Claire
Shadows in his eyes.
I hate that.
I open my mouth, mind searching for something to say that will take them away, but just then, the limo slides to a halt.
He notices too.
“Enough of the heavy stuff,” he murmurs, touching my cheek. “We have a first date to get to.”
As though he timed it, the door swings out, momentarily blinding me from the sudden burst of sunshine. I blink, feel Jackson slide away from me.
“Come on, kitty cat,” he murmurs, wrapping his big hand around mine and helping me from the car.
“Where are we—?”
But then I freeze, eyes going wide as I take in the large open field—no, not a field. It’s a tarmac, dotted with futuristic-looking helicopters.
“What?” I whisper, spinning to see Jackson talking to the limo driver. He passes the other man a folded bill, claps him on the shoulder, and then walks back to me. “How?” I ask when he comes back to my side and takes my hand again.
“I heard it all,” he says, drawing me toward the office that’s perched on the edge of the parking lot. “Even when I didn’t want to.”
Heard me tell Pru—Marcel’s wife and the team’s resident daredevil—that I was jealous of her adventures because I’ve always wanted to take a ride in a helicopter (though I had no interest in skydiving out of one like she had).
“Jackson,” I whisper. Because I’ve heard him too.
The small things like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches forty-two minutes before game time.
And the bigger ones—about that heavy past that still weighs on him.
“Come on, kitty cat. Now’s your chance for an adventure,” he teases lightly. “You’re not going to chicken out on me, are you?”
From this fantasy? This dream?
This chance at something I never thought I’d have?
Never.
“Oh my God!” I squeal—yup, squeal—as the pilot pulls up on the handle thing and takes us into the air.
I expect it to be a rush of speed and gravity like a plane, but it’s smoother, quieter, especially with the heavy duty headphones covering my ears.
And the mic in front of my mouth.
Capturing my—likely—ear-piercing squeal.
“Sorry,” I say, wincing at Jackson who just grins and takes my hand.
“It happens all the time,” comes a calm female voice in my ears. Becky, our pilot, is confident as she navigates us higher and higher into the sky as she zooms us toward New York City.
I didn’t realize we’d driven out of the city proper, not until I found myself on that tarmac, but the view back in is incredible.
Skyscrapers rise in the distance, highways dotted with hundreds of cars moving like ants form a maze in front of us. The Hudson looks grand and busy, dotted with ferries and boats. Flashes of color—green parks, silver mirrored windows, red brick buildings. It’s too much to track, and yet, I can’t stop taking it in.
“There’s the Statue of Liberty,” I gasp, interrupting our pilot as she’s telling us about some of the city’s history. It’s interesting stuff—learning about the men who built those tall towers and the many bridges, Wall Street and the 9-11 Memorial, Central Park and the Empire State buildings. Things I may have heard or read in a history book but made more interesting.
Or maybe I’m just finally at a point in my life where I can appreciate the grandeur of this city, this experience, this…
Date.
I glance over at Jackson as Becky smoothly pivots topics and starts discussing the sister statue in Paris and how it’s meant to represent the Roman goddess, Libertas. He’s listening, but he’s also watching me, studying me, taking in those small details.
“Thank you,” I mouth, hoping he knows how much this means to me.
His eyes warm and I think…
Maybe he does.
“And she’s struck by lightning about six hundred times per year—”
My eyes go wide and I focus back on Becky. “Six hundred?”
My shock didn’t stop with the electric facts about Lady Liberty.
It continued as the tour wrapped up and turned back, but instead of making it all the way to that tarmac in what I learned was New Jersey, we find ourselves on top of one of the tall buildings, wind buffeting all around us as Becky pulls open the door for us and deposits us inside before waving goodbye and disappearing back into the sky.
“That was incredible,” I whisper, amazed by all the noise—the motor of the helicopter, the traffic far below, the wind blowing intensely.
It was so quiet in the air, watching the world go on below us.
Now I feel dropped back into the center of everything.
“Thank you,” I add, stepping close and rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. “This was literally the best first date ever.”
Furrowed brows for half a second before a cocky smile graces that handsome face and he bends, dropping his lips to mine, and allowing me to taste his happiness. “It’s not even remotely over.”
“I—”
I’m in overwhelm. I can’t help it.
Helicopters. A fancy brunch. A tour of an exhibit in The Met. A walk through Central Park. Lunch from a tiny, hole-in-the-wall pizza joint with the crispiest—and most delicious—slice of margherita I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.
A sunset boat tour of the Hudson with fancy cocktails.
And the whole time…
I had Jackson—the funny, nice one I saw him give to his friends and the kind, thoughtful one who knew my favorite drink, remembered my dream of riding in a helicopter. The Jackson I fantasized about.
The Jackson who’s giving me a memory I know I’ll always hold tight to.
And now—
I’m being led between tables in a packed but shadowy restaurant, heading toward the swinging wooden door, and—
Finding our table, right there in the kitchen.
Chefs and line cooks bustle around, clipped-out orders ringing through the space that smells like heaven.
“Too much?” Jackson asks quietly, settling his hand on the small of my back—giving me that too. The soft touches and quiet check-ins. His body coming close, his scent in my nose, his heat against my skin.
This is too much—him being close, the way it makes my nerves prickle at the contact. The tingle and zip around under my skin even after I lie and shake my head, still not wanting him to stop touching me. The dampness between my legs, the flutters in my belly, the way my body wants to drift closer anytime he’s near.
It’s almost overwhelming.
And…it’s not nearly enough.
He pulls out my chair and I sink down into it, lifting up slightly as he pushes it in until I’m a reasonable distance away from my cutlery. “Good?”
I nod, finding that my mouth doesn’t want to work, that my tongue doesn’t seem able to form words.
A brush of his thumb along my bottom lip. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “All the time, but especially in candlelight.”
Words are impossible still.
But he doesn’t wait for me to stammer my way through some.
He just brushes his thumb along my bottom lip again and then rounds the table, sitting in his own chair.
“Wine?” a server asks, appearing at my elbow.
Jackson’s eyes come to mine. “Pinot?”
I inhale sharply enough that my lungs protest.
He knows that too.
Knows everything and—
The day. The wonderful details and conversations that flowed naturally. The touches and smiles and—
My desperation.
My need.
It’s almost pathetic.
This man could tell me we were going to run through the restaurant naked and I’d happily strip down.
This man could ask me to his bed, and I’d gleefully jump between the sheets.
This man could—
“Yes,” I rasp, shoving that thought down.
But the words don’t want to stay down.
This man could hurt me.
He nods at the waiter and thankfully, the other man disappears, leaving me to only face Jackson as I try to snap a lid on my panic attack. I’m overwhelmed because today has been out of a dream.
That’s all.
It’s not because I feel vulnerable and open and fucking terrified that this shit is going to burst and disappear like an over-filled balloon, gone as quickly as it appeared.
It’s not.
It’s. Not—
“Excuse me.” I pop up to my feet so quickly that I almost tip my seat over backward.
“Kitty cat?”
“I’m fine,” I manage to push out. “I— Bathroom—”
Where I can panic in private.
But I run out of steam there, so I just spin on my heel, hurry to the swinging doors, and push out into the dining room.