He never wants to have a heavy conversation with me, period.
“Wanna go to my room?” he asks, quickly changing the subject. His smile is charming. Devastating. “I have something for you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask warily. If he says it’s his dick, I’m going to hit him.
But he’s not Caleb, so I doubt that would be his response.
“I have a gift. Something I bought you on my travels. Come on.” He removes his arm from my shoulders and pushes up from the couch to stand. He offers his hand to me and I stare at it like it’s a snake about to strike. “Ellie. Come on. Let’s go.”
I follow his command and slap my hand in his, gasping when he pulls me up so fast, I nearly crash into him. He doesn’t let go of my hand as he leads me through the throng of people congregated in his living room, all of them calling his name because he is the man they’re all here to see tonight.
He smiles and waves like a damn celebrity, but doesn’t stop. Just drags me down the hall and into his bedroom, hitting the light switch and shutting the door, cutting off all sounds coming from the apartment.
It’s quiet in here. And an absolute mess. He’s only been home for a couple of days, but his shit is strewn everywhere. There’s a giant suitcase sitting open on the floor with all kinds of stuff in it still.
“You’re still a slob I see,” I tease.
“I just got home,” he says defensively, dipping down toward the suitcase and rummaging through the items in there before he pulls a small, flat brown paper bag out. He turns toward me, thrusting his hand out. “For you.”
I take the bag from him with a small smile, anticipation making me shaky. I peek inside the bag to find a smaller, black velvet drawstring bag. I pull it out and untie the string, the weight of his heavy gaze on me as I reach into the bag and pull out a delicate silver chain with a tiny charm on it.
It’s a sand dollar.
“Found it in this little shop on the Oregon coast and it made me think of you,” he says. “I hope you like it.”
“I love it,” I say softly, my heart turning over itself. He thought of me. He bought me a gift. This has to mean something. “Thank you.”
“You really like it?” He looks so eager, so hopeful. He reminds me of a little boy.
Nodding, I smile. “I do. It’s beautiful.”
“Let me help you put it on,” he says, taking the necklace from my hand and undoing the clasp. “Hold up your hair.”
I do as he says, lifting my hair up as he stands close behind me, looping the chain around my neck, his fingers fumbling with the tiny clasp and brushing against my nape. I can feel the gooseflesh rise from his touch.
I wonder if he sees it.
“There you go,” he says when he closes the clasp. I turn to face him. “It looks good on you.”
Jackson reaches out, tracing the charm, his finger coming awfully close to my chest. I hold my breath, waiting for what he might do next, but disappointment washes over me when he turns away so his back is to me.
“You’re right,” he says as he surveys his room, his hands on his hips. “I’m a fucking slob.”
“No, I shouldn’t have said that. You just got home,” I start, but he turns on me, his expression…
Angry.
“Why do you always do that?” he asks, his tone vaguely hostile.
“Do what?” I blink at him in confusion.
“Defend me. You shouldn’t.” He runs both hands through his hair, clutching the back of his head, his biceps bulging. “I’m a shit, Ellie. And I shit all over you on a daily basis.”
He does, but I don’t call him out for it. Instead, I reach up, tracing the edge of the silver sand dollar. “I love my necklace.”
“It’s not enough for what you do for me though,” he says, dropping his arms to his sides. “What do you want from me?”
Irritation floods my veins. I hate how he’s suddenly putting this on me. “I don’t know what I want.”
Liar. You know exactly what you want from him. You’re just afraid to say it out loud.
“You know,” he says, his voice low. “Admit it. What do you want from me?”
I remain quiet, refusing to let the words leave me. If I say them, that gives him the opportunity to reject me, once and for all.
And I don’t think I could handle that. Not tonight.
“Whatever it is you want, I don’t think I can give you,” he says after a long minute of my silence. “I’m a fuck-up who can’t commit.”
I roll my eyes. “I hate your excuses.”
“They’re not excuses.”
“They are.” I take a couple of steps toward him, until I’m practically standing on top of his boots. “You know what you are? A chicken shit.”
“I’m a chicken shit?” He raises a brow. “You’re the one who won’t confess your feelings.”
“Right back at you, asshole,” I toss at him, anger filling me as I turn and head straight for his bedroom door.
I’m fast, but he’s faster. He’s got me pinned to the door before I can even open it, his hot, hard body pressing into mine. I lift my chin, glaring at him, and he dips his head, his alcohol-tinged breath wafting over my face.
He’s drunk. I need to remember that. He’s not in the right frame of mind.
“You want me to confess my feelings?” he asks. “Here we go. I need you in my life, Ellie. And I want you. I want you so damn bad, it’s all I can think about right now. But I can’t take it to the next step with you, because I will mess it up. I guarantee it. Whatever expectations you have of me in your head? The reality will not meet. I’m a mess. I make mistakes. And I’m not loyal. Not to women.”
His words leave me confused, but he also said he wanted me. He wants me.
I need to stand strong. “You’re just afraid to commit. You can’t even take a record deal when they’re throwing them at you like candy.”
His eyes narrow as his hand comes up to touch my cheek. My skin burns where his fingers press. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uh, I think I do. We’re pretty close, Jackson. You’ve told me a lot of stuff over the years,” I remind him. “I think I have you pretty well figured out.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ve got you figured out too,” he says, his voice taunting, despite the gentle way he touches me. Such a contradiction. Typical Jackson. “You’re just a lonely, scared virgin who puts all your hopes and dreams on a guy like me who keeps you at arm’s length because it’s safer that way.”
My mouth drops open and I jerk away from his stroking fingers. His description hurts. Only because it’s too close to the truth. “You’re such a prick.”
“I warned you.” His grin is faintly menacing, and I wonder if he’s acting like an asshole on purpose. It’s like he wants to prove a point. “I’m not good enough for you, Ellie.”
“That is the worst excuse ever,” I tell him, annoyed. He’s said that time and again, and I’m tired of hearing it.
“It’s the truth. And the truth always hurts.” He leans in close, his mouth a whisper away from mine. “Doesn’t it?”