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Jackson
I DON’T KNOW WHY I expected Remy to actually be asleep on the couch when I got home at eleven, but I’d hoped.
Instead, my brother was channel surfing and chugging down the rest of his soda. His brow lifted when I came inside and tossed my keys down.
I’d gotten a C on my last paper. A paper that counted for ten percent of our overall score. Which sucked ass. But the lack of sleep coupled with having Remy with me more and more lately, not to mention my busy schedule at the gym, and I felt like I was walking a tightrope of stress and barely keeping my head above water.
My head was hurting again, and I winced.
Burping, my brother tossed the empty bottle onto the table and said, “Hey.”
“Hey.” I frowned. “You know there’s a trash can literally right behind you, right?”
“Yes, mom.” He rolled his eyes but picked up the bottle and tossed it behind him.
With a huff, I sat beside him, rubbing my left temple while trying to ignore my aching stomach. Apart from breakfast, I’d not had much else to eat. You couldn’t maintain the type of muscle definition I had without fueling your body on the right foods.
“Any pizza left?” I grumped, ready to eat my own hand at this point. I’d work the pizza off tomorrow.
“Maybe a slice,” he said with a shrug.
Standing, I walked into the kitchen, feeling weary and ready for sleep. But I was pulling a double shift tomorrow and had a group assignment to get turned in by Sunday evening.
I needed to start work on it tonight if I had any hope of raising my overall average.
I opened the microwave and found the slice, half-eaten and picked clean of toppings.
“Remy,” I growled but yanked the thing out anyway, attacking it like it was a T-bone steak or Rose’s sexy-ass lips.
I bet her lips tasted like fucking honey. Sweet and soft.
My cock instantly swelled.
Shit.
With jerky, angry movements, I opened the fridge, grabbed a half-empty bottle of water and the pack of shriveled-up carrots. Dinner of champions.
“So you a chubby chaser now or what?”
I coughed, sputtering out the cold, disgusting pizza before snapping my gaze toward my brother’s. “What the hell, Rem?”
“That chick at the gym today. You were eyeing her like a meatball sub. Just wondering.”
“Do I even want to know what that is?”
He laughed, snorting and shaking his head, looking at me like I was an asshole when really I was questioning how in the hell he even knew what something like that was.
He opened his mouth and I held up my hand. “No, never mind. Don’t tell me.”
“It’s a dude that’s into fat chicks.”
Too late.
Hearing him call her that though, fat, it made my hackles rise. Made me angry. Pissed off.
“She’s not fat,” I said, voice low, even.
Remy shrugged. “Not like disgusting or nothing. No. She’s actually kind of hot. But she is chubby.”
“She’s curvy. There’s a damn difference, and what the hell man, you should be in bed or something. Go. I’m not talking about her with you anymore.” I pointed.
At that he laughed, leaning his head back and crossing his hands over his stomach. “I am in my room. Or have you forgotten?”
“You little shit.” I gritted my teeth.
He only laughed harder, which had me chuckling despite myself. Because it’d been a long time since I’d seen my brother like this. Still, I really did have a lot to do.
Snatching up my water and bag of dried-up carrots, I stalked for my room. His quiet words stopped me as I opened the door.
“For what it’s worth, I kind of liked her.”
I said nothing as I walked inside and shut the door behind me. But a smile had tipped the corners of my mouth. Because his opinion mattered a lot.
Crashing down on the edge of the bed, I stared at my desk. Utilitarian, nothing fancy. I’d picked it up from a Craigslist ad for ten bucks. There was a small lamp on the edge and my laptop, plus a few college business books, some fitness magazines, and a baby cactus in a pot my mom had given me as an eighteenth birthday present that I never seemed to remember to get rid of.
Considering the fact that I’d kept the thing alive as long as I had, I was pretty sure it was here to stay by this point.
I knew I had to get to work on the assignment, but all I wanted to do was crawl under my sheets and pass out. Rolling my neck from side to side, I thought about what’d happened that afternoon.
Seeing her again.
It’d felt like getting sucker punched. I hadn’t expected her there. It’d only been a few days, but Rose never seemed to show up unless it was time to train. I hadn’t anticipated it, and the shock had skittered across my chest like bolts of lightning.
