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My tight smile morphs into the beginnings of a scowl when Jackson laughs softly. “Sorry,” he coughs. “I have sisters. I know ‘I’m fine’ is bullshit.”
Annoyance—irrational but tangible all the same—straightens my spine, a huff of frustration leaving me. “To be perfectly honest,” I start, voice too sharp, too high, “I’m on my way to vandalize my roommate’s dickhead boyfriend’s house because he’s a giant piece of shit who deserves terrible things andIcan’t do anything to him, but an anonymous vengeful Halloween spirit definitely can.”
Silence follows my outburst. Silence and staring, pretty brown eyes latched on me the way I naively begged for only a few nights ago. Before I knew how much him looking at me coulditch.
Resisting the shiver tickling my spine, I huff, shopping basket teetering precariously as I shift to cross my arms. “Oh my God,what?”
The calmest I’ve ever seen him, Jackson glances over his shoulder. “Eliza?”
Immediately, a grinning face peeks around the end of the aisle. Not the least bit ashamed to have been caught eavesdropping, Eliza catches the wallet Jackson tosses her easily. “Stay with Lux, okay?”
A sarcastic salute, a cheeky smile in my direction, and Eliza disappears again, leaving the sound of whispering in her wake and making me wonder just how many Jackson women are lurking around the corner.
“What’re you doing?” I frown at Jackson when he advances, frowning some more when he gently maneuvers the basket from my grasp and sets it on the floor. “Hey, I’m buying that.”
Ignoring me, Jackson nudges me toward the exit. “C’mon.”
“Your sisters-”
“-are probably gonna spend the next half hour fighting over ice cream flavors,” he finishes for me. “Just come with me for a sec?”
I don’t know why but I do. Wearing the frown of all frowns and with a healthy dose of grumbling but with minimal actual fight, I let Jackson lead me outside. Apparently, my survival instincts have taken the night off. Not even when we reach a truck I assume is his do any internal alarm bells start ringing which, admittedly, for me, isn’t all that weird but still.
I don’t know where this odd inherent trust is coming from and I don’t have the time or the brainpower to question it because Jackson is unlatching the tailgate, patting the bed of his truck. I arch a brow. “This is a terrible attempt at seduction.”
Even in the shitty street lamp lighting, I see the blush I was angling for. It deepens when I hoist myself up and lie on the cold metal, legs dangling over the edge. “Really?” I sigh and shimmy in a vain attempt to get comfortable. “I’m not worth a couple cushions and a blanket?”
It must be a whole minute, how long Jackson stares at me, mouth open yet nothing coming out. When he does eventually articulate a response, I don’t hear it; it’s muffled by the truck creaking as he joins me. And then, he’s back to silence, lying on his back with his hands folded on his stomach and his eyes on the sky and I’m doing the staring, fingers drumming against my thighs.
I feel the need to whisper as I ask, “What’re we doing?”
“One of my sisters, Grace, has pretty bad anxiety,” Jackson responds, gaze remaining skyward, voice so calm it could lull a girl to sleep. “When it was at its worst, she had episodes almost daily and the only thing that really helped calm her was being outside. It’s called ecotherapy. Stargazing was one of her favorites. Naming constellations gave her something else to focus on.”
Heat crawls up my neck, my fingers balling into fists, a defense automatically forming on my tongue. “I wasn’t having an episode.”
“I know,” Jackson murmurs, quiet and calm and honest. “Figured it would help anyway.”
Oh.
Well, that’s sweet.
I’m not used to sweet.
It’s very… different.
Tilting my face towards the sky, I say, “I don’t know anything about stars.”
“Me neither. Nice to just look, though.”
“Hm.” Yeah, I suppose they are. But the twinkling lights only manage to hold my attention for a handful of minutes before it flits back to the man beside me. As I scan the unusual combination of slacks, dress shoes, and a button-down shirt, my curiosity gets the better of me. “Were you at a funeral or something?”
Jackson’s head flops toward me, an amused frown tilting his lips.
“You look nice,” I explain, and immediately amend it, “you’re dressed nice, I mean. Fancy.”
“I look nice,” I might be imagining it, but I swear, Jackson looks a little smug, “so I must’ve been at a funeral?”
“I would’ve said wedding but you look kinda stressed. And you were in Walmart bulk-buying junk food at midnight. That’s sad-person behavior.”
