I’m making my way through the crowd when I spot Alan waiting in line at the concessions stand. Not wanting him to see me, I turn around quickly, only to crash into another person and spill their drinks. As I look up to apologize, my eyes widen in shock as I see Kellan staring back at me.
“Lu?” he says, equally as surprised to see me.
We just stare at each other for a minute, both taking in any changes that have occurred since the last time we’d seen each other.
“You look good,” he says. “Or you did before I spilled my drinks all over you, anyway,” he laughs, trying to make the situation a bit less awkward.
I can’t speak. I know that I need to say something, but I’m so shocked and overwhelmed that my mind refuses to formulate sentences. My heart is racing and my throat burns. Suddenly, I feel the weight of a hand on my shoulder and I tense up, afraid that Alan has spotted me.
“What’s going on here?” I am relieved to hear Jackson’s deep voice. I turn and see that he is narrowing his eyes at Kellan, most likely thinking I’m in need of rescuing again.
“That’s none of your business,” Kellan retorts, obviously suspicious of the handsome stranger with his hand on my shoulder.
Jackson takes a step in front of me, crossing his arms across his chest. “It is when it involves Lucia.”
Sensing the increasing tension, I grab onto Jackson’s arm. “Don’t worry, everything is OK. I just bumped into him by accident and his drinks spilled on me. It was my fault, really.”
Jackson looks down at me, his eyes softening. “I didn’t even notice the drinks! Are you OK? You must be freezing—let me buy you a shirt.” He looks at Kellan. “Mate, let me buy you new drinks, too. I’m sorry.”
Kellan stands up straighter. “No thanks, man, I can buy my own drinks.”
I apologize again and pull Jackson away, noticing Kellan’s eyes watching me. We walk past a stand selling shirts and Jackson stops me.
“I told you I’m buying you a shirt,” he says. “Pick one.” I shake my head and thank him for the offer, but he insists. “Just pick a shirt, already. I know you like this band, and if you don’t choose a shirt fast then we’ll miss the show.”
We finally make it back to our seats, now both clad in concert shirts. My flower print shirt is safely stowed in a plastic bag, waiting to be cleaned. Jackson looks just as attractive as before, wearing his shirt proudly underneath his blazer. I feel as though someone is staring at me, and I turn around to see Kellan, standing a few rows back with his arm around a beautiful brunette, glaring at the two of us.
“You OK?” I turn and see Jackson leaning closer to me, looking concerned. He follows my gaze and spots Kellan. “Who is that guy?” he asks.
I run my hands through my hair and sigh. “He’s a guy I used to date.”
Jackson jaw clenches. “Do you still have feelings for him?”
“Not at all,” I answer, only partially telling the truth. “It’s just weird to see him with his fiancé.”
Jackson’s eyes are still on Kellan. “Well, I can tell that he still has feelings for you.”
I correct him, “No, Kellan never had any feelings for me. He was always just out to get what he wanted and nothing more.”
Jackson finally takes his eyes off Kellan and looks at me. “I know it’s hard to see an ex with their new partner, but do you know what helps to make it easier?” he asks.
I lift my beer. “Alcohol?”
“Well, yes, but also showing him that you moved on and don’t give a crap who he’s with,” he answers, grinning.
“And just how do you propose that I show him that?” I ask.
In one swift motion Jackson takes my face in his hands and presses his lips onto mine. The kiss only lasts for a few seconds, but in that brief moment I feel sparks like I have never felt before. My body is tingling—it’s like Christmas, my birthday, New Years, and the Fourth of July all at once.
Jackson pulls away, opening his eyes. He looks at me, trying to judge whether I am angry or not. Apparently he likes what he sees, and he flashes me a grin.
“That’s how you show him. I bet that he’s fuming right now. Just take a look at him if you don’t believe me,” he says, nodding in Kellan’s direction.
I sneak a peek and see that Kellan is glaring at Jackson, red-faced. I turn back to Jackson and we laugh. He winks at me and takes a sip of his beer, still grinning. Just then, the lights dim and the crowd screams, signaling the start of the show as the band enthusiastically takes the stage. But in that moment, all I can think about is the feeling of Jackson’s lips on mine.
The band is performing one of my favorite songs, “Closer.” Between the song, the beer, and the closeness of Jackson, my head is spinning. I look up at him and see that he’s looking back at me, a smile on his face. Without thinking, I lean in and kiss his lips gently. I pull away after a few seconds to see his reaction. His eyes are still closed and the corners of his lips have turned up to form a shy smile. He pulls me closer and I can feel his heart beating quickly in his chest. He lifts my head up gently with his hand and kisses me again, slowly parting my lips with his tongue. My legs begin to feel wobbly, and he senses my weakness and clutches me tighter, bringing me closer to him. I run my fingers through his soft hair and he moans softly, sliding his hands down to my butt and squeezing lightly; now it’s my turn to moan. He pulls his lips away—giving me much needed air—and moves to a spot on my neck, kissing in a way that makes my toes curl. I run my fingers through his hair again, trying my best to stifle the moans that are threatening to escape from my mouth.
But all too soon, the song ends and we pull away from each other, both surprised. I see a glimmer of something in Jackson’s eyes, but I can’t put my finger on it. I try to identify the mystery emotion, wondering what it is. Is it happiness? Smugness? Could it be hope? The band plays another song and the crowd’s cheering distracts me from my thoughts. Jackson and I turn back to face the stage, sipping our beers and enjoying the rest of the show.