I’d immediately swerved course, telling myself I needed to stay far the fuck away from Rose Thorne. I was a trainer. Not her friend. Not anything more, but my feet had moved with a purpose all their own. And then I’d touched her, felt that petal-soft skin again, unable to keep my thumbs from tracing it, memorizing the satiny feel of her.
And she’d lit up like a firecracker, fuck-me lips going all soft and sweetly sensual, cheeks blooming with color. Sweat looked good on her. And her body, damn, banging wasn’t a good enough word for it. Dressed in clothes that actually fit for a change, she’d highlighted the swell of her generous hips and her hourglass waist.
I moaned, growing hard just thinking about it. My balls drew up and I shook my head.
Those damn hips of hers and legs that wouldn’t quit had me thinking all sorts of wicked things, like peeling those sweaty pants off her, shoving her against a couch, and taking her from behind as I slipped deep into her slick, pink pussy.
Grunting, I waged an inner war with myself, wanting to relieve the tension. Just thinking about her made me nuts. Crazy. Desperate. Like I’d been sex deprived my whole life.
But that was just the thing. I was nowhere close to being a virgin. Hadn’t been for a decade now. I’d popped my cherry the moment I’d been handed the opportunity.
And yet I didn’t recall ever feeling this level of need. This intense want consumed me, making me hot and obsessed.
My head started to pound, helping to ease the bulge in my pants by a microfraction, and I was suddenly pissed off that my brother would even go there with Rose. That woman wasn’t fat. She was freaking gorgeous. Curvy. Hot as hell.
What was it he’d called me? A chubby chaser.
Knowing I was gonna regret it, I unfurled my tired ass off the bed and took the five steps to my desk, then simultaneously sat and powered up my laptop. The second I could, I googled it.
“Chubby chaser,” I read out loud. “A person of any sexuality attracted to another person who is overweight. What the fuck, Rem,” I bit out. How the hell did my thirteen-year-old brother know about something like that?
What kind of porn was he looking at? And I didn’t believe for a second he hadn’t already jacked off to some. I’d gotten my first peek at age twelve.
But now I was obsessed. I clicked on one page after another, all of them giving some variant of that definition. And somehow I found myself on chat groups for it, feeling like a perverted Peeping Tom as I read why chasers, or “fat admirers,” which I guess was the more politically correct way of saying it, wanted ’em “fat and stacked.” Their words, not mine.
One guy in particular talked about his cravings for thunder thighs that looked like rack of lamb.
None of which was doing it for me. To be honest, the descriptions of these women’s bodies were making me angry.
Doughy flesh. Sausage toes. Fat Bastard’s sister twin. The “stank” of fleshy pussy.
These perverts weren’t doing anything different than their skinny-loving counterparts. Just because they loved the jiggle didn’t mean they weren’t debasing and objectifying these women in the most shallow and subhuman kind of way.
At the bottom of the page was a listing of different sites to follow. I clicked on the first one. A page dedicated to the fetishism of women not just overweight but super morbidly obese. Four, five, six hundred pounds overweight.
Feeling suddenly dirty and even slightly ashamed for contributing to the objectification of those women, I clicked out of the site and walked toward the shower.
After stripping down, I turned the spray as hot as I could make it and jumped in.
What those men liked, I wasn’t gonna judge. You could get off to whatever the hell you wanted to, but I knew for a damn fact that wasn’t me. I wasn’t a fat admirer. I was a Rose admirer.
Rose wasn’t fat, but even if she had been, so the fuck what. She was smart. Attractive. And made me laugh. My day was better just from getting to see her.
And that ass... God, that fucking perfect apple-bottom ass. With a groan, I felt my dick immediately spring to stiff attention, doing what it couldn’t do when I’d looked at those other woman, but just the thought of my Rose on her knees, looking up at me with adoration in her eyes as she sweetly worked my rod over, had me leaking.
With a heavy shudder I closed my eyes, placing my forehead against the cool tile as I let the heat of the water soak into my back.
Rose was more than just a body for me to sexualize though. She was a woman who was going through hell right now. How would I feel if someone came in here and tried to take Remy from me?
Yeah, he wasn’t mine. Not like Adam was hers. But he was mine. I was the only person he really had left in this world that actually gave a shit about him.
Ignoring my aching cock, I shook my head. I wasn’t gonna masturbate like this anymore. Not about her. Not like this.
