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I groan quietly, instinctively reaching up to swipe at my cheeks as if that will get rid of the pink flush staining them. “Shut up.”
I like you too.
Soppy little dumbass.
I should've kicked his ass for ripping my leggingsandpanties, both of them brand spanking new but instead, I fucking simpered at the man, and I'm definitely blaming the orgasms this time. They weaken a girl.
Heweakens a girl. Makes me soft. Makes me comfortable. All kind eyes and unconditional acceptance.
Like with my ADHD. I don't tell people because I'm pretty scarred from a lifetime of ignorant dipshits saying I just need to try a little harder, calling me attention-seeking. Looking back on it, I can recall so many times when Eva and Bea would make subtle demeaning comments, both behind my back and to my face, and I put up with it because I didn’t entirely disagree.
But Jackson? He didn't even blink. He didn't fuss or fret or look at me differently. He didn't ask any invasive questions. He just quietly, unobtrusively offered his help.
And finger-fucked me into oblivion.
So, yeah. I guess he does have the right to be confident.
“I guess I could make an appearance,” I hum nonchalantly, picking at a loose thread in my sweater, hoping he can't hear my ridiculous smile. Honestly, there's no way in hell I'm missing tonight. For one, it's an opportunity to see Jackson and I jump at any and all of those.
But it's also an opportunity to get Amelia out of the house and around people that don’t live with her, are kind of related to her, or have enormous crushes on her. It'll be a hard sell considering what happened last time she was there but I’ll swing it. She needs it; she’s all but wasting away, physically, mentally, socially.
When she isn't in the apartment moping, she's at the gym.
With Nick.
Or at the bookstore.
Where Nick works.
Or at Greenies.
Where Nick just so happens to spend an unreasonable amount of his time.
Another excellent reason to go out tonight; I have lofty ambitions of shoving those two in a room together, locking the door, and throwing away the key until they work off some of that suffocating sexual tension.
I feel like popping popcorn and sitting back to watch the show every time they're in a room together. Dancing around their obvious feelings, her ignoring how he watches her every move, him realizing he's watching her every move and proceeding to pretend he isn't. The poor guy has been thirsting over the girl for as long as Jackson has me, and she's oblivious.
Or at least she pretends to be; I think she knows but she doesn'twantto know. I don't blame her for being a little hesitant, considering her last relationship. I'd be more surprised if she dove right into something new immediately with no qualms.
Especially considering I think we're both pretty positive that Nick has the ability to ruin her a whole lot more than Dylan ever did or could.
Jackson calling my name softly drags me out of my thoughts. “Sorry. Zoned out.”
“Everything okay?”
“Just strategizing how I'm gonna drag Amelia out.”
“You better figure it out, sweetheart,” Jackson jokes. “It’s rude to turn up to a party without a present.”
* * *
I did it.
I achieved the impossible and got Amelia out of the house.
Unfortunately, my triumph is drowned out by inexplicable, overwhelming nerves. Since the moment I walked through the door, I’ve been on a constant cycle of wiping my clammy hands against my pants, fiddling with my ring, fixing my hair.
“Shake it off, Lu.” I scold myself. It’s just Jackson. Sweet, kind, surprisingly bossy, occasionally dirty Jackson.
