33. Katelyn
Katelyn
Skating with Jackson Wilder was a bucket-list item I didn’t even know I had.
He was so calm and patient with me while I got used to being on the ice again.
I didn’t do terribly, but he did prevent me from falling a couple of times.
Not that I’m complaining, since that just meant he had to touch me.
But even when he wasn’t supporting me, he was holding my hand or pushing against my back, making me go faster.
I was so jittery with excitement that I felt like a silly kid with a crush.
Until he kissed me. Then I didn’t feel like a silly kid anymore.
I felt like a silly woman. A woman in way over her head with a guy who still seems too good to be true.
We’re back in Jackson’s car, headed to yet another mystery location. This one apparently serves hot drinks, so my guess is a coffee shop. But I should probably stop assuming things when it comes to Jackson.
I tap my fingers against my thigh and look out the window. “So, you and Alex talked for quite a while.”
“Did we? It didn’t seem like that long,” Jackson replies innocently.
My eyes drag over in his direction. “Uh-huh. What was the favor he wanted to ask you? I hope you turned him down. ”
“I agreed to it actually. I already texted him, while you were turning in your skates.”
“What? Jackson, you didn’t have to do that. Whatever it is, I can get you out of it. He doesn’t need you giving him tickets to games. He can buy his own.”
“That’s a good idea. I should send him some tickets. He can go with you to the next home game.”
“Umm, no. To all of that. If he didn’t ask for tickets, what did he want?”
“I agreed to”—Jackson takes a long pause—“speak at his school for career day.”
Oh. Huh. That’s not at all what I expected from my brother. It’s actually a surprisingly great idea.
Slowing to take a turn, Jackson reaches over and places his hand on my forearm. “Kitten, your silence is worrying me.”
“I was just thinking how nice that is. And how mature of my brother to use that as his favor. Not that you owe him a favor. Not at all. But I assume people ask you for stuff all the time. And now that you’re doing that , he knows damn well he can’t ask you for tickets or anything else.”
“Interesting theory. Not too many people have the ‘only ask for one thing’ mindset. But I bet you’re right about Alex.”
“I’m sorry, Jackson.”
He looks over at me, brows furrowed. “What for?”
“For humanity in general. It must suck to have people asking you for things all the time. I know you’re very generous, but it’s still a burden.
And I hope you know that I’ve loved coming to your games, but I’ll gladly buy my own tickets to come watch you play.
In fact, I insist on it. You can’t keep giving me expensive tickets. ”
Jackson turns down an alley and pulls into a small parking lot.
Turning off the engine, he unbuckles, gets out of the car, and circles around the front.
He didn’t say a word after I finished talking about the tickets, but I did see his jaw clench.
I’m not sure how to read this mood, but staying put seems like the safest option as he approaches.
Jackson pulls open my door, reaches across my body to unbuckle my seatbelt, then grabs my knees and spins me so I’m facing him.
Jackson has to duck down to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. But he does, and he doesn’t stop until his face is just a few inches from my own.
Hands still on my knees, Jackson talks in a quiet but firm voice.
“You have to stop being so fucking perfect, Kitten. I’m trying to make it through this day in a civilized manner.
I’m doing my best to resist the urge of throwing you over my shoulder and taking you back home.
But if I’m going to succeed, you need to stop saying all the right things, making all the right sounds, and looking at me like I hung the damn moon.
We have this place, then dinner, then I’m taking you home.
Not a moment before. Nod if you understand what I’m saying. ”
My mouth suddenly feels very dry, but I’m able to give him a small nod.
His hands slide up a few inches until they’re covering my thighs.
“And I’ll give you tickets to my games. I’ll do so as often as I please, and I’ll give you as many as I please.
I’ll dress you up in my jersey, and any other item of clothing I can think of, branding you as mine.
You’ll take them, you’ll wear them, and you’ll be fucking happy about it. Nod if you understand me.”
I nod.
His stare doesn’t get any less intense. “Good. Now get your fine ass out of the vehicle.”
I bite my lips closed, afraid that - if I open them - the bumblebees banging around in my chest will fly free.