I was gonna get my act together, I was gonna be the best trainer for her I could be, and I was gonna try my damnedest to be the kind of friend someone like her deserved.
It took every ounce of willpower I possessed, but I was able to not jack myself off. I washed up, got out, got dressed, and went back to my laptop to finish my assignment already.
But I wasn’t lying when I said my cock was aching. So were my balls. I’d been jacking off for days now, but it wasn’t helping. And I couldn’t focus for shit with my sac pulled tight and my dick at half-mast. I hadn’t had blue balls in forever, and I’d forgotten just how fucking painful it actually was. Every inch of me throbbed. If I laid down on my stomach, it only made things worse.
My head was still pounding and the carrots were rioting in my gut.
So I dropped to the ground and banged out a hundred push-ups, hoping to sweat her out of my system. But the rub of my cock against the carpet with each up-and-down motion definitely wasn’t helping, so I flipped on my back and did sit-ups until I couldn’t move anymore, could barely think anymore.
And finally, finally my damn dick relaxed.
Panting for breath, I tossed a hand over my face and thought that maybe forcing Rose to remain my client had been the worst idea I’d ever had in my life.
~*~
Rose
I’D SEEN HIM YESTERDAY and it hadn’t been awkward.
Until of course I’d run off like a scalded dog and blown my cool points all to hell.
Whatever. Today was a new day. I’d gone shopping for some new sneakers earlier and had literally stumbled over a shirt that had had me giggling like an idiot. It was dark blue with bold white letters printed on it.
Chubby Girls Cuddle Better
So of course, in a moment of sheer dumb idiocy, I’d snatched it up. And there I was at the gym, ready to have Jackson sweat the fat off me while not so humbly telling the world I was gonna effing own my curves.
It’d only been a few weeks since I’d started really cleaning up my diet and exercising regularly, but already I’d lost five pounds. I was now one seventy-five and feeling pretty freaking amazing.
Shelia’s phone call on Thursday had thrown me for a loop. It had made me stumble, but not for long.
I was getting better at rolling with the punches. Daniel would be so proud of me.
Feeling fluttery and jittery, I stared at my face in the mirror. No makeup, but I had applied a little bit of lip gloss. Not really sure why, other than I was nervous and didn’t want to look like a total slob anymore.
I’d also braided my hair, and it was hanging softly over my left shoulder. It’d grown long since Kyle had left me and hung almost to my ass now. Half the time I didn’t know what to do with it and thought maybe it was time for a haircut. Fact was, I was really starting to feel better about myself again. And maybe, just maybe, if I was being honest, I wanted Jackson to see that beneath the potty mouth and craziness was a woman who sometimes liked being soft and girly.
Stomach rolling, I hopped from my car and jogged inside with barely a minute to spare. I was just signing in, ready to ask the blond goddess behind the desk if she knew where Jackson was when I felt him.
I knew without looking up that he was there. The heated weight of his gaze brushed over my skin, making me swallow hard. His scent, woodsy and spicy and clean, it wrapped me up and made my heart flutter.
I clutched the pen in my hand like my life depended on it.
“Good, you’re not late,” he said in that whiskey drawl of his that brushed over my body like erotic paint strokes. “Come on. I’ve got a surprise for you today.”
Stomach bottoming out, I gave the girl behind the desk a tight smile and tried to act like his body heat and nearness weren’t driving me completely out of my mind crazy for him.
I was so screwed.
~*~
“BOXING?” I ASKED, EYEING the gloves with a curl of nose. “I don’t know ab—”
“Cupcake, will you just trust me?”
I really wished he’d stop calling me that. The way he said it, it made me tremble. Because he said it like it meant something to him. Like it wasn’t just a word but an endearment. Something special between us.
I wondered how many other clients he’d nicknamed and immediately got grumpy.
I’d been sort of thrilled when we’d walked into one of the back rooms. This was where they usually held dance and spin classes. It was wall-to-wall mirrors and black mats on the ground, but the lighting was low, and it was only the two of us now.
Which felt intimate. True, right outside the frosted door was a gym full of people, but in here I could almost pretend it was just us.
I wet my lips because they’d suddenly begun tingling, feeling full and heavy. And that’s when I realized he was looking down at me, waiting on my answer, his pretty amber eyes intense as they studied me.
