Chapter 12 Jackson
JACKSON
I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life to impress a woman.
But reading romance novels takes the cake.
My plan to use her book as an instructional manual to win her attention has somewhat backfired.
I don’t know if it’s this book specifically or romance novels in general, but I’m in a perpetual state of self-torture.
Last night, Rosalie and I read in the living room, not touching, not kissing, not fucking—while the characters on the page were doing that and more.
But the worst part was, I couldn’t stop.
Even after she went upstairs, I kept reading.
I kept telling myself one more chapter, and now I’m functioning on four hours of sleep.
A bad idea, especially since today I’m operating large machinery.
Every chance I get to take a break, I’m sneaking off to hide in the tack room so I can pick back up where I left off.
I’m fully invested in these characters and I need them to end up together, but each chapter leaves me on a cliffhanger and I’m starting to worry they won’t.
If one of them dies, I’m gonna throw the damn book!
Me: Please tell me Dom and Everly end up together . . .
Rosalie: Are you worried they won’t?
Me: Hell, yeah I am! This guy from her past is sneaky and these two keep banging when they should be running!
Rosalie: LOL one of the many things I love about romantic suspense.
Me: It’s crack. Are all your books like this?
Rosalie: The good ones are un-put-downable.
She’s right about that. I only have a few more minutes before Ryan or one of the crew comes to drag me back out in the fields. But I send her another message before reading a few more pages.
Me: You’ll have to help me pick my next read. I’m almost done with this one.
Rosalie: Really? That was quick!
Rosalie: Hmm . . . how do you feel about shifters?
Me: Shifters?
Rosalie: Werewolves, bears, dinosaurs . . .
Me: There’s dino smut?
Rosalie: I revoke your use of the word smut. Only true romance book lovers have rights to that term of endearment.
Me: You’re well on your way to making a romance lover out of me.
Rosalie: That so?
Just as it has several times this week, our banter takes a turn and I can’t tell if Rosalie is flirting. God, I hope she is.
Me: How about we discuss the steps I need to take in order to earn the use of the word over dinner?
Rosalie: Perfect. Just to warn you, there will be a test.
Me: What kind?
Please say oral exam. Please say oral exam.
The little bubbles that indicate her typing appear and disappear for several minutes. I start to wonder if she’s even going to respond.
Rosalie: Do you know what time you’ll be home? And don’t feel like you have to stay in tonight. I’m fine on my own if you want to go out. Don’t let me stop you from your usual routine.
My brows pinch together as I read her text.
What the hell is this crap? Is this her polite way of suggesting I give her some space?
I guess we weren’t flirting. Here I am counting down the hours until I see her again, and she’s practically asking me not to come back home.
Maybe she’s tired of me already? I deflate with disappointment.
I’m a fish out of water when it comes to this woman. My smooth or suggestive lines don’t work on her. They never did. But maybe I’m the only one who can’t seem to let that night last year go. Maybe I’m the only one who’s gone to sleep this week longing for something more than friendship.
I shake my head, pushing away the insecurities that threaten to steal my good mood.
I’m spiraling over a fucking text message.
I’m better than that, and we’re due an honest conversation.
I’ve been scared to push her because it doesn’t take much for her to shut down and retreat.
But I’m wasting time. She’s only with me four more nights.
Am I really going to let another pass while avoiding this undeniable tension between us?
I’ve never played it safe. Now’s not the time to start.
Me: Don’t be silly, I like staying in with you.
Me: But we’re both taking the night off cooking. I’ll stop by the diner for takeout after work. Text me your order.
After quitting time, I drive to the diner to pick up dinner. I wonder if Rosalie likes pie, and which kind is her favorite. I should text and ask, but I decide to surprise her. Rosalie doesn’t strike me as someone who indulges often, and I want her to feel free to do so this week.
I want her to indulge in me, too.
When I pull into the parking lot, I immediately spot Aiden’s truck. Looks like I’m not the only one taking a night off cooking. When I push inside, he’s sitting across the diner with Sarah in one of the booths.
“Just one?” The girl behind the cash register asks as I step forward.
I shake my head in the negative. “I actually have an order to pick up. I called ahead.”
“Jackson, right?” Her cheeks fill with a blush as she averts her gaze.
