“Amazing.” I run my hand over the console between us. “You must do well. Nice car.”
Jackson just hums and returns his attention to the road. The rest of the way to my house is full of stilted silence. He turns when I direct him to, finally turning into my driveway with a small furrow between his brows again. The man is always thinking, but his thoughts are rarely said out loud. He has a better filter than me. Kudos to him.
I start to jump out of the vehicle the moment it stops in front of my house, but Jackson stops me with a hand held out in the universal sign forpause. Without a word, he climbs out his side, then repeats the entire process from when we all got into the vehicle. Honey jumps out first and waits patiently for me when Jackson opens my door.
“What’s your angle here?” I ask him, confused about everything that’s happened in the last hour.
Jackson’s grip on the door tightens. I bite back a laugh because I seemingly have that effect on him. At least he takes my sarcastic biting remarks mostly in stride.
“Maybe I want to be friends with you.”
I snort. He’s got jokes. “Try again.”
Jackson has the gall to look befuddled by my statement. “You don’t think we could be friends?”
“I rank sports players on their level of hotness,” I remind him.
A smirk inches its way across his plush lips. He stays quiet, gaze still fixed on me, until I squirm against the soft leather of the passenger seat.
“Maybe I find that intriguing.”
My eyes almost get stuck deep in my brain. “Sure.”
Jackson swings the door all the way open and helps me out of the car with a firm hand on my elbow. Once my feet are safely back on the gravel, his grip disappears, his hand dangling awkwardly at his side. A few times his fingers flex before mindlessly tapping against his dark jeans. My eyes lift back to his, only to find him already staring at me. My body hates me, so a flush fills my cheeks, warming me under the midday sun.
He holds his hand out to me, waiting for me to take it. I take his hand in my grip. It’s warm, so rough against my own, and he grips mine tight for a few stilted moments before firmly shaking it.
“This is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Jackson says seriously.
I can’t help but laugh. Usually I make people laugh, not the other way around. My laughter makes the corners of his eyes crinkle as a grin breaks over his face.
“You’re a weirdo,” I say around my laughter.
“Maybe so.”
Jackson dips back into the car and returns with the box of cupcakes. I gingerly accept the box into my arms, watching as his broad back disappears back into his car. The taillights slowly inch down the road. I get tired of waiting and return inside, when I peek through the window it’s to find Jackson now speeding down the gravel road like he only sped up once realizing I was safely back inside the house. I grunt in annoyance before glancing back down at Honey.
“Well, Honey. That was weird, right?”
Honey shakes her body out in reply. My house feels startlingly empty once I’m inside, despite the noise of Honey’s nails against the hardwood floors. I hurriedly take her out of her service vest so she can relax, because she deserves it. Placing the cupcakes on the counter, I open the box, taking another peekinside. All my favorite flavors. I close the box firmly shut, and push it into the center of the island. Too much sugar doesn’t agree with me, so I’ll have to be careful over the next few days.
But just the idea that the entire box was bought solely for me, just for my enjoyment, is almost more pleasing than the sweet taste of the confections themselves.
4
JACKSON
Every morning I have the exact same routine. An hour in bed selling or buying stocks, work out, eat breakfast, then take a long decadent shower to ease my aching muscles. But after that? Well, I don’t have much else to take up the long minutes that stretch my day. The fake boyfriend thing was a fun distraction that got me out, got me laid, and got me money. Chump change in comparison to my day trading, but it was something.
I don’t know what the hell to do with myself now. I think about calling my parents and checking in but it’s still early. Mom will probably be puttering around her garden, while Dad will be inspecting the neighborhood for cans to exchange at the recycling center across town. A small surge of homesickness courses through me. Instead of calling, I shoot my parents a text just to tell them I love them. That’s a good start to the day.
Guess it’s time to bother my best friends.
The sun is just breaking over the trees as my G-Wagon rumbles down the gravel road leading to Trevor’s house. Beau’s house? At this point I’m not sure what to call it, but they’re living together. I know how big of a deal that is for Trevor. As I pull up,it’s easy to spot the two of them in the three-car garage attached to the idyllic farmhouse.
Trevor turns towards me with a curious hand shading his eyes. Concern flashes in his gaze, quickly disappearing when he notices my easy smile. Communicating with Trevor has always been easy, mostly done through facial expressions, or singular words with a particular tone. The man is a walking lie detector test.
A grunt pulls my gaze to Beau who’s leaned over an old truck, shirtless, covered in a slight sheen of sweat in the early October air. My eyes flick back over to Trevor. His blond hair is mucked up and there's fresh beard burn at the base of his throat. Trevor’s eyes narrow when he notices my gaze. I hold my hands up in defense.
