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Paige
***
Ever look at a man and think, “Damn, he’s got some sexy hands... I’d love to find out what he can do with those?” Well, that’s exactly how I feel about Jackson Fierce. That was the exact thought I had when I first met him, and since then, my feelings for him have only intensified. But that was always where that ended.
I take a deep breath as my best friend watches me hang up the phone.
“Did I hear this correctly? Jackson and Amalia are no longer together?” Margot’s enthusiastic expression beams off her face, causing me to giggle.
Of course, I’m not happy about his misfortune... well, maybe just a little. But not because I wish him the worst in life. I actually just want the best for him. I do. I just happen to wish that the best for him is me.
Yeah, I’ve had the most intense crush on Jackson since I first laid eyes on him. He’s a little older than me, but not enough that would raise eyebrows. And even if he were ten or fifteen years older than me, age ain’t nothing but a number, as they say. He could be fifty years old, and I still wouldn’t care. He’s fucking gorgeous. He’s got this amazing set of shimmering green eyes, dark hair, and a smile that can kill. Wow. He’s so damn beautiful. He’s tall, too, and those hands? I’ve stared at them so many times before since my office at work is not far from his–I get a great front seat view of him from where I sit–wondering what they can do. Totally inappropriate, I know, because he’s got, or had, a woman, but I couldn’t control my thoughts. He did things to me that I didn’t even know were capable of being done.
How could his fiancé, or rather, ex-fiancé now, let him go for someone else? I just don’t get it. It makes no sense to me whatsoever. I know he’s sweet, and she meant the world to him. I would hear all about the things he’d do for her and sometimes, as he’d walk by, I would hear part of their conversation.
Margot, or Margie, as I sometimes call her, is my roommate and best friend. She seems to think that I’m in love with him. OK, well maybe I am. But for as long as I’ve known him, he’s always been with Amalia.
Until now...
Now, he’s single for the first time ever, and even though I hate that he’s hurting, I can’t deny the fact that I’m a little excited, too. Maybe he’ll notice me now. Yeah, right. I doubt it. I know he only sees me as a co-worker and friend.
“She left him for that guy, Paul, I was telling you about,” I answer her from my spot on the recliner. We’re just sitting in front of the fireplace. We were supposed to go out tonight, but since we heard it was going to storm, we had decided to stay in and watch a movie with a bowl of popcorn.
Her eyes widen as she stuffs a few pieces into her mouth and chews. Once she swallows, she says, “Wow. What a whore!”
I almost spit out my popcorn. My bestie is like that, no filter whatsoever. “Margot! I can’t with you, woman.”
She shrugs it off with a wry grin. “What? It’s true. She’s ready to hop on some other dude’s dick when she was just engaged to Mr. Perfect. Sure sounds like a whore to me.”
Ah, yes. Mr. Perfect. That was the nickname she had given Jackson because when I first met him and told her all about the new hottie I worked with, the first thing I had said when walking through our door was, “God, he’s perfect!” Since then, that has always been what she’d call him.
“She’s either a cracked-out whore or she’s dumb... or both,” she continues on her rant. Her dark brown locks swing from side-to-side as she speaks. Aside from being uncontrollably unfiltered, she’s also very “expressionate,” which is the word I use to describe her for being both extremely expressive and passionate at the exact same time.
I chuckle, but she does have a valid point. What kind of dumbass lets go of a man who is good to you, takes care of you, and looks like a fucking model?
“I don’t know,” I say, placing my cell phone on the coffee table in front of us.
“Well, clearly this is good news.”
I furrow my brows. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”
She shakes her head back and forth slightly, holding out her hands as if to say that it’s clearly obvious. “This is your shot.”
“My shot?” I raise an eyebrow. Here we go. Margot always has something up her sleeve.
“That’s right. The whole time, he’s been with that bitch, making him utterly unavailable. Now that he’s back on the market, this is your chance to make him see what a wonderful woman you are.”
Oh, God. Now she’s gone off the deep end. Sure, it would be nice to actually have a chance with him, but I know it’s not possible. We’re co-workers first and foremost, and they say to never mix business with pleasure. I’m sure that’s one of his mottos, anyway. “Margie, have you lost your mind?”
“No, why?”
“Because. We don’t even know if he’s technically back on the market. What if he’s not putting himself up for sale, as you like to say?”
