Taevin
Being in a relationship with Jackson is everything and more. But I think he may be certifiably insane—at least he’s talking that way right now.
What does he mean I could save money if we rented a place together my sophomore year? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of the two of us going to college together in Boston and getting to see each other. But the way he just suggested it—with so much confidence we’ll still be together a whole year from now—has me realizing I may be in a relationship with an actual crazy person.
Pretending as if he didn’t just suggest the most deranged thing I’ve ever heard, I roll my eyes and nudge his shoulder. “Tellme more about these pizza tastings we’d be having if I choose Berklee.”
Jax gives a small shake of his head. “It’s alright if you’re still a bit scared. We can circle back to discussing our living arrangements some time next year.”
“Over pizza?” I question.
“Obviously. Is there any other way?”
“Yes, but none as superior as discussing my boyfriend’s irrational thoughts over pizza.”
Jax decides to let my teasing comment go, instead shifting the conversation. “I got you a little something.”
With a quirk of my brow, I ask, “Did you?”
“I did,” he says before reaching to his side and handing me two long-stemmed red roses. “For you, my sweet Thorn.”
Inhaling them deeply, I sigh in contentment as the familiar scent floods my system. “Thank you, Bear. I love them.”
“And is that all you love?” he questions with a playful lilt to his tone.
Leaning over, I give him a quick peck and watch with rapt fascination as he slowly licks his lips and lets out a low groan. “God, I love that you taste like cinnamon and hazelnut.”
“And is thatallyou love?” I mock.
Before I can stop him, Jackson grabs one of the roses out of my hand and plucks a petal off. “She loves me.”Toss. Pluck. “She loves me not.”Toss. Pluck.“She loves me.”Toss. Pluck.“She loves me not.”Toss. Pluck.“She loves me.”Toss. Pluck.
Before he can grab another petal, I snatch it back and then drop the roses onto the truck bed and tug on Jackson’s coat to pull him on top of me. He wraps his hand around my head before laying me on my back. My breathing picks up speed as he hovers above me, perfectly content with staring into my eyes.
“I’m pretty sure I left off at ‘she loves me.’ Does that mean what I think it does?” he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
“It does. I do. I’m not sure how you’ve managed to steal my heart in only a couple months’ time, but you did.”
“Say it,” he demands.
“I love you, Jackson.”
He hums in approval before brushing his nose against mine, but holds back on giving me the kiss I’m craving.
“Baby,” he whispers against my lips. “You make me so damn happy. I love you so fucking much, Taevin. I’ve never said those words to anyone outside of my family, but I needed to tell you. Just like I need to kiss you right now.”
“Then kiss me already. Please,” I beg, barely able to get the words out before his lips crash against mine.
Our bodies become a panting, frenzied mess of tangled limbs and crashing lips. We get so lost in the kiss—I’m so intoxicated in the feel of his body moving against mine in a way I’ve only dreamed of experiencing—we don’t hear the crunch of earth beneath tires as the police cruiser approaches. Or the sound of footsteps padding through the dried-out tall grasses, still dead from the long winter. No, we continue to make out hot and heavy until a throat clears at the end of Jackson’s tailgate.
Breaking the kiss, Jax lazily pulls back and moves to a sitting position. I shoot up so quickly I narrowly avoid headbutting him.
“Good evening,” the officer starts, tipping his baseball hat at the pair of us. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you aware you’re trespassing on private property?”
“Good evening, Officer. My apologies, I thought this was public land according to my hunting app that shows public hunting land in the area.”
“The public land was recently rezoned and this property now belongs to the Minnesota State Government. I’m going to have to ask for both of your licenses so I can issue the two of you a written warning.”
“I don’t have my license, but I do have a photo ID,” I tell the officer as I scramble to reach for my backpack.
