18. Jackson
EIGHTEEN
Jackson
Slicing the last of the cheese, I set it on a plate with an assortment of crackers, trying not to eavesdrop on Blakely murmuring from the living room. I wasn’t sure what to do once she woke up, I only knew that I didn’t want her to leave, so I’m working with what I’ve got.
It’s not until I’ve opened the bottle of wine and poured us both a glass that I remember she’s technically not even supposed to have alcohol. Hesitating, something pinches in my chest when I’m once again reminded of our age difference. Not being legally allowed to drink is such a distant memory for me, I can barely remember what it felt like. She still has two more years until she’s twenty-one.
Jesus, what the hell am I doing?
Honestly, I’m not sure that being friends with someone this young is appropriate, which is one of the many reasons I’ve tried to keep her at arm’s length for as long as I have. But today, something shifted and I’m finding it increasingly more difficult to give a damn.
Shaking off my reservations, I finish pouring the wine, reminding myself that age is just a number and if there’s someone I connect with—even if it’s a nineteen-year-old—I shouldn’t take that for granted.
Plus, it’s been nice getting to know the real Blakely. The one I wasn’t sure existed until today.
Blowing out a deep breath, I pick up the glasses of merlot and walk into the living room, my heart stuttering along with my feet when I see her pocket her phone and stand, her gaze already trained on the front door.
“Hey.” I swallow, feeling awkward as hell, standing here like I expected her to stay when it’s obvious she’s ready to leave.
Blakely glances at me, her eyes flicking to the wine, then back to the door. “Hey, sorry I fell asleep. Sierra’s about to kill me if I don’t get home.”
“What, is she about to ground you?” I raise a brow.
She laughs, but irritation at Sierra takes over every bone in my body. There’s just something about her that seems off. Something that makes me want to stand by Blakely’s side and make sure she’s not being taken advantage of. And I sure as hell don’t like the way she brushed off Blakely’s panic attack like it was an inconvenience.
“I thought you could maybe stick around a bit. Have some wine.” I lift the glasses, smiling. “I made a cheese board.”
Blakely glances at me again, her lips twitching. “A cheese board?” Her eyes fall back to the merlot in my hands but she shakes her head, glancing away. “I really should get back.”
Sighing, I ignore the disappointment that’s sinking like a rock in my gut and walk next to her, placing the glasses down on the coffee table. “Okay, let me put everything away and I’ll take you.”
I spin to head to the kitchen, but her hand reaches out, gripping my forearm. Electricity zigzags along my skin from her touch.
“No, really, that’s okay. You’ve done more than enough, Jackson. Lennox can take me home. I’m sure he’s just sitting outside.” She grimaces when she says his name and I hate the jealousy I feel that he gets to spend so much time with her.
But of course he does. How could I forget that our worlds are stratospheres apart? She always has security to drive her around. To protect her. She doesn’t need me. The Blakely I experienced today is one that rarely comes to the surface, too busy being smothered behind the cameras and the socialite persona, and even if that’s not who she is all the time, it’s who she is most of the time. When it matters.
Not willing to part with the girl that I’ve had all day, I blow out a breath and try again. “I don’t mind, princess.”
“But I do,” she whispers.
My stomach churns, wondering what happened from the time she woke up to now—what was said that stole away the girl who’s been my catharsis and brought back the Blakely everyone else gets to see.
Turning my body until I’m facing her, my finger dips under her chin, pulling her eyes up to mine. “Can I have Blake back?”
She blinks at me. “What?”
“ This ”—my free hand gestures toward her body—“isn’t the girl I’ve been with all day. This is the Blakely the rest of the world gets, and I’ll be honest, I don’t have any interest in her.”
She flinches, trying to pull away, but I cup her jaw, gripping tight enough to make her stay. “I want the real you, Blake. Let me have her.”
I realize after the words leave my lips how they sounded, but instead of taking them back—the way I know that I should—I let them linger in the space between us, my stomach clenching and releasing while I wait for her to react.
Blakely’s eyes gloss over, her teeth clamping down on that pouty bottom lip, forcing my gaze to follow the movement. There’s a heaviness spinning around us, winding the strings of our energies tight, and if something doesn’t happen, I think I might break in two.
I’m tired of breaking.
So I decide not to.
Her eyes flare a millisecond before my lips meet hers, our mouths colliding like lightning clashing in the waves of stormy waters.
Damn, she tastes good.
Groaning, my hands move from her jaw, sliding down her arms and cradling her waist, dragging her body into mine until every inch of her is pressed against every inch of me. She gasps, and I snag the opportunity, dipping my tongue between her lips, drowning in her taste.
Her palms slide up my chest, leaving sparks in their wake, her fingers tangling in the strands of hair at the nape of my neck and tugging, and the sensation of her everywhere; in my mouth, in my hair is so overwhelming that goose bumps sprout along my spine and spread over my body. She lifts her leg, wrapping it around me, my hips falling effortlessly between her thighs. My hands fumble down to her ass and grab firmly, capturing her moan with my tongue, the headiness of her breath making my dick pulse against the fabric of my boxers.
And in this moment, I’ll admit, even if it’s just to myself, that I’ve been fucking dreaming of this. Of knowing what she tastes like and having her molded beneath my hands like she’s the perfect piece of art.
Suddenly she breaks away, stumbling back and covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide and frantic.
Shit.
I step into her, grasping her fingers, wordlessly pleading for her to stay with me in this moment. Leaning down, I lightly peck her lips.
“Stay.” I whisper the word against her mouth.
She blows out a steady breath, her hands trembling as she tangles them with mine. “Okay.”
A torrent of relief rushes through me, knowing she feels it too.
Whatever it is.
I couldn’t put a name to it if I tried. All I know is that it’s strong, crashing through me like a hurricane, obliterating everything I thought I knew.
Everything I thought I had felt before.
Her fingers squeeze mine as she drops her face to my chest, rolling her forehead back and forth. “Jackson,” she rasps. “What are we gonna do?”
My heart falters, afraid she’s going to tell me we have to stop. That it’s not worth it.
That I’m not worth it.
“Let’s worry about that later.” I push her hair behind her ear.
“I need us to…” She pauses, chewing through the skin of her lip. Withdrawing my hand from hers, my thumb reaches up and tugs, the pad of my finger smoothing over the rough edges where she’s bitten through.
She smiles, her eyes softening as she kisses the tip of my thumb, her hands wrapping around my wrist. “I need to go slow if we do this.” Her cheeks bloom the most beautiful shade of pink.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Blake. I just want to spend time with you.” Not able to help myself, I lean down again, pressing my mouth to hers, a thousand fireflies lighting up my chest.
I have no clue what I’m doing. There’s no reasoning to my actions. No thought of what tomorrow will bring or how we’ll handle what’s inevitably going to come if we decide to be together. Her father. The public.
My heart skips at the thought, my stomach jumping into my throat as I realize that’s what I want.
I want to be with her.
I want to try.
Fuck everything else.
Now, I just have to hope she wants that, too.