27. Blakely
TWENTY-SEVEN
Blakely
“Blake.”
Jackson’s voice rings out, echoing off the metal stalls in the restroom and I shrink back, my knees practically to my chin as I push farther against the tile wall. My trembling fingers press against my mouth, the teeth indenting the flesh from the pressure. My breathing is sharp. Stuttered, making it almost impossible to stay quiet through the tears.
But I try because I don’t want him to see me like this. Don’t want it to be yet another time he has to pick me up from where I’m breaking into pieces on the floor.
It was a fruitless mission to seek out my dad, and I knew it from the moment Karen told me he was here. But there was a part of me that jumped at the chance anyway, wanting to see if things had shifted. If maybe him thinking I was gone would make him cherish the moments with me here.
But those are just visions of a lonely girl who wants her reality to change because she’s been shown there’s something more.
“Blake.”
Jackson’s voice is closer now, his shadow swallowing up the flittering light through the bottom of the stall door. A clunking sound rings out, the frame shaking slightly, and even though I can’t see to the other side, I just know his forehead is resting against the metal.
“Blake,” he whispers. “Let me in.”
My mouth pinches harder, salty tears dripping between my knuckles as I keep back the noise.
Leasing her body like it’s property.
Is that really what he thinks of me?
Is that what everyone thinks of me?
The thought spears my chest and my vision blurs.
One. Two. Three.
My fingers tighten around my mouth, the urge to drop my hands and clench them overwhelming, but I stop myself, afraid my hurt will bleed out with the sobs if I don’t hold them in.
Jackson sighs and his shadow morphs, his legs coming into view as he slips to a sitting position on the other side of the door.
He doesn’t speak for long moments, my breathing comes rapidly and the tension in my chest is a physical ache, like a rubber band about to snap.
His hand appears under the stall.
My gaze zeroes in on where his palm is resting on the subway tile, the pressure easing now that I have something to focus on. My chest jumps with jerky inhales as my eyes trace the veins on his forearm, pausing at the hairband that’s always wrapped around his wrist, an odd sense of jealousy dripping through me when I wonder what it would be like to be a staple in Jackson’s life.
Slowly, I move my hand, placing it in his, my manicured nails sliding against his thick, calloused fingers.
He twines them together, and a warmth sweeps through me, brushing under my skin.
I’m sure we look ridiculous. Two people sitting on a dirty bathroom floor, holding hands under a stall. But I don’t care. I allow myself to sink into this moment and accept the comfort he provides.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I wipe the lingering tears from where they’re dripping off my lashes and smack my head against the tile wall, enjoying the bite of pain that clears the fog from my mind.
I close my eyes.
One. Two. Three. Deep breath in.
It takes twenty-two minutes until I’m okay to move. To function .
One thousand three hundred and twenty seconds.
I know because I’ve counted every single one.
Our hands are still connected, energy sizzling as it dances off our palms, the heat melding our fingers together. A chill rushes up my arm as I break away, my body begging to slip back into his hold. I resist the urge.
This part I’m familiar with.
I know how to pick myself up and slap my frazzled edges back together with tape. It’s a shoddy job—my flaws bursting at the seams with the slightest jolt—but it’s one that lets me hide the pain in the deepest chambers of my heart, where only I can see the hurt.
Unlatching the stall lock and swinging open the door, I meet Jackson’s glassy gaze, waiting for embarrassment to slam into me.
How can he not see how weak I am?
But it doesn’t come. Instead, a different type of pressure bears down on my chest, spreading to my stomach and flowing through my limbs, filling me with gratitude. For the first time in my life, I feel like someone has my back.
He sees me even when I don’t want to see myself.
Smiling, he reaches out and brushes his hand down my hair, but he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t bring up my dad or how absolutely pathetic I looked begging for his time.
We head back to the reception area, my eyes scanning the halls, hoping I don’t run into anyone, not ready to face them until I’ve built my shield back to full strength.
“If you’re looking for a dinner date, I’ve heard I’m pretty good company,” Jackson says, smirking as I walk around and plop into the office chair.
I laugh, his attempt at lightening the mood dulling the throb in my chest, just a little. But then my heart pinches when I realize I have to turn him down.
“I really don’t have time. I just…” I trail off, chewing on my lip.
“You just…” He peers down at me, standing so close I can feel the warmth coming off his body. My eyes are level with his groin and heat spikes through me at our position.
“It’s stupid.” I fidget in my seat, trying to get rid of the sudden throb between my legs.
Jackson leans in closer and my mouth goes dry as his fingers tip up my chin. “ Nothing you do is stupid, Blake.”
My heart slams against my ribs at the absolute certainty in his words. He’s so sure in what he says that I have no choice but to believe him. Because I know Jackson wouldn’t lie.
“Have dinner with me,” he whispers.
His hand is still on my chin, his eyes peering so deep, I swear they touch my soul.
Nodding, my fingers wrap around his wrist. “Okay.”
“We only have a couple hours before my glam team shows up, so I hope you’ve planned something quick and easy,” I tell Jackson as I let him in through my front door.
He smiles and kisses my cheek, the stubble on his jaw tickling my skin. My stomach flips.
Walking into the foyer, he glances around, then heads straight to the kitchen, like he’s been here for years. Like he’s walked these halls a thousand times.
I’ve lived here my whole life and sometimes still have issues getting to where I need to be.
But that’s just Jackson. Comfortable in any element. He doesn’t have to command the room because it’s intrinsic, the air molding to fit him so perfectly. He owns the space just by existing within it.
