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Me: A figment of your imagination then?
Jackson: What do you mean by that?
Me: You can have pretty much whatever girl you want, J. Quite a few guys too if you were interested.
Jackson: Not everyone wants me, Ellie.
Oh please. They all want him. I saw the way the girls flocked to him as the party went on Friday night. At one point, before Tony kicked everyone out, I think they were about eight deep, watching Jackson with adoring eyes as he told a story. I sort of wished I could have gone over there and listened to the story too, but Hayden put a stop to that.
“No way,” she said, shaking her head. “Let him come to you.”
Of course, after our initial conversation, he didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night.
Jerk.
Me: What are you doing up so early on a Sunday morning?
Jackson: Couldn’t sleep. Was too excited about the song. Wanna hear it?
Me: You’ve already recorded it?
Jackson: No, but I can play it for you on FaceTime.
He’s played songs for me before on FaceTime, and like the sap I am, I listened to them, praising the lyrics, the melody, the whatever when he finished. Like the good little fangirl I used to be.
This time, I don’t respond. No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m sure it’s amazing and I’ll get all dreamy-eyed watching him play his guitar while listening to his voice, because he’s addictive. I can’t lie. I also can’t turn my feelings off for him that fast, though I wish I could.
My phone starts to buzz, saying I have a FaceTime call from Jackson. Like I can’t help myself, I take the call, and his face appears. He smiles.
“Good morning,” he says cheerfully, looking sexy as ever in a white tank, his hair an artful mess, his jaw and cheeks covered in stubble. I want to feel those cheeks press against my face. My stomach. The inside of my thighs.
Oh holy shit, I just went there. Why do I always go there with him?
“Morning.” I wish I could tug my comforter over my head. I’m sure I look a mess. Oh, and I’m just wearing a tank top too. No bra. Skimpy panties that I would never dare s
how him. It gets hot in this stupid, stuffy apartment that I share with roommates who are basically strangers, and I barely want to wear clothes when I sleep. At least I’m living in student housing with reasonable rent that I can pay myself, thanks to my job and student grants. Otherwise, my parents were probably going to make me stay at home and commute to school.
“Ready to listen?” He fumbles around with his phone, setting it on top of some furniture and giving me a better view of his bedroom. Of him. He’s wearing gray sweats, his feet bare, and he’s all rumpled and pretty and annoying. He’s sitting in a chair with the guitar in his lap, strumming it.
“Sure,” I say weakly, bracing myself.
Don’t fall for it. Don’t fall for him. Don’t fall for it. Don’t fall for him.
“Okay. It still needs some work.” He hums, and the sound smacks me right in the chest before dropping, settling between my legs.
Oh my God, I am ridiculous.
In a crowded room, you won’t look my way
All I can do is stare
I’m captivated, lost in your eyes
Thinking about your secrets
What’s between those pretty thighs
And wishing you weren’t so far away
