Chapter 6 Jackson
JACKSON
We make plans to meet downstairs at nine the next morning.
I tell Rosalie to wear comfortable clothes and to bring a book.
She brings two. I have a cooler packed in my truck, along with a big blanket, and she doesn’t ask many questions on the drive.
I take the back roads through our property, making my way as close to our destination as possible by vehicle.
I turn to her as I put the gear in park and cut the engine. “You up for a hike?”
“Hike?” she balks. “You said to dress casual, not that we’d be exercising.”
“Want me to carry you?” I hop out of the truck.
Her lips pinch together with disapproval. “No, thank you. How far is this hike?”
“It’s just over that ridge.”
The sun is bright in the sky and there aren’t many clouds. There’s a hint of a morning breeze, and I pray the weather holds so we can enjoy it for a few hours.
“I really wish you had told me we’d be hiking.” Rosalie comes over to my side of the truck, watching as I gather items from the back.
“I promise, this is more like a walk. I just like giving you a hard time. And if you get too tired, I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”
“My legs work just fine.”
“That’s the spirit.” I hold the cooler in one hand and carry the blanket under my other arm. “Come on.”
It only takes fifteen minutes or so to make it to the other side of the ridge.
The field below is filled with wildflowers in full bloom, and the soft gurgle of the nearby creek plays a rejuvenating soundtrack.
When I rode through here last week, taking a shortcut after checking fences, I remember thinking it’d be the perfect place to spend a lazy day outside.
“Wow.” Rosalie stops next to me. “This is beautiful.”
“Told ya’.” I wink. “I’m thinking we set up shop down by those trees?” I point to the cluster near the bank of the creek.
“Set up for what?”
“Rosalie’s day of complete relaxation.” I grin and begin walking. “I’ve got drinks, snacks, and all you need to worry about is picking which book of yours to read.”
“Okay.” She frowns, but follows my lead. “What are you going to do?”
“Nap.”
“Already?” Her brows lift. “You just woke up.”
“I can nap anytime, anyplace. Always been that way.”
“You won’t be bored?” She sighs. “Because you really don’t have to entertain me. I would be perfectly content reading at your cabin.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I wave off her concerns. “I wanted to show you this place.” I walk backward a few steps to shoot her a wink. “And I want a nap. If I get bored, maybe I’ll borrow one of your books.”
Her eyes betray her excitement, even if her tone remains neutral. “You read romance?”
No. “I love romance.”
“Books,” she deadpans. “Romance books.”
“Oh, right.” I can’t help but laugh. “This is probably going to shock you, but I’m not a big reader.”
“What? No!” she responds in exaggerated mock surprise.
“A total surprise, right?”
“What was the last book you read?”
She’s not going to enjoy my answer. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?” The look of utter horror on her face is comical.
“Are you okay?”
“Can you at least remember when was the last time you read a book?”
“Oh, yeah.” I nod. “High school.”
“I can’t.” She actually appears to be pained by my answer.
“It’s okay, Rosalie.”
“I just can’t believe a person can go”—she pauses—“How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirty next month.”
“How can a person go over a decade without reading a book?”
Under the shade of the trees, I drop the cooler to the ground and shake out the big blanket. “Well, I do know how to read, if that makes you feel better.”
“That makes it worse!” She reaches for one end of the blanket, and together we spread it over the ground.
“This really bothers you.” I chuckle, taking a seat on the blanket and kicking off my boots.
“Of course it does.” She sits at the corner, farthest from me. “You have all the tools to enjoy an escape to a magical world and you just . . . choose not to. I don’t understand it.”
“I use other activities to escape to a magical place.”
“I’m aware,” she scoffs.
“You didn’t seem to complain.”
She pulls a book from her bag. “We are so not discussing that.”
“Fair.” I lie back and take my hat off, resting it on my head so the brim covers my eyes. “Enjoy your book. I’m gonna enjoy this nap.”
I don’t mean to sleep long. In fact, I don’t really intend to sleep at all. But the sounds of the forest along with the babble of the creek lull me under and when I come to, my body is warm from the sun and my stomach is grumbling with hunger.