“I don’t have anything planned, princess. You invited me, remember?” He smirks, leaning against the gray marble island.
My brow raises. “False. You invited yourself.”
His grin widens and he sits down on a stool, his chain rustling under his shirt. My stomach clenches, remembering what it felt like to have the metal threaded between my fingers while I came apart in his arms.
My mouth waters and I swallow the saliva, jerking into action when I realize I’m staring like an idiot, wasting valuable time. I have two hours at best before I’m whisked away, back into my responsibilities.
Usually I’d be in the gym, getting an early evening workout in to cushion unforeseen things—food or drink that I can’t avoid. But the urge to spend time with Jackson is stronger than the threat of empty calories, even as the panic wraps around my chest and squeezes, reminding me how easily it can steal my breath.
I’ll just exercise when I get back home.
Sleep is overrated anyway. And I’m desperate for some time between Jackson and me where both of us aren’t falling apart at the seams.
Part of me wonders if he’s attracted to the mess—a scrambled puzzle for him to piece together, then walk away from once I’m whole. But I don’t want to think on that either, so I shove it to the back of my mind, determined to enjoy the time together. I’ve never had a boyfriend .
My heart stalls as I think the word, my eyes widening as I stare at him across the kitchen. He’s watching me with a sparkle in his mossy gaze, his eyes inquisitive.
“You’re far too pretty to look so sad,” he says, cocking his head to the side.
“What are we doing?” I rush out.
The easy smile drops from his face and he jumps from the stool and strides toward me. I back up, realizing that he’s not slowing down as he comes closer. My stomach flips and my hands grow clammy, my back bumping into the wall.
He presses against me, his hips pinning mine in place. “What do you want to be doing?”
I suck in a gasp, butterflies racing from my stomach to my throat, anticipation and arousal surging through my insides. My teeth sink into my lower lip, gnawing away at the flesh the way they always do when I’m nervous.
His fingers grip my chin, his thumb tugging until my mouth parts.
“You’ll make yourself bleed,” he rumbles.
“Maybe I like the pain,” I whisper back.
His eyes flare and even though it seems like he enjoyed what I said, embarrassment still heats my cheeks. Maybe I like the pain? I don’t know why I said that, even if I know it’s true.
The sting helps me focus, allowing me to feel control even when things slip from my grasp. At least the discomfort is something I’m choosing.
He leans in closer, resting his forehead against mine, his hand cupping the back of my neck until our mouths are centimeters apart. His breath is sweet and I suck it in, wanting him to breathe new life into my bones. Bathe me in his comfort and leave me with his peace, so even after he’s gone, I feel him here.
“Careful, princess. That almost sounds like an invitation.”
The scratch in his voice sends a thrill racing through me, and not for the first time, I wonder what it would be like to give myself to him.
I wouldn’t lease my body to Jackson. I’d let him own it.
“Maybe it is,” I breathe into his lips.
His grip around my neck tightens, his head dipping down to brush his lips against mine. It’s soft and teasing, his mouth moving back and forth, creating a friction with every pass that makes my body buzz. Anticipation of what he’s going to do next makes every nerve electrified, waiting to explode at his command.
I blow out a shaky breath, closing my eyes and enjoying how small I feel in his big hands.
“Let’s eat,” he whispers against my lips. He steps back, his hands that were just on my body now adjusting the front of his jeans, and a shot of arousal pools in my belly as I watch him. “What’s on the menu? We could do something easy, like pizza?” he asks.
His question douses me in icy water, the thought of pizza churning my stomach.
Shaking my head, I walk across the kitchen until I’m in front of the white corded phone that’s attached to the wall. It’s archaic, but my father refuses to change, saying it reminds him of the “good ol’ days.”
“No, let me call in Eric.”
“Who’s Eric?” Jackson walks behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, and his words rumbling into the skin of my neck. Goose bumps spread down my spine as I press into him.
“He’s our chef.”
“You have a chef ?”
“Of course we do.” My forehead scrunches, wondering why he seems so surprised.
“And you’re just gonna have him show up here, even though it’s seven at night?”
“Uhh…yeah.” I shrug. “It’s his job, Jackson.”
“What if he’s with his family?”
My brows draw together. “Him and his wife both live on the property. It’s not a big deal.”
He chuckles. “Damn, sometimes I forget how different our worlds are.”
Defensiveness swirls inside of me and I twist in his arms to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have chefs who live on your property and come whenever you call. Bodyguards that find us no matter where we go. It’s a different world is all.”
Sadness clenches my heart. Is he judging me?
“And?” I say harshly. “It’s not my fault this is what I was born into. Hardly fair for you to hold it against me.” I push out of his arms.
Jackson shakes his head, gripping me tighter, pulling me back against his chest. “No.” His voice is firm. “I didn’t mean it was bad. Just different. I’ve spent the past decade working so I could support my mom and help pay the bills. I learned to cook just so we could taste something other than ramen noodles and rice.”
My heart sinks. I can’t relate to his experience at all and it makes a sour taste hit the back of my throat.
I’ve never even thought about things like that.
“But when we’re together,” he continues, “I get so lost in all the ways it feels like you were made for me, and I forget how different our lives have been.” He turns my face back toward him, his hand gripping my jaw tight. “Our circumstances don’t define us.”
My heart flies, slamming against my ribs.
Leaning down, he presses a kiss against my lips. “I look forward to hearing about your past, Blake. Now, make your phone call so we can eat.”
He retreats, walking back toward the island like he didn’t just upend my world with a few words.
My eyes trail after him, wondering what it is that makes him so damn different from the rest.