35. Jackson
35
jackson
The small pizza shop is busy the same way everything still open in this city is busy. The sign on the door says they’re open until two, so we have plenty of time to get Margot as much pizza as she wants. Holding the door for her, she smiles sweetly and says a soft “Thanks” as she walks past.
I follow, and my hand finds the small of her back. Her eyes are fixed on the menu board on the far wall, and I love how seriously she takes her ordering decision. There’s a slight crease to her brow as she mutters the different options with total concentration.
Giving me a sideways glance, she says, “I’m not on the menu, Jackson.”
My eyebrow kicks up. “Aren’t you, though?”
She dismisses with a shake of her head. “Not here. Figure out what pizza you want and stop staring at me.”
My amusement grows. “I thought you liked it when I stare at you.”
A huff of disbelief leaves her lips, but it doesn’t hide the slight upturn of her mouth. “Pick your pizza.”
I shrug. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. ”
This makes her look at me. “What if you don’t like it?”
“I like everything.”
Her eyebrows crease. “You don’t like onions.”
“That’s not true.”
She balks at me. “Jackson, you pick them out of everything.”
“Margot, I eat onions all the time.”
“Should we order something to find out?” There’s a knowing glint in her eye, and I don’t trust it.
“Give me your best shot,” I say with a nod toward the register at the front.
Margot, looking far too pleased with herself, heads to the counter and orders one of their specialty pizzas with a mess of toppings—one of them being onions. Reaching from behind her, I hand the guy my card. We each get a drink and find a small table in the corner of the dimly lit shop.
Margot secures our order number into the thin metal stand on the table. “So, should we bet on this? Because I like my odds.”
“Bet on what?”
She appraises me with a playful upturn of her lips. “How much you like onions.”
“What do you want?” I love seeing this spark in her when she tries to challenge me.
Margot tilts her head, her long, red hair falling to the side. “If I win . . .” She looks around the pizza shop like inspiration might be hiding in the parmesan. “You have to show me the lyrics you’ve been writing.”
My body stiffens, but I try to shake it off. “What lyrics?”
She gapes at me, and I know I’m caught. “Jackson, you always have that notebook with your guitar. You’d bring it to practices, to shows, and you never left it behind unattended.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Because you would have snooped if I had, wouldn’t you? ”
Her grin broadens, and I smile at the unabashed way she confirms I’m right. “I just want to see,” she says, softening. “I’m sure they’re great.”
There are two very good reasons why I haven’t shared my half-baked ideas with her.
They’re terrible and most of them I haven’t even shown Dave because they suck.
Almost all of them are me confessing my feelings for her, and I figure I should probably tell her I love her before she figures it out from a shitty line I wrote.
By the way her smile widens, I’d say Margot knows she has me backed into a fucking corner. My mouth has gone dry, so I clear my throat. “And if I win?”
“You pick. That’s sort of the idea.”
Her snarky tone snaps me from my panic, and I lean back in my chair. If there’s one thing that will make Margot sweat, it’s breaking the rules. “If I win, we’re going skinny dipping.”
She tenses. “Where?”
I shrug. “I’m pretty sure our hotel has a pool somewhere.” When we checked in earlier, I was a little too busy trying to rush us into the room to look around and notice, but I think I remember seeing something about it when I booked a few weeks ago.
Her eyes narrow, and I wonder if she’ll scold me for coming up with such an idea. Instead, she reaches her hand across the table. “Fine.”
Leaning forward, I extend my own hand. “Then it’s a deal, Red.”
Her delicate fingers wrap around mine, and that familiar pulse of electricity shoots through me. I thought it would have gone away by now, or at least faded. But if anything, I think it’s grown.
“I can’t believe we spent all that time looking for a cash box that wasn’t actually lost,” Margot says with a laugh as she pulls her hand away.
I blink, coming back to reality. “Yeah. Well, that’s Mya for you.” I shake my head, regretting my statement. “I shouldn’t say that. She’s usually on top of her shit.”
“I really like her.”
This makes me look at her more seriously. “Yeah?”
Margot nods. “You were right. I didn’t think you would be, but you were.”
Our pizza arrives and the corner of my mouth kicks up as I put a slice on a plate for her. “I’m right about a lot of things.”
“Some things,” she corrects.
“Eat your pizza, Red.”
She grins and takes a bite. As soon as she starts to chew, her eyes roll back. “I get it,” she says with a nod. “I always thought Chicago had the best pizza, but I get what they say about New York.”
I put a slice onto my own plate. “I’m glad you approve.”
She considers me. “Have you ever been here?”
“To New York?” I shake my head. “No, the only traveling we did when I was a kid was for my dad’s company trips, and those were always to some tropical island that wasn’t much different from Florida.” Something in her sobers, and I know what she’s going to ask before she even says it, so I add, “I haven’t talked to him.”
She frowns. “So, it’s been . . .”
“Almost a year,” I say with a nod. The last time I talked to my dad was when I went home for Christmas. It wasn’t as bad as Thanksgiving, but the entire visit was tense. He let me know more than once that he wanted nothing to do with me throwing my life away. Margot is still staring at me, and I know she’s torn between knowing my dad is an asshole and feeling like she should encourage me to have some type of relationship with him. She’s figured out how to follow her dreams and still talk to her parents, so she thinks I should, too. Looking at her with more conviction, I say, “Margot, he’s waiting for me to fail, and I have no intention of failing.”
She holds my stare for another beat before giving a soft nod. “Okay.”
There’s a sadness in her that lingers, and my anger toward my dad spikes at the sight, like he’s somehow to blame even though he’s a thousand miles away. I nudge her with my foot under the table. “Besides, I only get to be around family when the band takes a break from touring, and I’d much rather see you than sit at his depressing kitchen table. You’re my family now.” I said it casually, but Margot’s eyes widen just enough to make me want to backtrack. With a shrug, I add, “And Matt. I guess you can throw Rae in there too, but I draw the line at Braden.”
Her shock melts into laughter, and I can’t help smiling at the sound as I take my first bite.