Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ava
When I open my eyes the next morning, I instinctively reach toward Jackson’s side of the bed, but it’s empty. I roll onto my back with a groan, exhaling against the dull throb in my skull. At least my stomach has stopped rebelling. In fact, now, it’s twisting with hunger.
On the nightstand, two ibuprofen sit beside a glass of water. I sit up and swallow them down, draining the glass in one long pull. I clap the glass back down on the nightstand, get up, and wander into the bathroom to pee.
I’m on the toilet, questioning every life choice I’ve ever made up to this point, when the bathroom door swings open. Jackson is standing in the doorway.
With a jolt, my spine snaps straight, and my knees clamp together. “What the fuck? I’m peeing.”
He leans against the doorframe, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, lips quirked, like he finds my humiliation amusing.
And before I can stop it from happening, my eyes skim over the ridges of his torso.
He’s all hard lines and tight muscle, the kind of body that makes it impossible to remember I’m supposed to be outraged.
“I need to take a shower,” he says, pushing off the doorframe.
“You can wait five seconds until I’m done,” I snap. I’m done peeing now, but I can’t stand up without him seeing more than I want him to. So I’m stuck sitting until he leaves.
He steps forward with a faint grin, his gaze locked on me. “It’s cool. We can share.”
“No, it is not coo—” My voice is snatched from my throat when he strips his sweatpants off and steps out of them. He’s not wearing underwear. And to make matters worse, he’s sporting a hard-on. His thick, veiny cock is swollen and jutting out, reaching for me.
I’m literally speechless.
For three years, I’ve clung to the memory of his body. Back then, he was seventeen, and already lean with muscle carved from hours in the gym. Now, those lines have deepened, every angle sharper, more defined, like time has only honed him into something harder, more beautiful somehow.
I swallow, my knees pressed together so tightly, they feel bruised. My brain is searching for something to say, some sarcastic remark, but my mind is a complete blank.
He must be used to getting stares, because he reaches into the shower, turns the water on, then steps inside without even a hint of self-consciousness. As soon as he’s under the spray, I stand up, wipe quickly, and pull my sweats up.
The shower is so large, it doesn’t need a door, so it’s open. And I have to walk by it to get out. So I carefully pick my way across the tile, my whole body tight, hyper-aware of a naked and aroused Jackson just a few feet away.
As I pass the shower, I can’t help but glance inside. What? I’m human. My step falters when I see his head tilted back under the stream of water, a soapy hand tugging at his cock.
My mouth feels dry, and I pause longer than I should.
I could have that cock right now. All I’d have to do is strip down and step into that shower. He’d have me pinned against that cold, wet tile in seconds, that cock buried so deep inside me.
I’d be begging him to stop, but praying he wouldn’t.
My pussy throbs, hungry for something it has no business wanting.
I’m standing there, frozen, leaning toward him as though I’m being pulled by a magnet, imagining my fingers skimming down his wet, chiseled torso, when suddenly, he turns his head and catches me staring.
Oh. Shit.
A slow smile spreads across his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. It’s the kind of smile that dares me to admit just how much I want him.
“Ugh.” I spin on my heel, and his laugh follows me all the way out to the bedroom.
I walk into the closet to grab another one of Jackson’s T-shirts. But the moment I enter, I stop short. A pile of women’s clothes sits neatly stacked on the closet island, along with a few bras and a folded pile of new panties.
Wow, Jackson actually listened when I said I needed clothes.
I sift through the clothes. They’re all brand new with designer tags, and, by some miracle, they’re my size. A pair of flip-flops sits next to the pile.
I quickly slip on a new pair of white panties and a white bra, then reach for the plainest outfit I can find—a pair of jeans, and a white baby-t. Then I slip the flip-flops on and walk back out into the bedroom.
Jackson is just walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his lean hips. A dark trail of hair tapers and disappears beneath the gray terrycloth, and I swear, my clit pulses.
Good God.
I stop short and avert my eyes.
“Good, you found the clothes,” he says, walking past me into the closet.
“I’m shocked you remembered,” I say flatly.
“Well, I can’t exactly take you out into the world wearing my sweatpants,” he says.
Wait, what? Out into the world? A flash of excitement sparks in my chest. “Where are we going?”
A couple of minutes later, he emerges from the closet wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt, the fabric pulled tight around his biceps. I try not to stare, but it’s a losing battle. When you see an anomaly like Jackson, someone so unbelievably hot, staring isn’t a choice; it’s pure instinct.
“Out,” he says vaguely, sitting on the bench at the end of the bed to put his shoes on.
“Okay, but where?” I just want to prepare myself mentally, because with Jackson, who knows what to expect?
“You’ll see,” he says.
We get in his car, and he drives ten minutes down the road to a shack that’s only a couple of steps from the beach, wedged between a coffee shop and a surf shop. It’s one of those places with a window and seating outside. But the greasy smell wafting from the window makes my stomach grumble.
“Grab a table,” Jackson says. “I’ll order.”
Normally, I’d balk at the idea of him ordering for me, but I’m so hungry, I don’t even care. I’d eat anything at this point.
I grab a handful of napkins from the dispenser on the counter and head over to one of the wobbly metal tables nearest to the beach. I give it a quick wipe-down, cleaning off some crumbs and a sticky soda ring before I sit.
Eventually, Jackson walks over with a box in one hand and a fountain drink in the other. He sits across from me, pulls my burrito out of the box, and places it in front of me, peeling back the wrapper so all I have to do is pick it up and eat.
Then he unwraps his and tucks into it right away, swallowing half of it down in one swallow.
