48. Margot
48
margot
Golden morning light shines through the windows of Matt and Braden’s apartment. Matt called Rae and told her we needed to come over now if we wanted pancakes. That’s all it took for us to run here barefoot, wearing whatever we slept in.
“Braden, you need to have Friday nights off more often, so you don’t sleep in. Matt never makes us pancakes on Saturday mornings.”
“Does Matt ever make us anything?” I ask with a laugh.
Matt’s eyes widen as he sets plates on the kitchen counter for us. “Wow, Margot. I hand you the love of your life on a silver platter, and this is how you thank me?”
Rae rolls her eyes before saying in a low voice, “If you and Jackson ever get married, I hope you’re ready for his speech.”
I shake my head, amused.
Matt spins around like he forgot something important. “Actually, I handed you Braden on a silver platter, too. So, you should be thanking me for the love of your life and the pancakes. ”
My eyes jump to Braden just quick enough to catch him grimace before he laughs to himself and flips another pancake.
Before I can stop myself, I open my mouth. “Aw, come on. Braden is good for more than just pancakes.”
Braden looks over his shoulder at me and winks.
Rae sighs. “I’m telling you, Braden, one day you’re going to make the best husband. I wish I had more single friends to set you up with.”
He shrugs. “That’s okay. I’m not really looking to date right now.” He looks over his shoulder at Rae with a small smile, but his eyes quickly jump to me before he turns back to cooking.
Matt slides into the barstool next to Rae. “He means it, too. I’ve seen him turn down the opportunity more than once.”
Braden shoots him a glare. “They weren’t my type.”
Matt huffs and mutters to Rae, “I’m starting to think no one is his type.”
Braden shrugs. “I’m sure she’s out there.”
“She definitely is,” I say as I look down at my phone on the counter. There’s a new notification from the American Thieves account, so I tap on it to find a picture of the guys all sitting in a big, round booth together at some type of bar or restaurant. They all have huge smiles plastered on their faces, and there are plenty of empty shot and drink glasses in front of them. I read the caption.
Thanks for a great night, Lexington. You gave us more than one reason to celebrate!
They certainly look like they were celebrating something. I barely recognize Brian with his shirt unbuttoned and his hair a mess.
Braden sets a plate of pancakes in front of me, and I glance up to smile and thank him. He returns the gesture before turning back to the stove. Rae and Matt have started debating something about Thanksgiving, so I go ahead and tap on the band’s tagged photos. They’re usually just shots of the stage or pictures of groups of friends at the shows, but I like looking at them. It’s fun to see people enjoying their music.
I pause when I look at the first thumbnail. It’s not a picture from their show last night. It’s a picture from what looks to be the same bar they were sitting in for the other photo. I tap on the image to make it bigger and blink. The photo is of a blonde girl in a leather jacket pressed against Jackson with his back to the bar. Her hands are in his hair, and even though they aren’t kissing, her face is only inches from his. He’s staring at her intently, but I can’t figure out if it’s because he’s pissed off or turned on. Nothing in his body language is pushing her away, but he doesn’t look like he’s pulling her closer either.
There’s a second picture with it, so I quickly swipe to see. It’s just them again, almost in the same position, but now it looks like she’s whispering something in his ear. Her hands have moved from his hair to his waist. I have to zoom in when my eyes land on her fingers because they’re completely tucked into the waistline of his pants.
There are only the two pictures, but I keep swiping back and forth between them like I might have missed something the first five times. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but this doesn’t look good. My heart pounds in my chest like a battle drum and sweat prickles my forehead. Then I read the caption.
I was lucky enough to score tickets to see Crooner Sins and American Thieves last night! I guess you could say I was lucky enough to score in other ways, too . . .
There’s a wink emoji followed by a black heart, and the whole thing makes me feel sick.
“What do you think, Margot?” Rae asks, and I tear my eyes away from the screen.
“Think about what? ”
Her eyebrows furrow slightly, but she says, “Matt coming home with us for Thanksgiving? This way he can meet my parents while we’re there.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “Um, yeah. I think that would be great.”
Rae looks back at Matt. “See, it would be great.”
Slowly getting to my feet, I try to calm my racing heart. “I’m sorry. I have to call Jackson. I’ll be right back.”
“Everything okay?” Rae asks behind me as I hurry toward the door.
“Yeah!” I call out over my shoulder.
As soon as I’m safely in the hallway and peering eyes are all behind closed doors, I feel the hot threat of tears. It’s like I’ve stepped into some alternate reality where Jackson might not be the person I thought he was, and I hate this heart-sinking feeling making my palms sweat.
Rushing into my apartment, I’m able to make it to my bedroom before the first tear falls. I quickly wipe it away, but I pull up the post again, screenshotting both pictures like they might disappear any minute.
Now that I’m alone, I try to study the pictures more closely. I zoom in enough to see her black nail polish poking through strands of his hair as she looks like she’s thirty seconds away from kissing him. I study the set of his jaw and wonder if he’s struggling to hold back because he wants her. Is he staring at her intently because he’s ten seconds away from saying “fuck it” and giving in to the temptation?
I click on the girl’s profile only to have the rest of her pictures feel like a punch to the chest. She’s gorgeous. And not in an underrated, quiet way. She’s stunning, and she poses in these pictures like she knows she’s stunning. I bet she could seduce anyone. So, the question is . . . did she?
Part of me doesn’t want to know. I’m not sure I’m ready to confirm anything. But a larger, louder part of me needs to know if something happened. Well, from the looks of things, something probably did. Now it’s just a matter of how much or how little. How much am I willing to forgive?
With shaking hands, I let out a breath and press the call button next to Jackson’s name.