Every time a guy we knew breaks up with his girlfriend, she would always say they were back up for sale. This was something she has been saying for as long as I’ve known her.
“Oh, he’s a man. Of course, he’s putting himself up for sale. And the price is going to be right, too. You think he actually wants to stay single? If he does, it won’t be long. And looking the way he does, it’s going to be even shorter. You’d better make a move if you want him.”
Of course, I want him. But what move? What could I do? I don’t make moves on guys. I suck when it comes to that. Never in my life have I ever made the first move. Maybe it’s one of the reasons why I’ve been single for almost four years now.
Throwing a piece of popcorn my way, Margot exclaims, “C’mon, woman! Do you want him, or do you want him?!”
I shield myself from the offending snack being thrown in my direction and respond, “I do, but I just–”
“There’s no but!” she shouts back.
“OK, OK!”
She stops flinging the buttery treat my way and settles down, finally satisfied with my answer. Then she brings up her index finger and thumb to her chin and turns her gaze up to the ceiling. Oh, fuck. I’m royally screwed now. She’s thinking of something.
“Oh, no.”
She smirks and then giggles, looking back at me. “You just give me some time. I will come up with the perfect thing, Paige. Watch.”
“I’m scared. Terrified, even.”
She gives me an evil grin and says, “Oh, you should be.”
Fuck.
***
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I awake to the vibrating of my cell phone on my nightstand. I pick it up and see a text message has come through. It’s Jackson.
My heartbeat speeds up instantly at the sight of his name. I don’t have to mention how quickly I jump up in bed, practically out of my skin.
“6:45 a.m.? What the hell?” I whisper. Something has to be up for him to text me this early on a Saturday.
If it had been anyone else who had woken me up on my day off, I would have killed them. But Jax? He can be my wake-up call any day.
I stretch and unlock my phone, bringing the text message up in front of me.
Jackson Fierce: Good morning, Paige =)
I wish I could hear him saying my name right about now. Yum, those lips and the way they move whenever he talks...
Me: Hey, Jax. All OK?
Jackson Fierce: Yeah, I’m sorry. I know it’s early and all, but are you free?
Holy shit! He wants to know if I’m free right now? Fuck, yes!
Me: At 7 a.m. on a Saturday? Yeah, I certainly don’t have plans ;)
Jackson Fierce: Good. Meet me at the restaurant on the pier in about an hour. Come hungry.
The pier? That was one of our favorite places. My heart races, and the anxiety I feel within quickens. I can’t believe he wants me to meet him now.
Me: OK. See you there.
I throw my phone down and jump up from my bed. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I shout, running out of my room, into the hallway, and then ultimately, barging into Margot’s room.
Margot is sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Her hair is a matted mess at the top of her head, strands sticking out from a messy bun.
“Oh, my God!” I shout, jumping up and down like a retard.
When our eyes lock, she throws daggers my way.
“Paige, do you know what time it is?” Her morning voice is deep and laced with annoyance.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” I say, still dancing around.
“Then what the fuck are you doing running around screaming like a moron?! You’d better be in here to tell me that we hit the lotto.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. Oh, she is looking like she wants to kill me, but I know once I give her the news, she’ll lighten up.
I run to her and grab her shoulders. “No, better!”
“Better?” she questions, raising an eyebrow.
“Jax texted me! He wants me to meet him in an hour at the pier! Can you believe it?! Can you?”
Her expression changes immediately, and now she’s the happy-go-lucky girl I know. There’s my Margot. “Well, then. What the fuck are you doing in my room wasting time? Go get yourself ready, bitchola!”
She jumps out of bed and pushes me out her door. “Go!” she says, pointing to the bathroom.
I fling my arms around her and take a deep breath. “I love you, my bestie.”
“I love you, too, woman. Now go!”
When we pull away, I nod, smiling at her, and she does the same. Finally, I begin the walk down the hall to make myself look decent for my date with Jax. Because, even though this may not be an actual date, it is nice to pretend. I mean, he did want to see me over anyone else first thing this morning. That has to count for something, right?
I enter the bathroom and close the door behind me. I lean up against it, take a deep breath, and look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t recall ever seeing myself this excited. I chuckle and then go over to the shower to turn on the water. Once the temperature is to my liking, I strip out of my clothes, grab my toothbrush, and hop into the shower.