“You are,” he argues. “Carrson’s going to lose. He’s scrambling. You can see it.”
“Funny,” I plant my hands on my hips. “Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”
“That’s because you’re standing next to him.” His voice goes quieter than I’ve heard before. “Stand next to me instead.”
We square off, face-to-face.
The quad stretches out behind us, people passing, voices carrying, plenty of eyes to matter.
Jackson squeezes my shoulder. “I take care of what’s mine,” he says. “Better than he does.”
There it is.
I let the silence spin out, long enough to be uncomfortable.
Then I smile.
Not nicely.
“That’s the problem with you,” I say, flicking his hand from my shoulder with a sharp, impatient gesture. “You think I’m something that can be taken. Won like a goddamn trophy.”
His hands drop to his sides and hang there.
“You seem to be tone deaf, so let me make this clear.” I raise the volume of my voice, enough that a couple of people nearby look over. “I’m not interested in you, Jackson,” I continue, voice steady. “And I’m definitelynottrading down.”
He doesn’t like that. I see it in the way his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. His eyes move past me, scanning the quad, taking in who might be watching.
When he looks back, the almost-smile is gone.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says quietly.
“You forget I have a voice here too,” I say. “I get to choose.”
He watches mecarefully.
“There was never a version where I picked you.” This time,I’mthe one who lookshimup and down, making a big show out of it. At the end, I shake my head. Not even hiding my disgust. “It’s always been Carrson for me.”
With that, I turn on my heel and start marching, not waiting for him.
He doesn’t follow, but his voice does.
“You’ll regret that.”
Chapter thirty-eight
Poet
Becky
I’m dead asleep when a hand clamps over my mouth and another closes around my throat.
My eyes snap open, and I jerk up, hands flying, clawing.
“Shh, shh. Quiet,” he murmurs, easing off. “Even I’ll get in trouble if someonefinds me here.”
“Carrson?” I squint through the dark until his face comes into focus above me.
Relief crashes in. I collapse back against the mattress, heart racing. “Jesus, you scared me.”
