KICK IT | JENLISA

71

Jennie

Confidence and arrogance toed the same line, one that I blurred under my judgmental misconceptions. I painted a picture of Lisa that wasn't who she truly was. From interviews, snapshot exchanges with Jackson, and one drunken mistake, I assumed that she was an arrogant ass who hid behind a curtain of successful public imaging. Because a person as gorgeous, wealthy, successful, and public-facing as Lisa, had to be an ass.

But she wasn't an ass. Lisa was... a fucking Labrador. No, she was a Blue Lacy. Loyal no matter what the reciprocated treatment, she never spoke ill of her competitors or her ex. Not even when that floozy Kendall flounced her shiny new man stick, Lisa didn't raise her voice above a bullshit meter level.

With me, Lisa was... I didn't know a single word to describe her. She'd stirred up my vocabulary like a bowl of alphabet soup. Quick to apologise, she acknowledged when she was wrong. She called me out on my bullshit. She never pushed me when I backed myself into a corner, instead offered hugs to pull me out. She challenged my stubbornness, but she also left me space to sort out my convoluted shit. Fuck, she comforted me during a panic attack. And I just knew, during my therapy class, she saw me. The list of reasons dizzied my brain, and I braced my club like a cane.

She was decent and caring.

She was a genuinely decent person that I misjudged.

She fixed Taehyung's truck. Correction: she paid to fix up Taehyung's truck and gave me a loaner with no questions asked.

She only sought self-improvement, not fame or glory.

She cared about her family to name a charity in honour of their names, not just hers.

She cared about her charity.

She matched the funds, dollar for dollar.

She was the most ripped-off donor of them all.

The ground swayed under my cleats. Well, fuck. Was this what an aneurysm felt like?

"Jennie, right?" a male voice interrupted my Lisa monologue. Thank fuck.

"Yeah?" My eyebrows lifted at the younger, dark-skinned man who extended a hand. Rough palms and fingertips, blocked shoulder muscles, lean arms, and the same cocky grin. I knew him from Jackson's refusal to be his manager. "Devin, right?"

"Yep." His diamond stud earrings caught the sun with his nod. Signing bonus gift to himself, I assumed. "I need to talk to Lisa. How's her shoulder doing?"

His chill, relaxed tone settled on my ears. My stubbornness voted for 'none of your business' but my Irene-injected inner voice reminded me to be nice.

"Fine." I quipped, crossing my arms and suppressing an urge to cat hiss. "Better than fine. She'll be great."

We exchanged the most pathetic chit-chat. At one point, we debated which hole had the greenest grass, and both exhaled when Lisa finished her selfies. "Uhh, Lisa?"

Not needing to witness a pro-athlete dick comparison, I relieved my aching legs by hopping into Lisa's passenger seat. The leather warmed the back of my thighs as I watched a forced handshake, fake smiles, and the fakest laugh I'd ever heard from Lisa. Her eyes screamed for escape.

Could I drive over Devin Booker's foot with the golf cart? No, but I could draw a picture of it. I grabbed my purse from the glove box and withdrew my orange notebook. My fingers skimmed the perimeter, where the soft moleskin rolled into a harder edge.

My only YG Accounting souvenir shook in my grasp. Past my Lisa death stick figures were my notes. Nerves thrummed in my veins. I hugged it to my chest. I dipped my chin down and picked on my left hand's thumbnail. How would she take this news? Would she be mad that I hadn't told her sooner? It'd been two months.

Why I hadn't told her sooner was buried under my selfishness. I was so concerned with my priorities and engaging in petty shit with Lisa that I missed the bigger picture. Better late than never? I withdrew a pen from my purse and scratched it over the first open page. Guess this would reveal how good of a person she was.

"Uhh, we're back." Lisa's voice lifted my eyes to Jackson's driveway.

When did we get here? Our collective smell of musky perspiration, dirt, and grass filled the interior of Lisa's truck. I coughed back the dryness in my throat. Heat pumped out of my palms and dampened the leather surface.

The smile she offered when her hand helped me out was enough encouragement. My notebook trembled as I extended it to her. "There's something you should see."