40. Margot
40
margot
My eyes flutter open, and I’ve never been so disappointed to see sunlight peeking through the curtains. Jackson’s leg heavily rests over mine as he sleeps on his stomach beside me, and I take a moment to just look at him. His hair is a mess, but it somehow suits him. His back is exposed, and I fight the urge to run my fingertips over the muscles of his shoulders.
I woke up this way for weeks when he stayed with me over the summer, but I don’t think I ever fully appreciated it. I thought I did. But after spending the last couple of months without him, I know how much better this is. The difference between waking up in my bed alone and waking up here is stark. I know he’s safe. I know how his night was. I know he had a great show. I don’t have to wonder or worry about anything at all. It’s probably the first time I’ve woken up and not felt the immediate need to check my phone in case there are any messages from him or any posts on the band’s social media.
Carefully reaching for my phone, I tap the screen to check the time and do a double take.
10:37 a.m .
I blink. It has to be wrong. There’s no way we slept so late. I mean, sure, we did stay up half the night. But even with that, I figured we’d wake up around ten at the latest. I figured we’d have time to lie in bed together and grab some breakfast before my flight at one, but I need to get to the airport . . . soon. Really soon. JFK is no joke, and if I don’t want to miss my flight, I need to get there now .
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, and Jackson stirs next to me. He reaches for me, but my heart is already racing with adrenaline, and I’m ready to grab my stuff and go. Jackson rolls onto his side and pulls me in so my back is against his chest, the length of him pressing against my ass.
Damn mornings.
But even though I know I need to get to the airport, I ache to stay here with him.
Jackson’s mouth is hot on my neck, and he works his expert fingers over my exposed hip and between my legs. I gasp when he finds my clit, and my back instinctively arches, making my ass grind against him. The low, guttural sound from his throat has me wanting to forget about my flight altogether.
I used to wake up this way all the time. This was once our norm. He’d work his magic, knowing it’s almost impossible for me to say no to him, and I’d be left scrambling to get ready for work on time. He loved it. He loved watching me frantically try to piece myself together after he just made me fall apart. I could tell by the way he used to watch me dash around the room with a subtle lift to those perfect lips of his. But this is different. I can’t just be late to my flight—I’ll miss it.
“Jackson,” I pant, already growing slick between my legs.
“Mm?” He follows by devouring my neck with more vigor, his free hand moving up to palm my breast.
The combination has me arching against him more—the same way I’m sure he knew it would. “Jackson,” I try again, but my conviction wanes with every passing second .
Flipping me onto my back, he holds himself over me, his mouth moving to my collarbone while he grips and gropes me everywhere. My body is putty in his hands, molding and shaping. My muscles are always looser around him. Even with the added stress of knowing we need to get to the airport, my legs still easily fall open with the slightest touch.
“Say what you need to say, Margot,” he croons against my skin. The head of him rubs against my clit, and I can already feel myself slipping.
It would be so easy to stay in this bed with him but doing that would derail everything. I have work tomorrow. I have an essay I still need to write. With my heart racing for more reasons than one, I blurt, “My flight!” The words come out cracked and desperate.
Jackson finally pulls back to look at me. “What about your flight?”
You’d think I’d be used to having his undivided attention by now, but my thoughts still scramble. I’m breathless and wildly aware of how hard he is against me, but I manage to say, “We overslept.”
He blinks, his eyes clearing before he reaches for my phone, flipping it over to see the time. He stares at the screen a beat longer before letting out a groan and giving me a peck on the lips. “Okay. Let’s get you to the airport.”
My stomach sinks. It shouldn’t. That’s exactly what I needed him to say, but I’m left wishing he would have said something different. Jackson is my reckless streak. He’s the one I throw caution to the wind with. Maybe that’s why I let myself imagine what it would feel like to have him say fuck it for half a second. Maybe that’s why I secretly wish he wanted me to ignore my responsibilities, so I could be persuaded.
It’s ridiculous.
Trying to rid the feeling, I move from underneath him and start to gather my things. Jackson lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment before he looks over at me. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk to the nightstand and unplug my phone charger.
“Margot.”
I look up, still leaning over.
“I need you to put on pants.” His eyes trail to my ass, and I’m suddenly aware of the position I’m in.
“Right. Sorry.” I huff a laugh and carry my clothes into the bathroom, leaving him to rub both hands over his face.
Shutting the door behind me, I stare at myself in the mirror and take a steadying breath. I should rush to get ready. I should be haphazardly throwing my things into a bag and scrambling to get out of here as fast as I can, but for whatever reason, I can’t make myself move faster. I just stand and look at myself in the mirror, realizing I haven’t really looked at myself in months. Physically, nothing has changed for the most part. My auburn hair is still long, my body still slender. But something behind my eyes makes me pause. I’ve changed—I’m still changing. I’m not sure how fast or slow, but everything I’ve done this past year has shaped me into a better version of myself. I’m more confident in who I am, I’m more sure of my actions, and I’m not as afraid as I used to be.
And he’s a huge part of that.
I hear Jackson rustling in the room and my gaze jumps to the door behind me in the reflection of the mirror. With one last glance at my own eyes shining back at me, I get dressed and gather my things. I can do this. I can go without seeing him again for months. I love being around him, but I can stand on my own two feet. I’m not the same girl I was when we met. I’m not weak. When I get home, I’m going to make a better effort to be more involved in my life there. Because I miss this version of me. I miss not feeling hollow.