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I hate that I panic.
I hate that instead of kissing the life out of him, instinct drives me to scoot off his lap and towards the edge of the bed, fleeing like a fucking startled animal.
I hate that every cell in my body screams at me to run out the door, down the hall, out of this fucking fancy hotel that he's paying God knows how much for because he flew five hours to fucking cuddle.
But then the ring on Jackson's pinky glints in a way that catches my eye. I catch sight of one of my scrunchies around his wrist; he says he steals them because they're better for his hair, but when he was sleepy and sweet and a little drunk once he told me it's because he likes how they smell. Vanilla, or something. I spot the remnants of the pink nail polish still staining his fingernails from last week when I had a bad night and just needed something to do.
Sucking in a breath, I take a moment and just fucking think for a second.
I'm not sure anymore that the little voice telling me to run is instinct. I think it's a habit. Self-preservation, maybe. The 'leave first before they leave you' mentality I've carried around for years.
Jackson doesn’t move a muscle. He sits there, watching me calmly, waiting patiently, not an ounce of pressure or coercion, and looking at him, I know I don’t want that instinct, or whatever it is, anymore.
I just want him.
Swallowing hard, I summon every ounce of strength I possess. “Go on, then.”
Two dark brows shoot up.
“Ask me.”
The answering smile I get is nothing short of fucking wonderful. Hands settling on my hips, he drags me back onto his lap until our chests are flush, my arms instinctively going around his neck as he leans his forehead against mine. “You wanna be my girlfriend, Lu?”
A part of me acknowledges how cringy this is. How this would have been a past me's nightmare. But a bigger part of me, a better part, is so happy that it drowns out that smaller part. So, I let my lips tip up in a smile that rivals his, and I let myself be ditzy and swirly, and I let myself bask in the happiness spilling out of him and overwhelming me.
“Fuck yeah.”
27
LUNA
My boyfriend is takingme on a date.
Because, you know, I have a boyfriend.
Weird.
I guess I should say my boyfriend istryingto take me on a date. I’m wholly opposed to the idea; I would be perfectly happy spending the rest of tonight in this hotel room.
Preferably naked.
Jackson has different, lofty ideas. He glares at me playfully from where he stands in the bathroom, a towel slung loosely around his waist as he rakes argan oil through his wet hair. “Tough shit. We're going out.”
I whine as I flop back onto the cloud-like bed I’d rather not leave. The soft sheets tickle my cheek as my head falls to the side, eyes following Jackson as he crosses the room and crouches to rifle through the bag thrown on the floor. “Why can't we just stay in?”
He cuts me an exasperated glance as he swaps his towel for underwear. I’m only human, so of course I stare with a dry mouth at the other tempting reason for us not to leave the room. “Because I wanna show off my hot girlfriend.”
That makes me snort.'Hot,isn't the word I'd use to describe me right now.'Hot mess, maybe. Sighing, I prop myself up on my elbows. “I have nothing to wear.” Unless you count my outfit from last night that honestly needs to be incinerated.
“Don’t you?”
I like a lot of things about Jackson but the smile he’s currently wearing isn’t one of them. It’s smug, like he knows something I don’t, and it only gets worse when he digs around in his duffel a little more and pulls out…
A shopping bag.
A branded shopping bag.
Anexpensivebranded shopping bag.