“Eat,” he says, flicking his chin at the burrito in front of me. “It’ll help with the hangover.”
The burrito has been cut in half, and I pick up one side. Inside, there’s egg, potato, and a mess of bacon, so much, in fact, that I struggle to hold it all together. I take a bite and have to hold back the moan as I chew.
“This place is a dive, but it’s the best,” he says, watching me. “Have you ever been here?”
I shake my head as I chew, waiting until I swallow to say, “I don’t eat out a lot. It’s way too expensive around here.”
If I ever eat takeout, it’s from Isca, because I’m friendly with the chef, and I can get it for free.
He nods slowly, his gaze flicking over me. “You can have whatever you want, Ava. You know that.”
What he’s saying is that all I’d have to do is ask him for money, and he’d give it to me. I know that, but it wouldn’t come free. Nothing with him ever is. He’d demand a price I’m not willing to pay.
“I prefer to keep my soul intact, thanks,” I say, taking another bite of my burrito. It is damn good. I’ll give him that.
“Suit yourself,” he says.
I reach for the drink, but he grabs it first and realizes he only ordered one. “You forgot my drink,” I say, even though I know it was intentional.
“Yup,” he says, guiding the straw to his mouth and sucking—all the while, holding my gaze. He hands it out to me. “We’ve always shared.”
I clench my teeth, my frustration close to boiling over. Of course, he’d turn something as simple as a fountain drink into a method of control. But I’m thirsty, and I’m not in the mood to argue, so I take the drink and drain half of it before setting it back down—out of his reach.
I can only eat about half my burrito before I’m bursting. Jackson reaches over and grabs the rest, polishing it off in three bites.
Then we’re back in his car, heading out of the parking lot. I assume we’re headed back to Rush House, but then he takes Pacific Coast Highway through Malibu, turning inland toward the hills of Calabasas.
I recognize the winding roads, the massive gates, the perfectly manicured hedges, and excitement flutters in my chest. Then he pulls into a familiar driveway, and I see his mom’s palatial estate, sprawling across the hillside, all glass and stone and money.
He kills the engine, then pushes out a deep breath and glances over at me. “A promise is a promise. But let’s make this quick. If my mom knows I’m here, it won’t be pretty.”
I know he’s always had a difficult relationship with his mother; that was clear even when we were dating.
No matter what he did, he was never quite good enough for her.
She always had something to nitpick. I always got the feeling she was making him pay for his father’s sins.
But I thought they were on okay terms. I mean, as okay as they could be after everything that happened in Missouri…
“If we’re lucky, we can slip around back without being seen,” he continues.
“We? No,” I snap. “I need to go in alone.”
I already see the question in his eyes, and I could rattle off a million different reasons why he can’t come with me, as long as none of them are the truth.
In the end, he looks away and says, “Hurry up.”
Thank God.
Popping out of the car, I walk around the massive house, past the gated pool, to the guest house, where my dad has lived since he followed Jackson’s mom to California.
He’s semi-retired now, but she lets him stay, as long as he continues to do odd jobs for her around the estate.
I think she just enjoys having someone around.
The front door is unlocked, and when I walk into the house, it smells warm and familiar, like coffee and pancakes. “Hello? Dad?” I move through the entryway and past the living room, where a cartoon is playing on the TV.
When I round the corner into the kitchen, I spot Jameson in his highchair, his face already smeared with something sticky. My heart lurches, and when he sees me, he squeals.
I rush to him, pulling him out of his highchair, and smashing my face into his chubby cheek. He smells like maple syrup. “Hey, did you miss me?” I say, pulling back to look at him. I’ve only been gone three days, and I already feel like he’s forgotten me.
My dad pops out from the kitchen. “Hey, kid,” he says, pulling me into a hug. Jameson is already squirming to go play, so I set him down and watch him amble off into the adjoining living room.
“Where’s Olivia?” I ask, looking around. She lives with Dad, so I expected to see her.
“She’s off at job number two,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “Then I think she has a doctor’s appointment or something. Doesn’t matter. It gives Jameson and me some alone time.”
“So, everyone is okay?” I ask, my breath held. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, maybe because disappearing from my life isn’t something I’ve ever done before. I guess part of me is waiting to be reprimanded for it.
“Everyone is fine,” Dad says, like it’s no big deal. “We’re just worried about you. Everything okay?”
I swallow. “Yeah, but, um…I just wanted to tell you that I’ll need to be away for a few more days…”
My dad wipes his hands on his apron. “Is this about that guy you’ve been dating? What’s his name, Charlie?”
“Chase, ” I correct.
Jameson starts to fuss about a toy he can’t pull out of the basket, so my dad wanders over to help him. “Well, whatever his name is. I don’t like him for you.”
Okay, here we go. My dad always has to have an opinion about the guys I date. The only one he’s ever liked was Jackson—but then again, he doesn’t know everything that happened the night his stepfather died, so…
I lift my hands. “What’s wrong with Chase? He’s literally the nicest guy I’ve dated.”
He pulls Jameson’s ball free of the other toys and hands it to him. “That’s exactly it,” he says, straightening. “He’s too nice. There’s something off about him.”
I blow out a breath and shake my head. “Whatever, Dad. It’s not about Chase. I just need some time to figure a couple of things out.”
Which is as close to the truth as I can get.
“Well, I’m glad you checked in,” he says. “We’re fine here.”
I spend a few more minutes chatting with Dad and hanging out with Jameson before I cut my visit short. If I linger too long, there’s always the chance Jackson will come looking for me, and that can’t happen.