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“But you’re okay?”
“I’m okay.”
The grip on my chin tightens almost imperceptibly before dropping. Without another word, Jackson shrugs off his jacket and lays it across my shoulders, cutting off my half-hearted protests with a single look. He holds a hand out to me, something about him warmer but still inexplicably off. Smiling weakly, I slip my hand into his and let him lead me outside.
The drive home is unbearably silent. I wrack my brain trying to figure out how the hell I’ve managed to screw up, what I’ve done to piss him off, but when we make it to my apartment, I’m still no closer to an answer.
I make no attempt to move. I don't want to go inside. The girls will know something is up immediately and I don't want them to, especially not Amelia, not when she’s been doing so good lately.
My mouth opens and closes as I search for what to say, starting and discarding a dozen sentences before I finally manage to force something out, such a simple request somehow feeling like a mammoth task. “Can I stay with you tonight?”
As soon as I ask, I regret it.
Jackson hesitates, and it's like a slap to the face.
I immediately try to backtrack, shaking my head as I unclip my seatbelt and reach for the door handle. “Sorry, never mind, I don't know-”
Jackson cuts me off by reaching over me and batting my hands away, pulling the ajar door firmly shut. “Of course you can.”
My fingers remain hovering over the handle, shoulders tense, body ready to bolt. “Are you-”
“Luna.”
“Okay.” I sink back into my seat, letting him clip my seatbelt back into place, trying to ignore the way he touches me as little as possible.
I hate this. This is not how car rides between us usually go. There's never distance. I'm always yanked as far as the seatbelt will let me go, one of his big hands wrapped around my thigh, every red light an excuse to kiss me, touch me, thread his fingers through my hair.
This tension is awful, even more so because I can't figure out what the hell is causing it. It only gets worse when we get to his house and I'm greeted by roommates who don't offer me anything more than a curt nod. Cass is absent, leaving just Nick and Ben. The former looks pissed as hell, his expression cold, and the latter avoids all eye contact instead of greeting me with his usual exuberance. I frown, hugging myself awkwardly and letting the smell of Jackson's jacket comfort me, and avert my gaze to the floor as I follow Jackson up to his room.
He's quiet as he gathers up clothes and sets them on the bed, murmuring for me to change before he moves to go back downstairs. I step in his way before he can, my confusion and frustration reaching a tipping point. “What's with the cold shoulder?”
Jackson shifts on his feet. “I don't know what you mean.”
“It's like a fucking tundra in here.”
Jackson kisses his teeth, looking equal parts guilty and annoyed and something else. I don't like this, not being able to read him, not knowing what's going on. It makes me feel insecure and silly and small, three things I pride myself on not being. “Did I do something?”
I take Jackson's sigh as a yes. He leans against his dresser and folds his arms across his chest, staring at me for one excruciatingly long moment before sighing again. “I told you I don't play games, Luna. If you don't want to do this, I need you to tell me, okay?”
I gape at him like a fucking fish, feeling like I’m missing a giant slab of information, a vital piece of a puzzle. My hands hover in mid-air, half reaching for him, half held up in some kind of surrender. “I'm confused.”
“So am I,” he exclaims in exasperation, running his hands through his hair before they come to rest at the crown of his head. As he leans back to stare at the ceiling, I try not to stare at the sliver of toned, tanned stomach revealed by his raised arms. I try to patiently wait for him to speak again but God, is it an itchy lifetime before he blows out a deep breath and locks gazes with me again. “Were you on a date tonight?”
“What?”A scoff leaves me as I gawk at him. “No! Why would you think that?”
He averts his gaze, choosing to stare at the wall behind my head. “I saw some stuff. I swear to God I wasn't stalking you or anything, Cass follows that Pen girl and saw some of her posts and he sent them to me.”
“What posts?” I ask, already pulling out my phone and opening up Pen's Instagram, momentarily confused because the first thing I see is a picture of me and Pen with the caption 'date night', and surely that's not what he's talking about.
But as I click through the rest of her stories, my face twists in a grimace.
Okay. Yeah. I get it.
Most of the many, many pictures and videos littering my friend’s social media are of me and her. Or her and that guy. But in some of them, I’m with Aaron. Laughing, talking, joking around. In one, he's got his arm slung across the back of my seat as he leans in to whisper something in my ear, and it looks like I’m laughing my ass off at whatever he's saying, although it's way more likely I'm giggling at Pen.
Yeah, that could definitely be misinterpreted.
Pocketing my phone, I look at Jackson with a pleading panic. “I promise, it's not what it looks like. Pen and I were at a bar, that guy started hitting on Pen, I was left talking to the wingman.Just talking.”
