Now
CHAPTER
SIX
Evangeline
The movie posters don’t really inspire me. This is the old theater, where they never have the new stuff. But at least it’s cheap, so Jax and I often come on dates here.
“Jaws?” he suggests, pointing at the poster with a woman swimming and a shark coming at her.
“Eh …”
“How about Die Hard, then? ’Tis the season.”
“Not another action movie, please.”
“Then our only option is Pulp Fiction, because I’m not watching a black-and-white movie.”
His reluctance amuses me. “Okay for Pulp Fiction, I guess.”
“Great. Let me get the tickets.”
Although I try whenever we come here to pay for myself, Jackson never lets me. He argues that his responsibility as a boyfriend is to pay for dates, so I’m not allowed to spend a cent.
I negotiated that I get to pay for one date per month, but that means I can’t pay for anything the rest of the time. I don’t really mind. I think I even find it romantic. But that’s why I always make sure our dates are as cheap as possible.
Once he has our tickets, he returns to me and takes my hand in his. He gets us a big bucket of buttery popcorn to share, as always, and we head to room three. The movie starts in less than five minutes, and only two other people are seated in the lower half.
As we do every time, Jax and I climb all the way up to the last row, right under the window where the projector light comes out. This allows us to whisper without nasty looks from the others, and we also get to make out with no one noticing or judging us.
Jax lifts the armrest between us, tucking it between our backrests, and I sit right against him. This is another reason I like coming here. The seats in the other theater don’t have this feature.
“Are you worried about your race next week?” I ask once we’re settled.
“A little, yes.”
“You’re going to do great, Jax. I know it.”
For the past month, we’ve done our best to scrape together the eight-hundred-dollar entry fee for a big race in Salt Lake City.
Jackson has an aunt who lives there, so he’ll have a place to stay, but my mom refused to allow me to go with him.
She argued that she’s already giving us a lot of freedom, but spending a few nights with him in another state is too much.
I’m a little mad at her for it, so we’re not really on speaking terms right now. That’s why I asked Jax if we could go watch a movie, since I really needed to get out of the trailer.
“I wish you could come with me,” Jax says with disappointment.
“I know, me too.”
“You’re, like, my lucky charm.”
Touched by his sentimental admission, I decide that while he can’t have me, he can at least have something to make up for it.
I reach around my neck to unclasp the gold necklace with the heart locket I always wear.
I look at it for a brief moment, the most precious thing I own.
My grandmother gave it to me before moving out of state, and I still remember how mad my mom was that I was the one who got it.
Given her reaction, I’m pretty sure it’s actual gold.
“There. This can be your lucky charm when I’m not around,” I tell Jackson, handing him the chain and locket.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“You’ll give it back to me when you return.”
“Alright.” He takes the offering, looks at it for a second, and puts it on his own neck. It’s a little silly to see him with girl jewelry, but he quickly tucks it into his hoodie.
The movie starts, and we watch it while munching on our popcorn. It’s better than I imagined—the movie—but when Jax leans in to kiss me on the lips, I gladly let him distract me.
I think I’ve gotten pretty good at making out with him.
We do it all the time, and if it wasn’t as great for him as it is for me, he wouldn’t want to do it that much, right?
I love the way it feels when our tongues come together like this.
My entire body tingles from it. I know what it means, and I know what’s happening, but I haven’t felt ready for more than what we’ve been doing so far.
And Jackson has been respecting that, never pushing for more.
Well, I mean, he touches my boobs now, but I don’t mind at all. I really like it, actually. It sends even more tingles all over.
We’re practically wrapped in one another, kissing with tongue as his hand cups my breast, and I have absolutely no idea what’s going on with the movie anymore.
But I don’t care. Maybe I’ll come back with a few friends and watch it for real.
This is much more important than whatever’s happening on the screen.
At some point, though, it becomes too much and not enough. “Jax,” I whimper in our kiss.
“Yes, princess?”
“I think maybe I—I’m ready for third base,” I confess.
He freezes, still holding me close. “Below the belt stuff?” he asks, making sure.
I nod, hoping he’ll take it slow even though I just gave him the green light.
“Are you sure?” he insists.
“If I don’t like it, we can always stop, right?”
“Of course, Evie. I really, really want to touch you there, but if you aren’t comfortable, I promise I’ll stop.”