He was acting different today.
Not mean or even ugly, nothing like that. Just... I dunno, standoffish a little.
Flustered, I shoved my side bangs out of my eyes before planting my hands on my hips. “I’m here, right?”
“Right,” he said softly, voice all deep and shivery and my pulse fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings in my neck.
Discombobulated, I looked down at the unzipped bag and the red gloves lying on top.
“I’m just... I punch like a girl,” I said lamely. My cheeks heated and then he laughed, and my whole body burst into flame.
God, the things that man made me feel. Alive. Sick. Desperate.
“Everybody’s gotta start somewhere.” Bending over, he scooped up the gloves, tucking one beneath his arm as he held the other out to me. “Give me your hand.”
I snorted. I wanted to make a dumb joke about wearing a size seven ring, but all things considered, I didn’t think joking about marriage was appropriate. “Yes, taskmaster.”
My heart beat wildly at the grin he so obviously fought. It was a little heady knowing how easily I could make him smile.
I held out my hand, trying not to shiver when he slid the half glove over it before turning it wrist up so that he could close the Velcro straps.
His touch was light. Pure business. But I swear I felt it move all through me. At the fall of his callused thumbs against my sensitized flesh, I had to fight not to moan.
Touch was my kryptonite. And I wanted it desperately. More of it. All day. Every day.
“Other one,” he said, voice lower, more gruff sounding.
I’d like to think I was affecting him as badly as he was affecting me, but I knew better.
This time I was silent when I held out my other hand. And his touch on my wrist, it was softer. Dare I even say exploratory. At one point his thumb pressed down on my pulse point, making me shiver.
His nostrils flared, and the tension grew thick between us. And I swear I could literally hear each beat of my pulse in my ears.
But then he stepped back and the spell was broken.
“Curl your fingers, tell me if it’s too tight.”
I did as he asked, not liking the feeling of being bound so tightly, but the gloves were fingerless, which was nice. I nodded. “Yeah, it’s good.”
“Good.”
Kneeling, he riffled through his bag and I took the time to study him. Dressed as he was in a crimson-red shirt with silver letters and the image of a badger on it, I knew immediately it was from the local college.
I bet he had all the girls crazy for him there. Why wouldn’t they be? Tall. Hella athletic, ripped, and obviously smart enough to be in college... He was like the perfect trifecta of manliness.
I snorted at my own stupidity, which caused him to look up at me with curiosity burning in his amber eyes. A small red punching bag lay over his knee, and I had to admit, it was sort of hot seeing him kneel in front of me like that.
The only thing left to make this fantasy really perfect would be for him to rip off the shirt, confess his undying love for me, and then beg me to let him bring me to orgasm. At least three times.
At the very least.
But since there was no way I was gonna fess up to my silly girlish musings, I shrugged. “You go to Clemmens U, huh?”
Frowning, he glanced down at his shirt before understanding passed over his handsome features. “Sort of.”
He unfurled his big, muscular body with predatory precision and I shivered, suddenly very ready to punch the shit out of that bag and hopefully take some of this lust out with it.
“I take night courses at the sister campus.” As he spoke, he was wrapping the bag around his thick forearm, and I drooled at the sight of his popping veins.
Arm porn was a real thing, and I was growing seriously addicted to his. I pursed my lips, trying to pretend I wasn’t currently ogling teacher, trying to think about something other than this yearlong dry spell I now found myself in.
“Oh, that’s cool. What are you majoring in?”
His lips thinned, and I thought maybe I shouldn’t try to get to know him better. Maybe he wanted things to remain strictly trainer/client between us. I wasn’t going to analyze why it suddenly made my chest feel tight and my stomach feathery.
“Okay, all I want you to do right now is breathe and jab. Breathe and jab,” he said, answering my silent question.
I was only his client. His nonanswer had made that crystal clear.
I plastered on a tight smile, determined to ignore the sick pit inside me.
“Breathe and jab?” I shook my head. “I know next to nothing about boxing.”
Again my breath caught when he smiled. The man was freaking gorgeous; looking at him was like trying to stare into the sun too long.
Dangerous to one’s health.
“It’s like this.” He moved, all graceful lines as he shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, tossing out a light flicking punch with his front fist every so often.
