Jax places a hand on my arm and shakes his head. “There’s no need.”
Without saying another word, I watch as he hands the officer his license along with what looks like a business card, and within moments, understanding dawns on the officer’s face.
“I’m sorry about this misunderstanding, Mr. Wilson.”
“It’s okay, Officer. I won’t say anything if you don’t.”
“I won’t. But would the two of you mind finding somewhere else to fool around so we can avoid any more unnecessary run-ins?”
“Say no more, sir. We’re headed out now.”
“Have a good evening, and stay safe,” the officer says before walking back to his cruiser.
As Jackson’s helping me out of the truck bed, I ask, “What the heck was that about?”
“My dad gives me this card that’s essentially a ‘get outta jail free’ card to hand to an officer if I’m ever pulled over for speeding or something like that. I’ve never had to use it before, and I wasn’t planning to, but I didn’t want you to get into deep shit with your dad.”
“J, you didn’t have to—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I know I didn’t have to, Thorn. I was protecting you.”
“You seem to have a way of doing that lately,” I tell him. On the way back to my house, I can’t help but feel guilty knowing he had to use that card. He hasn’t talked too much about it since we’ve started dating, but from what I gather, Jackson’s dad is a control freak—even more so than my dad. I hate the thought of him having used anything from that jerk.
Instead of stewing about it, I focus on settling my heart rate from having been caught in a compromising position. I bask in the memory of his hands on mine as we were sitting in the backof his truck, and I’m suddenly curious to know if I’ve missed something major about Jackson.
“Hey, before we got . . . caught up, I noticed you were strumming your fingers on my shin. What was that about?”
Clearing his throat, he taps his thumb on the steering wheel before stealing a glance over at me. “I may or may not play the guitar.”
“Wait, what? For real?”
“Yeah, my mom was adamant we each learn an instrument growing up and when Bennett chose the guitar, I followed his lead.”
Okay, but how did I not know this about him?
“Do you remember on our first date how you asked me about the list I made with Ryan for before I leave for college?”
“Yeah, you said I needed to make it to the second or third date at least before you’d disclose the items on said list; though I think we’re beyond that by now. Fess up, T—what’s on this list?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I debate whether or not to tell him the full list, including the items Ryan added. Ultimately, I decide to step outside my comfort zone and tell him about the entire list.
“Some of the items are ones I added, like go on a ferris wheel to get over my fear of heights, get my driver’s license—though that one is my goal before the end of the summer—perform an original song at a venue, and go to senior prom. And some are ones Ryan added on my behalf like go on a date, sneak out past curfew, kiss a boy—all of which you’ve helped me check off.”
“Okay, is that the whole list?”
I fidget my fingers together in my lap. “No, there’s two more items on the list Ryan added.”
“And they are . . .” he drawls as a slow smile spreads on his face.
“Well, she’s always known I’ve wanted to learn to play guitar. So I’ve been saving up for a few months now to try to buy my own and then teach myself or do tutorials or something.”
“No need to do that, you’ve got me now,” he assures me, bringing our joined hands to his lips and trailing soft kisses along each of my knuckles. “I’ll teach you.”
My stomach clenches at the way his voice turns to gravel.
“What’s the last item?”
“Oh, um, I don’t remember.”
