“I will.” I lingered for a second, unsure if I should kiss him, or hug him, or what. Not wanting to add any additional awkwardness to the situation, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek before waving goodbye and getting the hell out of there.
“He called you a mess?”Jackson asked, picking the last of the pepperoni off his pizza.
His apartment was surprisingly spacious for a studio. It was one of those sleek, newer buildings in the downtown district, with high, exposed ceilings and polished concrete floors.
I sighed. “Westsaidhe called me a mess.”
“Maybe he misheard.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I mean itdoessound like something someone would say to describe you.”
I groaned, placing my head in my hands. “West is his best friend. If Reid said that to him, he was probably confiding in him why he didn’t think we were right together, or something.”
“But you said he likes you.” He folded his slice of pizza and took a bite.
“I think he does. I mean I know he does…I think.” I hated how much I was second-guessing everything now. The past few days had been borderline magical. I’d been so worried as the deadline for the blackmailer loomed, and I anxiously awaited the camera footage, but Reid wassogreat in knowing exactly how to calm me down. We had movie marathons and went on walks around his neighborhood, bundled in a million layers. He tried teaching me to cook again. He even let me give him a trim in his bathroom.
It felt like we were together. We hadn’t made it official yet, but I had been certain that was where it was headed.
Then West had to share. Now every bit of self-doubt I’d ever possessed seemed to be screeching in my ear. I’d only shed a few tears on the way over before putting myself together. Jackson was a new friend, and I didn’t want him to see me blubbering constantly.
Gran had raised me to have a thick skin. And for the most part, I did. But the thing about a thick skin was this: once something got through, it didn’t just bounce off. It sunk in and stayed there, trapped, pressing against everything else you’d tried to keep buried.
“You don’t sound so confident.” Jackson bent down and retrieved a glass carafe filled with amber liquid. Setting it on the counter, he grabbed two short tumblers, dropped a few ice cubes into each with a soft clink, then poured the liquid. From the fridge, he pulled out a mixer—something citrusy by the look of it—and topped off the glasses, giving each one a slow swirl before sliding one across the counter.
I winced at the smell.
“What is that?”
“Tequila soda.”
“Did you forget the soda?”
He shot me a glare, so I took the beverage, not breathing through my nose as I took a tentative sip. It burned, but I welcomed it. It tasted distinctly like something that would make the churning nerves floating around in my gut subside.
“Bottoms up.” Jackson nodded in approval and tipped his own glass back. “Drink that, we’re heading out soon.”
I nearly choked on my next sip.
“It’s almost ten.” The horror was clear in my tone.
“Yes, Hazel. A typical time for someone in their twenties to go out on a Friday evening. Plus, it’s western night.”
I gave him a blank look.
He rolled his eyes. “Line dancing. Cheap drinks. Bull riding.”
“And we want to go, because…”
“Because it’s fun, Hazel. And your sad, doe eyes look like they need fun right now. And distraction.”
I took another big gulp of the drink. Jackson had a point. Plus, there was no way this could be worse than my last night out—the one Reid had to rescue me from. As cheesy as it sounded, western night could be the perfect thing to help me forget about everything running through my mind.
“Fine, let’s do it,” I said, and Jackson threw up his arms in victory.
He turned up the speaker that had been playing quietly in the background, and we sang along loudly to a throwback early 2000s playlist while we finished our drinks. The alcohol hit me, an unfamiliar warm buzz curling in my chest and making everything a little lighter, less sharp. I didn’t fight it.