Jackson moved like a tiger. Graceful. Feline. Smooth.
I gulped and wondered why I’d never thought about hitting the gym with Kyle when we’d been together. I’d always been too embarrassed, but if I’d known just what kind of eye candy I’d have gotten to be around, I’m pretty sure I would have never left. Made me wonder how long Jackson had been working here.
“Now your turn,” he said, flicking his wrist toward me so that the bag was aimed my way.
A light sheen of sweat trailed down the left side of his temple, mesmerizing me. Right then, the only thing I wanted to do was sink my fingers into his thick hair, yank him to me, and kiss the fuck out of him.
Grunting, I jabbed.
“Good. Again.” He braced his legs apart and held both hands behind the bag, leaning forward to better absorb my impact.
I grinned, kind of liking the satisfying sound of that tarp and plastic crumbling beneath my fist.
I jabbed. And jabbed again, making sure to take deep, steadying breaths as I did it.
“Good. Good.” He encouraged me with a grin, making my heart race with adrenaline. “But start moving your feet too. We have the whole room, so use it.”
Soon I was lost in the movements. Shuffling. Jabbing. Breathing. The pattern soothed me, helping me to focus on something other than my trainer’s bangin’ bod.
“Business,” he said a while later.
“Huh?” I frowned, looking up at him, sweat sliding down my neck.
“My major.” He reached out, tapping me on the side of the head. “Bob and weave, Rose. Don’t just stand there like a bump on a log. Move your ass.”
I chuckled, punched his shoulder, and then hopped out of the way when his eyes flashed a challenge.
“Try that again, cupcake.”
“All bark and no bite.” I sassed him, but after he bopped my head again, causing my bangs to slide into my eyes, I settled back down.
Ten minutes in, and I was already feeling the burn. And there I’d thought I was getting stronger. Yeesh.
“You’re doing great. Now add a left hook.” He demonstrated, pivoting on his front foot as he twisted, bringing his fist around from the opposite side. “The power comes from the momentum. Really throw yourself into it and see if you can’t make this thing pop.”
I thrilled at the challenge in his eyes. “Okay, but don’t blame me when you can’t walk tomorrow.”
“Now who’s all bark and no bite?” He chuckled.
And I narrowed my eyes. He had no idea. True, I’d let myself go, but there was still power in this frame. You had to be strong to be a cheerleader. It might look like cake to tumble, flip, and roll, but it wasn’t.
Without warning, I rotated and really threw myself into it, beaming like a proud peacock when the bag snapped so loud the room boomed with its echo.
“Holy shit.” He grinned, looking down at me with newfound respect. “I thought you said you punched like a girl.”
I snorted. “Maybe I lied, hipster.”
Jackson growled. He just hated when I called him that.
“Read any good poetry lately?” I couldn’t help teasing him.
“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” He moved his big body forward, pressing in on me and making me feel nervous and breathless with excitement.
I wet my lips, tilting my face up, body practically vibrating. Fearing. Hoping.
His shaded jaw clenched and his Adam’s apple visibly rolled.
“Jab. Hook. Cross.” He grinned, eyes aglow with devilish delight.
“I hate you.”
“You just keep telling yourself that, cupcake.”
But he didn’t laugh when he said it, and his voice was a scratchy, raw tenor that curled like hot, creeping feelers through my tummy.
I punched with everything I had, working out my aggression, my need, on the bag. And he let me, encouraging me, growling at me to give him more. Push harder. More. More. More.
I might have laughed, remembering the very first stupid joke I’d ever said to him, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was currently almost impossible for me to take a breath without gasping like a fish out of water.
After ten minutes, I was heaving for air, panting and coated in a fine sheen of sweat, but I’d worked out the worst of the need.
“Break,” he said. “Got some water?”
“I always forget to bring it.”
His smile was soft. “I know. Here, have mine.” He walked over to his bag and pulled out a silver tumbler.
I’d expected a water bottle, not his actual drinking cup. My body thrilled with a little jolt when his fingers brushed mine as he handed it over.
“Umm... I might have cooties. You really sure you want me drinking out of this? I can just walk over to the foun—”
“Do you?”
“What?”
That devilishly handsome face broke into a grin. “Have cooties. Keep up here.”
