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“Then what is it?”
“We just can’t do this.”
“We can’t do what? What is ‘this’?" I asked, watching and waiting for her to answer me.
“This…us, in front of our friends.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m not ready to let them know. I was barely ready for this, for what happened between us last night and again this morning.”
I sat back down and looked at her. “Well, this has already happened.” I said, my fingers dancing along the skin of her hip.
“Yes, I know…but…”
“But what? All we’re going to be doing is showing up to brunch together.”
Bailey looked from me to the window and sat there quietly for a few minutes before turning back to me. “Jackson, I’m…”
“You’re what?”
“I’m not ready to date you.” Bailey scrambled out from under me, this time grabbing the blanket off the end of the bed, holding it against her chest.
“Why? Give me one good reason why not, because ever since you’ve been back in town, I’ve been getting nothing but those messages from you.”
“What? How do you figure?”
“Come on, Bailey. Do you really need to ask me that? How about all the late-night text messages, the need to feel protected when you are at work with Marcus? You weren’t calling Cara or one of the other girls. You were calling me.”
“Seriously? The late-night text messages were about the wedding, nothing else.” She said, turning away from me and walked to the window where she stood looking out.
I grabbed my sweatpants from the chair in the corner and threw them on. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Bailey, the texting may have started out being about the wedding. But when we were still messaging at four in the morning about nonsense bullshit, flirting back and forth, I’d say it’s more than ‘just about a wedding.”
She turned around and glared at me, saying nothing, because in her heart she knew I was right, and I knew she knew it. The second she got defensive with the high-pitched tone, she knew I’d called her on her bullshit.
“Trust me, it was about the wedding.”
I met her eyes and shook my head. “Whatever you say.” I shrugged and dialed room service. I ordered two coffees to be sent up to my room, ignoring the fact that she was planning on leaving. Once finished, I turned back to her. She now sat back on the edge of the bed, looking at me, but saying nothing.
“I see you’re at a loss for words because you know I am right.”
She swallowed hard and looked up at me. “Fine, maybe there were a couple of nights I might have been flirting with you.”
“A couple of nights? Are you fucking kidding me right now? Do I need to show you our messages? It was every fucking night, Bailey, for two straight weeks.”
“What are you talking about?” she bit out, pulling the covers higher against her chest.
I reached for my phone and pulled up one of our last conversations, handing it to her. She reluctantly took the phone from me, her eyes wandering over the messages we’d exchanged. Then she handed it back to me. “I see nothing wrong with it.” She shrugged.
“Really?” I looked down at the message and started reading it aloud.
Bailey: “Do you ever think about us?”
Jackson: “Of course. Do you?”
Bailey: “Yes, often.”
Jackson: “More often now, then before?”
