Page 158 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

I felt like I was keeping things casual by drinking wine over here, but at this rate of awkward, I might need something stronger. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

Jackson bursts through the front door as if he’s been cued, causing us all to jump. Tealey grabs the sweatshirt she’s wearing over her heart. “Jackson, you scared me.”I can’t say I fare much better.

“What the hell, man?” Cade gripes. “You gave me a fucking heart attack.”

Rad’s laughing and tossing popcorn in his mouth while Cammie angles sideways, reaching for her bowl like the show’s about to begin. I worry it is as well.

Jackson’s eyes land on me, and he says, “You forgot the queso.”

“Did you just think of that comeback?” I snark as I stand, crossing my arms over my chest. I don’t know what kind of stance I’m taking, but it feels like I need to do it standing since he is.

“We’re going to sort this shit out, Marlow. Now.” When I continue to glare at him, he adds, “Please.”

“Fine,” I say under my breath. “Only because you said please.” I move around the table and grab my purse, pulling the strap over my head. My lips are feeling parched. If Jackson and I are going to have this out, I need my lip gloss, and then I head toward the door. Besides the nicety of the please he offered me, we’ll have an audience if we stay here, and I’d rather not be their entertainment.

He tosses that bag of chips and queso to Rad just as I pass.

To Rad, I mutter, “Traitor.”

With the bag in his hand, Rad asks, “What did I do?”

After pointing two fingers at my eyes, I then redirect them to his. “I see what side you’re on. Unlocking the door for your best friend. Not very subtle.”

Chuckling, he moves to lean against a barstool. “It wouldn’t have been as fun if the door was locked.” I roll my eyes when I hear them high-fiving behind me.They’re mere boys when together and bring out the worst in each other. Rad’s a Wellington, for Pete’s sake. His family moniker carries prestige with it. He should act like it.

With all eyes on us, I pick up my pace and walk into the hallway. Behind me, I hear Rad ask, “Why are the chips crushed?”

I can’t help but giggle. Those chips and queso have been to hell and back between Jackson and me.

Digging into my purse, I find the gloss and lather it across my lips before I’ve crossed the threshold of the door. Dropping it safely into my bag, I move about ten feet away from the door and turn back with my arms crossed over my chest again. Jackson is closing the door when he looks up at me, and asks, “Would you like to start?”

“No. You go right ahead. After making that kind of entrance, I figure you must have plenty to get off your chest.”

He comes closer, and I already know I’m trapped unless I start down the stairs. I’m not scared of him, though, not physically at least. He does have a knack for messing with my emotions, but he hasn’t ever purposely wielded that power. That’s all on me and how I react to him. Right now is a prime example.

I’m utterly annoyed that I find him stupidly handsome, the kind of attractive that has me tempted to ask him, “Your place or mine?” The gentle wave of his hair holds as if he didn’t just barge through a door. He was wearing a coat inside, but now it’s just him, me, and that T-shirt that clings to him in all the right muscley places.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and sighs before shaking his head gently. “I don’t know what happened back at mine, but I didn’t like it.”

Tossing him a bone, I whisper, “Me either.”

Coming closer, he says, “Whatever you think, this hasn’t been about sex for me in months. Feelings have been mixed in for a long time now, but I’m just the only one to broach the subject.”

Why does he always have to be so genuine? The man wears his heart on his sleeve for me, and something about that is so intrinsically endearing. But he’s right. “We’re not just sex, Jackson. You aren’t just an easy lay,you know, to me. The connection we share is physical, but that doesn’t mean it ends there.” I lower my arms and suck in a breath to build the strength I need. “You matter to me. I care too much about you to cross any more lines at this time.”

He doesn’t rush to convince me, and his eyes aren’t filled with responses I can’t unfold. He’s listening, not trying to change my mind.

I’m not sure what to make of that. Do I want him to beg?No.But I don’t want to lose him either, so I say, “I need to make a confession.”

“Okay.” He leans against the wall as I lean against the railing.

“I can’t do real relationships, but I hate being alone all the time.” I drop my gaze and toe the wood floor. “I’m not good at them,” I say, quirking an eyebrow as I peer up at him, “and you might be worse.”

He doesn’t do it often, but that earned me an eye roll. “Geez, thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply through another sigh. “You know what I mean. We’re terrible.”

“No apology needed. You’re not wrong.”

---