I turn my cheek, pleased to see Rosalie is still enjoying her book. She’s kicked off her socks and shoes, reclined onto her back, and is holding her book up to read while simultaneously blocking the sun.
“Good book?” I ask, setting my hat to the side.
She grins, turning her head to meet my gaze. “The best. How was your nap?”
“Perfection.” I sit up and reach for the cooler. “I’m hungry, though.”
“Let me know when you want to head back,” she says.
“Are you enjoying it out here?”
“I am.”
“Well, I’m in no rush.”
Rosalie rolls to her stomach, switching positions as she continues reading.
I pull out one of the wrapped sandwiches.
It’s been forever since I’ve picnicked so leisurely.
Listening to the sounds of birds chirping, a peacefulness settles over me that is all-consuming.
I don’t do this enough. I don’t stop and just appreciate where I am.
Maybe that’s the downfall of working and living on this land my entire life.
It’s become so normalized, I rarely pause to admire the grandeur of it all.
“Do you have any more sandwiches in there?” Rosalie draws me out of my thoughts.
“You bet I do.” I reach into the cooler to pass her a sandwich. “I brought strawberries too. And chips.”
“I’ll take some of those.”
I’m happy she’s comfortable enough to ask for what she wants. “How about a beer?”
“You packed beer?” She almost smiles.
“And water.”
“I’ll stick with water.”
“Suit yourself.” I toss her a water bottle, then crack a cold one. I can’t be sure, but I swear she stifles a giggle. “Sure you don’t want one?”
“Better not.” She places a bookmark to hold her place before setting her book down and sitting up to unwrap her sandwich.
“Saving yourself for the wine cellar you brought to my house?”
She narrows her gaze. “I knew you were going to give me shit for that.”
“It’s a lot of wine for one person. Especially in relation to the amount of food you packed.”
“I was planning on spending the entire week drunk.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” I’d like to see Rosalie properly inebriated. She’s always wound so tight. So in control. Even the night we were together, she was only tipsy.
“I was also planning on being alone.”
“Sorry to ruin your plans,” I tease.
“They weren’t good plans.” She shrugs and pops a strawberry in her mouth.
“Why’d you make them, then?” The more time I spend with her, the more I want to understand her motivation.
“Let’s talk about something else?” She averts her gaze and mumbles, “Anything else.”
“You are so interesting. You know that?”
“I’m not. Not really.”
“I beg to differ.” Most people can’t wait for an excuse to tell you about their life. With her, she dodges every personal question. “You’re the opposite of an open book. And the more I know about you, the more I want to see inside.”
“I can assure you, it’s all rather boring. I’m not a mystery for you to solve. Believe me.”
I wait for her gaze to meet mine. “Then, why do I want to know everything about you?”
She doesn’t answer. She can barely look at me. Damn it. I pushed too far.
I reach for the book she’s been reading. “Maybe I’ll find the answers here.”
“Jackson!” She lunges to grab the book back, but I snatch it further away.
I flip open to where her bookmark holds her place. I don’t know what I expect to find. I only mean to tease her a little and lighten the mood. But holy fuck . . . I begin reading aloud.
“Mine.” His declaration sends a thrill down my spine. “You’re mine, do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper. As much as I’ve fought this, I’ve wanted to be his and only his from the moment we met. I reach for his straining member, loving the way he hisses when I wrap my hands around his wide shaft. I stroke him, watching as he grows impossibly bigger.
“Let me claim you,” he groans. “Let me make you mine forever.”
I want this. I want him, and I’m more than willing to try. But he’s gigantic. “Will we fit?”
“Oh, we will.” His smile is wicked as he pushes me back onto the bed. He drops to his knees and crawls between my legs, pushing up my skirt and spreading me wide. His mouth meets my center and we both moan.”
I turn to Rosalie, my jaw agape. “Jesus, woman. No wonder you can’t stop reading.”
“Jackson, please.” She covers her face.
“What? Should I keep going?”
“Please don’t!”
Laughter bubbles up from inside my chest and overflows as my eyes return to the text, where there’s line after line of deplorable, sensual acts.
“What the fuck is this?”
“If you must know, it’s a monster romance.”
“Monster? Is that because his co—”
“Don’t.” She throws her body across the blanket and slaps a hand over my mouth. “Okay? Just don’t.”
