Chapter 24 Jackson
Jackson
Jackson’s hands shake as he clasps the bathroom doorknob, opens it.
Ethan’s standing over the sink, soaping his hands. His eyes find Jackson’s in the mirror. “I didn’t even really need to go, just wanted to talk to you. In private.”
Jackson gulps. “Me, too. I mean, I don’t actually need use the restroom.” How awkward.
Ethan lifts a thick linen cloth from a stack atop a silver tray, dries his hands, twists toward Jackson.
He’s even handsomer than Jackson remembered from the other night. If that’s possible. And he can smell him, a clean, woodsy scent that somehow also smells like sex. This man reeks of it.
“Sorry I acted out there like we’d never met before.” He cocks his head to one side, drinks Jackson in with his eyes. His long lashes flutter as they trace over Jackson.
“I…I—” Jackson mutters. His mouth has gone dry, his tongue immobile. How is he supposed to respond? Yeah, me, too. Sorry, my best friend, Charleigh, hates your family, so she can’t know that we’ve already met because I kept it a secret from her?
“It’s just that I didn’t exactly tell my wife about you.” Ethan takes a slight step toward Jackson. “She knew I was at the bar, trying to drum up clients, meet people, but I didn’t mention we were hanging out all night. Together.”
He tilts his head again, smiles that crooked grin.
Heat washes over Jackson. If they were in a bar right now, or at a party, this would definitely be a moment where a kiss might happen. And he’s tempted. So tempted to lean in, grab the back of Ethan’s head, graze his lips with his own.
But…what if this is all in my head? All one-sided?
They stand there, staring at each other. Blood whooshes so heavily through Jackson’s ears, he’s confident Ethan can hear it, detect his attraction.
“I also wanted to see if you’d like to come out tomorrow?” Ethan’s voice, like the other night, is molasses sweet. “To my place? You know, to look at my stuff. Wife’s gonna be in town.”
Jackson swallows and tries to steady his voice. “I’d love to. Is ten a.m. good?” Why is he putting a specific time on it? What if ten is not good? God, he sounds like such a dork.
“I can make that work.”
Whew.
The door cracks open, and Charleigh’s voice peals through the room. “Jackson! I can’t stand to sit there one second longer, so I’m heading to the bar to get a drink. Or several. Want anything?”
Heat scrapes up Jackson’s neck. He’s both embarrassed that his mommy is shouting at him—at least she had the good sense not to poke her head in—and angry that she’s intruded on this moment.
Jackson rolls his eyes, which Ethan catches, then rewards him with a playful grin.
“Get me another ’rita!” He tries to sound authoritative, bossy. Then immediately backpedals. “Be right out!”
Charleigh finally releases the freaking door.
“Guess that’s our cue,” Ethan says.
Dammit, Charleigh. I wanted one more second alone with him.
Ethan inches around him, his hip lightly brushing Jackson’s as he moves.
Trembling, his breath catching, Jackson nearly jumps.
“See ya tomorrow, huh?” Ethan asks, lifting an eyebrow.
“You bet.”
You bet? Kill me now.
He trails Ethan, stepping back out onto the deck. And while logically he knows this is not the case, he feels as though there’s a spotlight above them, dousing them with light, broadcasting their flirtation for the whole crowd to see.
“There you are!” Monica’s voice bounds toward them. She’s now seated with her family at a table, which, thank God, is far away from the Andersens. She waves her hands wildly at Ethan, as if she owns him, gold bangles jingling down her stick-thin arms.
If Jackson could shove her off the deck into the lake right now without getting in deep shit, he’d do it. Instead, he turns and heads toward the bar, toward Charleigh, whose head is cast back as she shoots a jigger of tequila.