I stuck out my tongue at him. “Yes. And just for that...” I made a show of sucking on his straw, hollowing out my cheeks and moaning.
Because the water was actually nice and soothing, and also because when I did that, his eyes went all round and his face paled beneath the dark tan, and I swear it was totally addicting to see him that way.
“Damn,” he breathed after I finally came up for air.
“Like the show, eh? Well, there’s more where that came from.” I winked, laughing lightly as I took another long swig, this time less whorish about it.
Brushing a hand roughly down his jaw, he breathed out heavily. “You don’t really have cooties, right?”
I laughed. “Jeez, hipster. Really?”
He chuckled. “C’mon, come sit. Five-minute breather. You look like you’re about to die on me.”
“Oh, is it that obvious?” I threw him a tiny irritated scowl. Because he was right, I was about to die, but I was also having more fun that I’d expected to.
He leaned against a small section of wall without a mirror and patted the spot next to him. Considering that was pretty much the only section we could lean against without leaving sweaty ass stains on it, I guess I didn’t have much of a choice.
Feeling shy again, I sat, quickly handing him back the tumbler. “Thanks for sharing.”
“Anytime.”
He took it back and I was just a teeny bit disappointed that our fingers didn’t touch that time. But I did smile when he took a long sip after me. I could almost make myself believe he’d done it just to get the taste of me on his tongue. My stomach pitched at the thought.
A comfortable silence settled between us, and I grinned. I’d never really liked working out, not even at my fittest. It’d always just been a necessary evil, but maybe I’d never been doing it right before.
“It’s for him,” he said softly and I frowned, not sure what exactly he was talking about.
Jackson leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, stretching out one long, muscular leg in front of him. I liked his choice of colors today. Red shirt, silver basketball shorts, and black running shoes.
And while he had his eyes closed, I drank him in, allowing myself to really look at him the way I’d always wanted to but never could before because I’d always been aware of the other eyes watching me. Watching him.
It was one thing to say someone was fit, but to be this close to his body, to see the bulge of smooth muscle in his relaxed form... I wasn’t sure what part of Jackson was sexiest, but right now I was mesmerized by the slope and shape of his long, muscular calf. He wasn’t even trying to flex it or show off. I wiggled on my bottom, knowing I was probably drooling.
I just couldn’t seem to stop looking at him.
“My brother.” He rested his hand casually over his knee, and I almost sighed.
The man was dreamy and made me feel like a little girl with her first crush all over again. Then I realized I might actually need to reel it back and stop ogling the man meat because he was being real with me, talking to me about something that obviously mattered to him.
I frowned softly. “What about Remy? I liked him by the way, nice kid.”
One of his eyes cracked open, and he gave me a look like he didn’t believe me.
Hoping I’d shaded my wanton lust of him to something less hungry, I cleared my throat. “What? I’m serious. He reminds me of me, kind of. Tough on the outside, sweet and gooey on the inside.”
He snorted, half of his mouth curling up into a tight grin, and said, “You do realize I could get dirty with that, right?”
I laughed. Seemed like our first conversation would forever haunt us. “Well, duh, Jackson. I’d be disappointed if your brain hadn’t gone into the gutter. Keep up, buttercup. Anyway, I do like him.”
“I think he liked you too. Though you threw him for a swerve with that hug and kiss. Thought he was about to shart himself.”
I laughed, imagining the poor boy evacuating his bowels from shock. “That’s a terrible mental image by the way. But you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing for him?”
He turned serious, looking up at the ceiling, eyes taking on a faraway gleam as though he was remembering something, reliving an unpleasant past.
And I was seeing a whole ’nother side of Jackson right now. It wasn’t like I hadn’t already thought the man was perfect, but seeing him now, he reminded me of a wounded puppy and it made my wimpy, soft, girly emotions pitter-patter with the need to comfort him.
“This. All of this. Working double shifts whenever I can, taking night courses. I’m turning into a fucking hermit. I’ve got no life.”
His laugh was self-effacing, but beneath it I heard his pain and my heart constricted. Because damn, did I get it.
Throwing caution to the wind, I tentatively rested my fingertips on his. Holding my breath, I wondered if I’d crossed a line somehow.
Jackson didn’t look at me, but he turned his palm over and latched onto my fingers tightly, making my insides feel warm and fuzzy.