Her proximity is unexpected, but I’m not complaining. My body prickles with awareness. I like her hand on me; I only wish it were with a different intent. She pulls her fingers away, and before I have a chance to do anything else, she grabs her book and shuffles back to her end of the blanket.
“If I knew your books were so kinky, I might’ve made a trip to the library sooner. Is this what you like to read?” It’s an earnest question, and my mind can’t help but conjure filthy images starring her and me. Especially after what I just read.
She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin. “I enjoy all genres, but romance is my favorite.”
“You mean smut.”
“It’s not smut.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“It’s not only smut.”
“So, this is what you’re always reading. I get it now.”
“What do you think you get?”
“I understand why you’ve always got your nose in a book.” I chuckle. “Though, the real thing’s a lot of fun too.”
“First of all, it’s not all sex.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that.”
“These characters have hopes and wounds. They face adversity and trials, and yet they find a way through—together.”
“Okay, sure. I guess I can buy that. But monster romance? Come on.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it. This series is a good time.”
“There’s more than one of them?”
She sighs and her tone is short. “Whatever. If you’re going to be ignorant, I’m done discussing this with you.”
“No. Wait.” I school my features so she’ll take me seriously. I’m rather enjoying our conversation and I’m not ready for it to end. “I want to understand. Explain it to me like I’m a child.”
“I did explain it and you laughed at me.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just, you genuinely shocked me, is all. When I think of romance novels, I think of stories where it’s all flowery longing and drama.”
“We have those too.”
“I just didn’t realize the content is so . . . generous.”
“Yeah, well, men are better in books.”
My jaw falls open. “You’d rather read about a man than spend time with one in real life?”
“Oh, one hundred percent.”
“Now, I’m offended.”
“Why?”
“You don’t think a real man can offer more than what’s between these pages?”
She grins. “I know he can’t.”
“Damn, Rosalie. Who hurt you?” She frowns as soon as the words leave my lips. I instantly regret them. “Sorry.” By the hard look on her face, she’s completely shut down. Damn. Just talking and I’ve already fucked up. “I didn’t mean—”
“Look, it’s fine. You don’t have to understand.
But I’m not being hyperbolic. I really do prefer men in books.
They actually listen, show genuine care, and when they screw up, they take real accountability and grovel.
They do whatever it takes to show their person they are in it for the long haul, and when shit hits the fan, as it notably always does, they show up and support their partner instead of being selfish fucking assholes. ”
“Yeah, and apparently they know how to eat pussy.”
She shoots me a glare and opens her book. “That too.” She turns her gaze to the page and resumes reading, effectively ending our conversation.
I play back her words, gleaning new insights about the woman sitting beside me, and filing them away.
The books she’s reading—way hotter than I ever imagined.
But her feelings about men, both in and outside of fiction, present a new challenge.
Could I give the men in her books a run for their money? Maybe not, but I’d like to try.
“Hey, Rosalie?”
“Mmm?”
“When you’re done reading that, can I borrow it?”
“You want to read this book?”
“Yeah.”
She studies me for a moment. I can’t help but assume she’s looking for any sign I might be lying. I must pass the test because she turns back to her book. “Okay.”
“Great.”
I try to play it cool. I really do, but I can’t hold back the smile that takes over my face.
If I want to compete with her book boyfriends, I need to know them better.
She likes what she’s reading. It’s basically an instruction manual.
The perfect cheat code. And I’m prepared to be the best student.
I finish my beer, enjoying the sounds of birds chirping and the breeze rustling the trees. A squirrel makes his way down a tree, his tail bouncing across the field as he races after something.
“My ex.” Rosalie’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
She doesn’t look up from her book, and for a second I wonder if her words are meant for me.
Though, who else would it be? We’re the only two people for miles.
She must sense my confusion, because she offers clarification. “Edward’s dad. That’s who hurt me.”
Understanding dawns and my chest tightens at the thought of anyone hurting this woman. She doesn’t talk about Edward’s father. Not to me, and as far as I know, not to anyone. I’m curious what he did, and also where he lives so I can kick his ass for hurting someone as special as Rosalie.