Jackson dips his head out of the car but doesn’t back up. Slowly, I slide out of the passenger seat until my feet hit the ground, keeping eye contact with Jackson the whole way.
He gestures for me to move so he can shut the door. As I step past him, he smacks my ass.
I let out a yelp, spinning around to face him. He just smirks and takes my hand.
I feel like I’m getting to know the hidden Jackson a little bit better… And I like it.
We walk around the corner of a building and, just like with Squeeze Me , we’re in what looks to be a mainly residential neighborhood.
Looking up at the establishment ahead of us, I see the name is written in big wooden block letters above the doorway.
The letters are chipped and painted in yellow, while the rest of the storefront is a dark green.
The name reads Cuppa Chapters . From the style and overall feel of the building, I’d say we are going into a bookstore.
As always, Jackson holds the door open for me to go through first. Stepping inside, I’m immediately hit with the wonderful aroma of fresh-ground coffee beans—and books. I stop so suddenly that Jackson bumps into me.
He chuckles. “See something you like?”
“ Like? I’m in love. What is this place? I feel like I stepped into Narnia... or Diagon Alley! How did I not know about this?” My pitch hits a high note as I finish my ramble, but I don’t even care. This is absolutely my new favorite place.
“Come on,” Jackson says, placing his hand on my back. “I’ll show you around.”
Jackson leads me through a maze of bookshelves that reach all the way to the ceiling.
From what I can tell, there is everything from brand new best sellers to heavily worn, decades-old texts.
The sections aren’t labeled, so you’d either need to ask for assistance or just take your time strolling through.
Every time we turn a corner, there’s another cluster of chairs.
Some with tables, some with ottomans, and some large overstuffed chairs you could read in for hours.
Reaching the back of the store, we come to a larger, semi-open space that has an eclectic mix of tables and chairs, surrounded by an outer ring of loveseats and couches.
In the far corner is a slightly raised platform that holds a single high-back chair.
Along the rest of the back wall is a coffee bar.
With the espresso machines on proud display, the setup is very steampunk-meets-grandma’s-library.
We haven’t said anything since we started our wander through this little slice of heaven. Jackson has obviously been here before, but I appreciate that he’s letting me take it all in on my own terms. Like all our interactions, this feels familiar.
Standing in front of the menu board, Jackson moves to stand directly behind me.
With his hands on my shoulder, I know he’s close, so I lean back into his body.
Jackson slides his hands around to my collarbones before bringing both arms around my upper chest in a loose hug.
Being intimate like this shouldn’t be so easy.
But since it is, I let myself melt into his embrace even more.
When he rests his chin on the top of my head, I’m thankful that I left my hat in the car.
“This is one of Steph’s favorite hideouts.
” I can feel the rumble of his chest against my back.
I force myself to focus on his words, not the vibrations, so I don’t slip to the floor in a boneless pile of female hormones.
“When she brought me here for the first time last year, she made me promise to keep it a secret. She says it does well enough already, and that if my “meathead friends” started showing up, it would ruin the vibe. But I have a feeling she’d be okay with me bringing you here, though. ”
“I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this place. Seriously, I’m in awe. And you can tell Steph that you’re the only meathead I’ll ever come here with.”
Jackson gives my body a squeeze. “Know what you want to drink? I can promise that there are no wrong choices here.”
Reading back through the menu, I see that - along with coffee and tea beverages - they have an extensive selection of wines.
Deciding to be decadent, I choose the coconut matcha latte.
Tipping my head back and to the side I look up at Jackson, “I know what I want.”
His eyes travel to my mouth. “Me too. ”
Placing our orders, Jackson having a decaf cinnamon latte, I once again try to pay, and he literally growls at me. I relent.
Waiting for our beverages, Jackson keeps an arm slung around my shoulders.
“Every Saturday evening they have someone do a reading at the top of every hour. It’s usually only about fifteen minutes or so.
” He glances to the clock behind the bar.
“We have about twenty minutes until the next one starts. Would you like to sit here at the tables? They don’t do microphones, so if you want to listen, we should stay close. ”
Glancing around, I spot a comfortable looking loveseat in the corner and gesture toward it. “How about there?”