“How much longer until you graduate?” I had to force the words past my suddenly tight throat, expecting he’d have let go of my hand by now. But he didn’t seem in any hurry to do it, and truthfully, neither was I. Instead, he was playing with my pinky finger, running his pointer finger slowly up and down its length, tracing every inch of it and turning my body molten, alive with sensation, making my breath hitch.
“This is my last semester,” he said calmly, like what he was doing wasn’t fazing him. But it was me. I was pinging on all cylinders, twisted up and hot all over. “And it’s a good fucking thing ’cause I don’t think I’ve slept more than ten, maybe twelve hours this entire week.”
My brows lifted. “Jackson, my God, that’s terrible. Why on earth would you put yourself through that? I mean, surely you could afford to slow things down a little bit, go a little easier—”
“No.” He rolled his neck, looking at me.
And I mean really looked at me. Eyes skipping over my face, studying me like he was learning me. The man was so freaking intense sometimes and I honestly couldn’t understand it, but I liked it. Liked this breathless feeling like I was free-falling and there was nothing below me, nothing to catch me as I barreled toward Earth, knowing I was gonna crash any second but smiling as I flew toward my certain end.
His gaze landed on my lips, making them tingle again. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and could have sworn I heard a soft groan in response. But his eyes were closed again, and I was forcing myself to just breathe and relax.
“I can’t relax, Rose. Remy’s spiraling. His mom... our mom.” He cleared his throat, and I heard the heartache in her name. “She’s not what she used to be. Not since my Dad died several years ago.”
I squeezed his fingers, wanting him to look at me. And he did. His amber eyes were alive with pain but also pride.
He didn’t want my pity, and I wasn’t gonna give it to him. I’d gotten him so wrong.
I opened my mouth, but his thinned and a wall flew up like a shield over his tight features. The time for questions was over.
“Ah shit, not sure why I’m telling you this. You’re way too easy to talk to, woman.”
Realizing he was protecting himself, hiding his pain behind teasing, my heart melted all over again for him because I knew the instinct well. And though I was curious, I wasn’t gonna go there. I knew the struggle just to get up in the morning and pretend you were okay.
Strangely enough though, I didn’t have to fight to pretend so hard anymore.
“So.” He leaned in, tipping my hand over as he idly played with the pad of my thumb. “Chubby girls cuddle better, huh?”
Snorting and slightly mortified, I glared down at my T-shirt before chuckling. “Wouldn’t you love to know, Just Jackson.”
Heat blazed molten through his amber-eyed gaze, and suddenly my throat felt too tight, too thick.
I was breathing too fast. Too heavy.
It’d only been days, and yet I felt like I’d known Jackson all my life. He swallowed hard and so did I. I hadn’t had this kind of a visceral, soul-deep connection to anyone, ever.
Daniel was my buddy. My brother.
Kyle had been my first real crush.
But this... this was something entirely different.
“Jackson, I—”
I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d been about to say except I was pretty sure that it was gonna be a very firm cease and desist because I was too messed up and screwed up to be thinking like that about anyone. But I never got the chance.
The door swung open. Two women who’d been chatting suddenly stopped, staring at us before quickly breaking down into fits of hysteria, laughing and apologizing.
“Oops, sorry. Sorry. Already occupado, huh?” The tall, sexy brunette smirked, winking at me as if she’d caught us fucking like bunnies and not just holding hands. She grabbed her friend by the elbow and turned them promptly around, then left in a titter of irritating laughter.
I frowned, feeling dread roll through me. I didn’t like anyone looking at us like that. Because they couldn’t understand, they didn’t know that we weren’t flirting or being stupid or silly. Jackson had been intensely real, opening himself to me, and I wanted to protect that. Guard it.
And the only way I knew how was to drop his hand and hop to my feet and act like everything was normal. Let him see that I’d heard but wouldn’t judge him for any of it. He was still my friend and he could trust me. I gave him a tight grin. “Pretty sure we’ve gone well beyond the five minutes. C’mon.”
I tapped his shoulder and he gave me a tight nod.
“Yeah, you’re right.” His voice sounded hollow. Empty.
And for some reason I had the terrible feeling I’d just screwed everything up bad, and that made me want to cry, but I didn’t know what to do to fix it either.