“Isn’t his demographic the same as yours?” Jackson asks pointedly. “You’re a romance novelist, no?” The sky overhead is clear now, and the moon is shining bright.
“He’s a ‘chest cover’ model,” I explain. “He’s mostly popular with the smutty billionaire romance readers. Actually,you’remore their demographic, aren’t you?”
Jackson smirks, “Right. I’m familiar with the trope stereotype.”
“Rich? Check! Nerdy? Check! Grumpy? Double check!” I can’t help ribbing him. He’s the real-life version of the nerdy tech billionaire types that show up so often in the trades.
“Very funny,” Jackson rolls his eyes.
“I mean, if the shoe fits?” I bite my cheeks and look down at the ground, trying not to smile and failing miserably.
“I’m not really that grumpy. And these shoes definitely don’t fit.” Jackson kicks off the flip-flops and sticks them in his pocket. The path is sandy, and he doesn’t really need them anyways.
We are passing an outdoor bar kiosk and he stops. “Drink?”
“I’ll take a gin and tonic,” I agree gratefully.
“So British,” Jackson observes. “Plain soda water for me.” He waves a hand in front of his face and then smacks it against his own chin. “Shit. I’m getting eaten alive.”
“Must be because you’re so sweet,” I say, taking my drink from the bartender.
“Yeah, sure,” Jackson shakes his head. “Or my blood type or something. This always happens. I packed extra bug repellant, but of course it was in my bag. I think I gotta take cover. Mind if we take these back to the room?” He holds up his drink.
“No problem,” I say.
* * *
By the timewe get back to the room, Jackson’s lower lip has started to significantly swell. He’s holding his drink against it, but it’s not doing much.
“Has this happened to you before?” I ask, rifling through my medication bag for allergy meds. I hand him an antihistamine, and he finishes the rest of his drink as he takes it.
“It’s not a big deal. I usually pop a Benadryl, take a nice nap, and I’m good to go.” He sets the glass down and leans to look at himself in the mirror.
“Let me see it?” I step closer to check. He still smells great. Even with a little sweat in the mix. Especially with the sweat.
“Are you a medicine woman now, too?” Jackson’s eyebrow shoots up, but he doesn’t step away.
“I have some training,” I say.
“Are you going to make me a poultice or give me an amulet to ward off the bloodsuckers?”
“Actually, I’ve got some extra garlic and oregano tabs if you want to try them. They repel the little guys pretty effectively. That and some lemon eucalyptus.” I stand on my tiptoes trying to get a better look. “Come on, I’m properly trained. I did a first aid course in London as research for one of my books.”
“Fine,” he sighs and leans back against the desk, lowering himself and resting his bum on the surface. “It’s just a mosquito bite though. No big deal. I just need to sleep it off.”
“Open your mouth?” Stepping between his legs, I take his chin in my hands to see it more clearly. His eyes are closed. I run my thumb over his lip, checking for the boundaries of the swelling. I was right about his jawline. There’s nothing to hide. I like him better clean-shaven.
“You’re sure it was a mosquito?” I ask. “You’re not having any trouble breathing?” The swelling seems to be purely superficial, but I’m still a bit concerned by how quickly it flared.
He swallows.
“Themosquito biteis not affecting my breathing,” Jackson’s eyes flutter open, and he takes a long deep breath. There are circles under his eyes, and his pupils are wide in the dim room. He seems to be considering saying something, but he changes his mind. He gently pushes me away, then stands and glances at himself in the mirror again.
“I just need to sleep it off. I think the meds are already starting to work,” he says. “I’m super tired.”
“Okay,” I say, “But do me a favor. Lie down in my bed for a bit? I’m going to go and get some ice.”
“You want me in your bed?” He smirks. “That didn’t take long.”