“I want to try.”
As if he knows I’m still nervous about it, he resumes our earlier activities and kisses me hard. He does it until I can’t think of anything other than his hand on me down there. And when he lowers it slowly, I feel ready and don’t tense up again.
He looks me right in the eyes as he does, taking his time like the movie will last hours and hours. Before he’s even reached that space that calls for his touch, I already know I’ll love whatever he’ll do to me, just like I love kissing him.
He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for, and not a day goes by that I don’t wonder how I got so lucky to have him.
I love him so much …
This dinner was a terrible idea. I knew Jax would do his best to make it as hard as possible. But it’s even harder than I imagined. He isn’t holding anything back, throwing shot after shot of innuendos and fond memories. Thankfully, Nathan is oblivious to all of them.
But that makes it even worse. If he caught on to any of it, we’d get up and walk out.
I’m not letting anyone disrespect my fiancé like that.
But walking out now, when this seems to be nothing but an innocent dinner between two old friends who got married at some point, will not only cause a scene but have Nathan asking questions I don’t want to answer.
“It’s just dinner,” I whisper to myself.
We’re having dinner, then as soon as it’s over, Nathan and I are leaving and never coming back. And I’ll have the signed divorce papers, officially leaving Jackson Reyes in my past.
Gathering some strength, I take a long and deep breath, hyping myself up to go back out there. Jax might be an a-hole, but I don’t think he’d ruin this for me. It’s not like we could fix our broken marriage, anyway.
I’m about to turn around when the door is practically slammed open. Startled, I look up into the mirror and witness with stupor that it’s him, right here, in the frame of the ladies’ bathroom.
He breaks eye contact to look at the stalls on our right, and when he finds them all open—meaning no one else is here—he steps in and closes the door before turning the lock.
“Jax,” I warn, still looking at him in the mirror.
Of course, it’s useless, and he steps farther into the room. I know this look. I know exactly what’s running through his mind at the moment. If I turn around, he’ll crash into me and kiss me. And I’m not sure I have the strength to push him back.
So, I don’t turn and keep facing the mirror until he’s right behind me, so close I can feel his body heat seeping through our clothes.
“You can’t be in here,” I protest.
“And you can’t marry that man.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s the blandest person I’ve ever met, Evie. You’ll be bored to fucking tears before the ink on your marriage certificate is even dry.”
“Maybe I want that. Maybe I’ve had enough adventures as it is, and I want a boring life.”
“I don’t believe you,” he mutters, coming even closer.
His front grazes my back, so subtly that I could think I’m imagining it. But my skin prickles where his chest meets my shoulder blades, and where his hips meet the higher part of my butt.
“Jackson,” I whisper into the mirror, staring into those uneven eyes I’ve loved so much before. “You promised you’d sign the papers.”
“And I will. I’ll sign them. But please,” he continues, bending over to bring his lips near the bare expanse between the sleeve of my dress and my ear. He doesn’t touch me, but the warmth of his breath feels like it. “Don’t marry him,” he whispers.
I should move away. And I shouldn’t do anything that would encourage his actions. I know that. My brain knows that. But my body doesn’t. It’s careless in its need for him, the man who once brought me more pleasure than I ever thought was even possible.
Before I can control the helpless impulse, my hips back up into his, pressing my behind right onto his crotch. It’s all Jackson needs, all the consent he’s waiting for, to proceed with his onslaught.
He presses forward, trapping me between the counter and his powerful body, plastering himself right onto me while his lips give my neck a longing kiss.
The sparks that fly inside me, in the part of me that needs him the most, have a wanton whimper escaping me. This feels so right, but also equally wrong. I have a fiancé. No matter how Jackson makes me feel, I can’t let him win this. I try to arch away from him but it only brings us closer.
“Don’t marry him,” he repeats, his lips now pressing onto the side of my neck, which sets my insides aflame.
Seven years. He hasn’t touched me in seven years, and it’s all coming back to me at once. I suddenly remember why I was so willing to give him the world. Why I married him so young. Why there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for this man.
One of his big hands slithers to my front to rest right over my heart, curving on the underside of my breast. Can he feel the way the pulsing organ slams against my ribs? Can he sense the frenzied state I’m struggling to contain?