“That’s me.” I force a friendly smile. This girl can’t be more than twenty. I’m not rude, but I also make sure my body language discourages any attraction on her end.
She glances back at the counter before meeting my gaze. “Should only be a few more minutes. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I nod and point to where Aiden and Sarah are waving me over. “I’ll be over there when it’s ready.”
“Jax!” Aiden pops out of the booth to give me a hug as I approach their table. “What are you doing here? Don’t you grub at the lodge most workdays?”
I hug Sarah next, then Aiden scoots to the far side of the booth and pats the spot next to him.
“Please, join us,” Sarah invites, which is awfully generous of her. With two teenagers in the house, I doubt these two get to enjoy many meals as a couple.
I slide into the booth. “Believe it or not, some days all I want is to go back to the house and enjoy a meal on my own.”
“Things not going well on the ranch?” Aiden frowns.
“No.” I wave off his concern. “I just like my alone time.”
“Jackson?” The young girl sets down two giant paper bags filled with food. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Alone, huh?” My brother chuckles. “That’s a lot of food for one person.”
“I’m a growing boy.” I flash him a grin.
“Right,” Aiden teases. “Should’ve known the only time you’d pay for a meal is to get laid.”
“Aiden!” Sarah chastises.
“What?” My brother is still smiling as he turns to me. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
The desire to put him in his place is overtaken by my protectiveness of Rosalie. That, and my pride.
“You got me.” I infuse some playfulness into my tone. “I better get going. Don’t want to keep my overnight guest waiting. Y’all enjoy your evening.”
“You too.” My brother winks suggestively.
My mood turns grumpy as I leave the diner. Fuck Aiden. I wish I hadn’t run into him and Sarah. I was perfectly content with spending a night in with Rosalie before Aiden’s teasing. Now, I feel like a loser.
The fact that my family thinks I’m incapable of anything other than random hookups doesn’t feel great. I’ve always played into that character, but now I have to wonder if I’ve messed up by letting them assume I don’t care about anyone besides myself. Is that what Rosalie assumes too?
I’ve never given much thought to what people say. I don’t really care. I know who I am, and that’s all that matters. At least, that was true until now. Is that why Rosalie texted what she did earlier? Does she think I’d rather be fucking some situationship than spending time with her?
My bad mood clings to me like a second skin I can’t shake. Normally, a drive clears my mind, but I still feel off-kilter by the time I pull into my drive and park behind Rosalie’s car.
My arms are full of dinner when I walk through the door.
Rosalie is curled up on the oversized chair in the living room, her legs tucked under her body with her nose in a book—a different book than she was reading last night.
She’s so fucking beautiful, and when her sharp eyes lift to meet my stare, a tightness squeezes my chest.
“Hey.” For a reason I can’t explain, my voice catches with nerves.
“Hey.” She smiles—just barely—and I wish I could come home to this every day. The thought almost makes me drop the food. What the hell is this woman doing to me?
“How was your day?” I set our dinner by the door, then tug off my boots before bringing the food into the kitchen.
“It was good.” Her eyes don’t quite meet mine. There’s something she’s not saying.
“I hope you’re hungry.” I unload the contents of the bags. “I wasn’t sure what kind of pie you liked, so I ordered two.”
“Lemon meringue and chocolate cream.” Rosalie’s eyes widen as she reads the flavors marked on the outside of the pastry boxes. “This is all for us?”
“Please tell me you at least like one? I can go back later and get something else.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. These look incredible. I never order pie from the diner but it always smells so good.”
My chest puffs a little with pride that I picked well. “Dessert first?” I tilt my head in question.
She laughs, one of those laughs that seems to catch her by surprise, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite thing.
“No, I think I’ll eat my dinner first.”
We move around the kitchen, filling cups with water and bringing cutlery to the table. She pours a glass of wine while I grab a bottle of beer, and soon we’re digging in. The food is good and we don’t talk. Normally, I’d initiate conversation between bites, but I’m still in my head.
“Is everything okay?” Rosalie sets down her fork and breaks the silence. As I meet her gaze, she expands on her inquiry. “You seem a little off.”
I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or impressed that she noticed. I thought I was hiding it well. I lean back in my seat and take a long pull from my beer.
“I just . . . I ran into Aiden and Sarah when I was picking up food at the diner.”
“Oh?”