you, Jaelyn Carter.”
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Fun fact: this marks the first chapter of any of my stories that features a point of view other than one of the two main protagonists. :)