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Jackson hides my lunch behind his back, body-blocking me when I try to steal it back. “Lu.”
“What?” It comes out more whine than question.
“Spit it out.”
Sighing, I fold like a cheap lawn chair. “My mom wants you to come for Christmas. I already told her no, so don't freak out.”
“Why'd you say no?” Jackson surprises me by frowning. “You don't want me to come?”
“No, I do, I just…” I trail off with a shrug. “I didn't think you'd want to.”
A sound between a snort and a scoff rumbles in Jackson's throat. “You're kidding, right?”
The shake of my head only serves to deepen his confusion. “I came to New York when I wasn't invited. Why wouldn't I come when I actually am?”
I open my mouth to argue, closing it when I realize… well, there isn’t one. It’s a valid point. One someone more versed in relationship probably would’ve come to easily but hey, he can’t hold it against me. He knew what he was signing up for. “You really wanna come?”
Not a moment passes before Jackson replies, nothing but sincere. “I’d love to.”
“Your sisters won't be mad?”
“Oh, they will be.” Mischief glints in his eyes as I groan. “But I know just how to soften the blow.”
God, I’m not sure I like his tone. “How?”
Grinning wide, he leans forward, surrounding me with an arm on each side of my chair. “How do you feel about a road trip up north in the new year?”
* * *
Shopping for a boy is fucking impossible.
I've never done it before. I’ve never had to. I’ve lived a beautiful man-and-boy free life up until this point, and never have I resented that until now.
I’m at a complete and utter loss. Except for the drawing I did of him; I framed it even though it’s silly and ugly and absolute dirt compared to his artwork but his face while I was doing it? When I asked him if he could? When he saw the completed sketch and quietly traced the lines with a smile that made my chest hurt? I don’t know, I just figured he’d like a copy. If only so he could look at it during times of artistic self-doubt and feel better about himself.
But I'm pretty sure a shitty drawing in a two-dollar frame isn't a present.
“Just buy yourself lingerie and call it a present for him,” Kate had suggested on my way out of the door, ready for a frantic last-minute shopping session.
I’d snorted; obviously, that was my first idea. The new light pink set is already in my suitcase. Except I can't call it a present for him when it will most definitely end up being a present for me, especially because said present will more than likely get ripped to shreds and the ripper in question will insist on buying a replacement. Probably a much more expensive replacement made of diamonds or cashmere or fucking gold.
God, I'm dreading finding out what Jackson got me. Amelia joked that it's probably a key to his house. Kate said an engagement ring.
Both are terrifying.
I tried to wrangle it out of him. I used all my best persuasion techniques, most of which involve me on my knees or naked or both.
None worked.
The knowledge that he's going to buy me some perfect, expensive present that will somehow be exactly what I need or want just makes getting him something even harder. I would ask my mom for help, but I doubt she'd know either. I can't ask Nick because he's probably railing Amelia on a plane right now, and Cass is on the same plane completely oblivious to it. And I know Ben well enough to guess he'd more than likely make the same suggestion as Kate.
“Think, Lu, think,” I mutter to myself. I know Jackson. I do, I know I do. I might be a little self-absorbed and selfish but I do listen to him.
He likes art. Horses. His sisters. The ranch. Grapefruit Crush. Me.
I know the things he doesn't like too, but I don't think I quite have the skills to pull off an assassination attempt on the eldest members of the Jackson family.
If I was rich like him, I'd say fuck it and fly his sisters out to spend Christmas with us, but alas, I barely have enough money to buy myself a ticket home. The horse thing seems pretty useless too, and the ranch. A six-pack of grapefruit Crush is my panic present. Which leaves me with art.
