Page 30 of Call It What You Want
Wow,Jackson actually listened when I said I needed clothes.
I sift through the clothes. They’re all brand new with designer tags, and, by some miracle, they’re my size. A pair of flip-flops sits next to the pile.
I quickly slip on a new pair of white panties and a white bra, then reach for the plainest outfit I can find—a pair of jeans, and a white baby-t. Then I slip the flip-flops on and walk back out into the bedroom.
Jackson is just walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his lean hips. A dark trail of hair tapers and disappears beneath the gray terrycloth, and I swear, my clit pulses.
Good God.
I stop short and avert my eyes.
“Good, you found the clothes,” he says, walking past me into the closet.
“I’m shocked you remembered,” I say flatly.
“Well, I can’t exactly take you out into the world wearing my sweatpants,” he says.
Wait, what? Out into the world? A flash of excitement sparks in my chest. “Where are we going?”
A couple of minutes later, he emerges from the closet wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt, the fabric pulled tight around his biceps. I try not to stare, but it’s a losing battle. When you see an anomaly like Jackson, someone sounbelievablyhot, staring isn’t a choice; it’s pure instinct.
“Out,” he says vaguely, sitting on the bench at the end of the bed to put his shoes on.
“Okay, butwhere?” I just want to prepare myself mentally, because with Jackson, who knows what to expect?
“You’ll see,” he says.
We get in his car, and he drives ten minutes down the road to a shack that’s only a couple of steps from the beach, wedged between a coffee shop and a surf shop. It’s one of those places with a window and seating outside. But the greasy smell wafting from the window makes my stomach grumble.
“Grab a table,” Jackson says. “I’ll order.”
Normally, I’d balk at the idea of him ordering for me, but I’m so hungry, I don’t even care. I’d eat anything at this point.
I grab a handful of napkins from the dispenser on the counter and head over to one of the wobbly metal tables nearest to the beach. I give it a quick wipe-down, cleaning off some crumbs and a sticky soda ring before I sit.
Eventually, Jackson walks over with a box in one hand and a fountain drink in the other. He sits across from me, pulls myburrito out of the box, and places it in front of me, peeling back the wrapper so all I have to do is pick it up and eat.
Then he unwraps his and tucks into it right away, swallowing half of it down in one swallow.
“Eat,” he says, flicking his chin at the burrito in front of me. “It’ll help with the hangover.”
The burrito has been cut in half, and I pick up one side. Inside, there’s egg, potato, and a mess of bacon, so much, in fact, that I struggle to hold it all together. I take a bite and have to hold back the moan as I chew.
“This place is a dive, but it’s the best,” he says, watching me. “Have you ever been here?”
I shake my head as I chew, waiting until I swallow to say, “I don’t eat out a lot. It’s way too expensive around here.”
If I ever eat takeout, it’s from Isca, because I’m friendly with the chef, and I can get it for free.
He nods slowly, his gaze flicking over me. “You can have whatever you want, Ava. You know that.”
What he’s saying is that all I’d have to do is ask him for money, and he’d give it to me. I know that, but it wouldn’t come free. Nothing with him ever is. He’d demand a price I’m not willing to pay.
“I prefer to keep my soul intact, thanks,” I say, taking another bite of my burrito. Itisdamn good. I’ll give him that.
“Suit yourself,” he says.
I reach for the drink, but he grabs it first and realizes he only ordered one. “You forgot my drink,” I say, even though I know it was intentional.
