“How about takeout at my place?” I suggest. “I mean, it’s not much, but it’s private, and I have a little balcony out back. We can eat there.”
“Perfect.” He tweaks my nose. “I’ll bring the food. You just bring your delectable self.”
“Okay.”
He leans down, pressing the softest, sweetest kiss to my lips, and I swoon on my feet. “See you in a couple hours, babe.”
_______________
The one good thing about living in a postage-sized studio apartment is the fact it is easy to keep it clean and tidy. I’ve always kept my shit neat anyway, but I don’t have to spend ages making my place presentable for Jackson, which means I have time to put new sheets on my bed, take a long hot shower, shave everywhere, put on a facemask, paint my nails, and set the small table out on the balcony before he arrives.
He is punctual, arriving one minute before eight, and I buzz him up, opening the small door at the top of the stairs, smiling as he locks the entrance door down below and climbs the steps two at a time.
“You look fucking gorgeous,” he says, his eyes skimming over the casual black knee-length summer dress I’m wearing with obvious admiration. I let my hair dry naturally, and it’s still a little damp, cascading in soft waves over my shoulders. I put tinted moisturizer on my face and added a touch of gloss, blush, and mascara.
“Thank you.” I stretch up, ignoring the butterflies in my chest and the slight knot in my stomach, pressing a light kiss to his lips. It feels so natural to do it, and I hope he’s feeling that too.
He kisses me back, just once, but it’s everything. His eyes bore into mine. “What are you doing to me, Nessa? Hmm.” With his free hand, he threads his fingers through my hair.
“I like when you call me that,” I admit. “The only other person who calls me Nessa is Kayleigh.” Jackson knows who my sister is although I doubt he’s ever spoken to Kayleigh or Hunter because they are so much younger than us.
“She’s going to be a stunner when she grows up,” he says. “Just like her big sister.” His fingers clasp the back of my head, sending a wave of heat rolling through me.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I tease, kissing the corner of his mouth.
He groans. “Never tell me that.”
He drops his forehead to mine, and I drink in the scent and feel of him. Jackson is all man, and I can’t believe he’s the same guy who used to avoid me, the same guy who used to irritate the fuck out of me with his stupid, immature behavior.
I’m seeing him in a whole new light, and I hope he’s seeing me in a new light too.
I ease back a little, smiling at him in what I hope is a flirtatious manner. “Come in.” We’ve been standing at my door like lovesick fools, and I’m sure the food is getting cold. I step aside and let him enter.
“It’s a lot nicer than I was expecting,” he admits, inspecting the space with surprise in his eyes.
While my apartment is only four hundred and fifty square feet, it is well proportioned and tastefully decorated.
“Paul, who owns the diner, only bought this place eighteen months ago. Initially, he gutted and refitted the space, intending on using it himself on occasion instead of traveling to and from New Jersey every day, but then, I came along, and he offered it to me,” I explain.
On the left is my bed with surrounding fitted wardrobes and matching bedside tables. Beside that, just inside the front door, is the small bathroom with shower. It is the only enclosed area in the room. On the right-hand side is the living area with two brown leather couches positioned around a small coffee table and wall-mounted TV. In the middle of the open-plan space is a square gray ash table with four matching chairs. Behind us is the kitchen, consisting of one row of cupboards, a stove, washer-slash-dryer, and refrigerator, and there’s even a slim dishwasher. The island unit facing the kitchen, and cutting off that space from the main living area, is where I prepare my meals and where Jackson drops the takeout bag.
“I’m glad I came here now,” he says. “I worried you were living in some grungy, neglected shithole. This puts my mind at ease.” My heart swells at his words, and it feels good to be cared about. “I didn’t bring beer or wine because you said you don’t drink, and I’ve been trying to abstain. Hope these are okay.” He hands me a large bottle of sparkling water and a large bottle of Coke.
“Great, thanks.” He’s observant and thoughtful, and I add it to the growing list of his attractive qualities.
He pulls out one of the stools, watching as I unpack the paper cartons, emptying mouthwatering food into bowls and plates. “I set the table outside,” I explain, urging him to grab what he wants and take it outside.
We carry our meal out and sit across from one another. “There isn’t much of a view, but at least, it’s private.”
“There is a lot to be said for privacy in a place like New York City,” he agrees, tucking into shrimp stir fry. “You must come over to our place next time. Hunt has the penthouse suite, and we have an awesome rooftop garden. We can grill steaks.”
“Sounds good, provided Sawyer won’t mind.”
“He won’t mind. Sawyer feels very … protective of you. It might be good for him to see I’m not eating you alive.” He chuckles as my mouth hangs open.
“What exactly have you been telling him?”
“Nothing.” He laughs again. “I swear. He just wants to know I’m treating you right.”
“Is he dating anyone?” I ask, taking a bite of spicy chicken.
Jackson shakes his head. “Not really.”
“I sense a story.” I urge him to continue with my eyes.
“He’s been hooking up with this guy we hung around with in Rydeville. I think there’s more to it than he’s saying, but I could be wrong.”
“I heard you moved. The gossip mill was in full swing at West Lorian when none of you showed up for senior year.”
“I’ll bet.” He grins.
“Did you really have an orgy with Ms. Rowling?” She was one of the youngest teachers in our private school, and all the guys were in heat around her. When she didn’t return, and neither did the guys, all kinds of rumors were circulating.
“If you call me, Anderson, and Hunt taking turns with her and her friend an orgy, then yeah.”
“You’re all dogs,” I murmur, but there’s no malice in my tone.
“I seem to recall someone engaging in a few threesomes and foursomes during summer break unless those assholes were lying about fucking you.”
I know exactly which assholes he’s referring to even if half my summers in The Hamptons are a blur.
“They weren’t lying, and I wasn’t criticizing.” I hold up a hand. “No judgment in this corner.”
“Nor in this one.” He reaches across the small table, lacing his fingers in mine. “I’m glad we never hooked up back then.”
“Yeah. I think that much is obvious.” I force a laugh out, so it sounds lighthearted.
He squeezes my hand. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“What do you mean then?”
“It’s like I said last night. I want to do things right. If we’d screwed back then, it would’ve been meaningless like every other nameless, faceless encounter that I barely even remember. But this, now?” He peers deep into my eyes, and I lean forward, my heart beating ninety miles to the hour. “This means something, right?”