As we walk out of Madison Square Garden after the concert, Jackson places his hand on my lower back, guiding me gently. I keep an eye out for both Kellan and Alan, wanting to avoid both of them. When we finally make it outside after being pushed and pulled by the moving crowd, Jackson takes his hand off my back and runs his fingers through his hair.
“So, um, do you want to do something now? Maybe we could go get another drink?”
I look down at my concert shirt and back at him. “In this?”
He gives me a small smile. “Sure, why not? I’ll be wearing mine, too, so we’ll match.”
I bite my lip as I consider my options. I’m not ready for the night to end, and I’ve been having a great time with Jackson. Plus I still want to talk about what’s been happening between us, especially after what had just happened during the show.
“All right,” I say. “Where do you want to go?”
“Well, there are several pubs nearby. Will that be OK with you? We can also get something to eat afterward, if you want.”
“A pub is fine. You lead the way,” I reply.
Jackson hails a cab and we head to an Irish pub that he swears by. During the ride in the cab, we are both quiet, busy looking out the windows and watching the city lights as they pass by. My lips are still tingling from the kiss and I can’t keep myself from hoping that we will kiss again.
We arrive at the pub and Jackson pays the taxi driver. As we exit the cab, he once again places his hand on my lower back, leading me inside. He introduces me to the doorman, the bartenders, and a few other staff members, revealing that he is a regular customer. He chooses a cozy booth in the corner and the bartender quickly sends us each a beer and a shot of Tequila.
“I think your friends are trying to get us drunk,” I say teasingly.
He takes a swig of his beer. “No, they are trying to get you drunk. They always try to get pretty birds drunk.”
I feel my cheeks warm up as I blush. I take a sip of my beer
. “So how often do you come here?” I ask.
“Well, when I first moved to the States I would come here every night. Everyone is always really relaxed, and it’s just a good place to enjoy good drinks, food, and conversation.” Jackson holds up his shot, signaling for me to do the same. “Cheers,” he says, taking his shot straight while I do the traditional salt and lime routine with mine. I finish my shot and look at Jackson as he chugs the rest of his beer, finishing it off. He gets up quickly.
“I’m going to run to the loo and then get another beer. Do you want one, too?” I nod my head and he leaves. I sip my beer, enjoying the silence.
“Hello,” an unfamiliar voice says.
I look up and see an attractive man standing in front of the booth, swaying back and forth.
“I thought it was wrong for a beautiful girl like you to be sitting here by yourself,” he says with a sloppy grin.
I take another sip of my beer and politely answer, “Actually, I’m not. My date is in the restroom.” Part of me questions why I’m sending him away, as he’s attractive and obviously interested.
“Are you sure? It seems like you would have a better time with me,” he says, flashing that lopsided grin again.
After a few minutes of listening to him try to convince me that he would be better company, I hear Jackson’s husky voice interject.
“The lady is not interested, OK? I think she’s made that pretty clear.” Jackson takes a few steps toward the table, narrowing his eyes, a beer in each hand.
The guy takes the hint and walks away. Jackson sets our beers down on the table and takes his seat in the booth. I mumble my thanks and he just stares at me as if he is trying to figure something out. A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass as I sip my beer.
Finally, he asks, “So what’s the story with your ex?”
“Kellan?” I ask. He nods his head and I explain the painful history of our past relationship. After I finish, I feel my face flush with embarrassment and realize that I am angry at myself for letting Kellan treat me the way that he did. I hear Jackson clear his throat and I look up to see him looking at me softly.
“Well, he’s an ass, and I bet he regrets it. If he doesn’t, he should.” He runs his hand through his hair. “What about that other guy?” he asks. “Who’s he?” I cock my head, trying to figure out which guy he’s referring to. He clarifies, “You know, that guy that you were trying to avoid. He has brown hair and looks like a tool?”
“Oh, Alan?” I ask. He shrugs his shoulders and nods. “A while back, I went on a date with Alan and he became obsessive. He wouldn’t stop e-mailing and calling me, and he began to follow me when I’d go out so that he could make a scene. He’s not a nice guy.”
Jackson narrows his eyes. “Was he the same guy who had his hands on you at Utah’s? Did you call the police on him?”
“No, I really don’t think it’s that serious,” I reply.
Sharply, he says, “Lu, you don’t know what he could be capable of.”
I reply, “Maybe not, but he’s stopped, anyway. It’s not really a problem anymore.”
He runs his hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. “Lucia, guys like that are dangerous. You shouldn’t take it so lightly.”
I playfully say, “You’re worried about me.”
He rolls his eyes. “You have my number, so call me if he bothers you again, OK?” I nod my head and we both take sips of our beers. He clears his throat, “So, I hear you’re dating lately. Anyone special?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “If I was seriously dating someone do you think that I would have kissed you?”
His eyes widen and he looks down, fiddling with his drink. For a few moments, neither of us says anything, and the tension builds until I can barely stand it. Finally, Jackson asks, “How are you meeting these guys? Online?”
I look up at him with a shocked expression, wondering how he figured that out.
Interpreting my shock as offense, he quickly corrects himself. “No, I didn’t mean it like that; you’re too pretty to be online. I mean, I saw the way that guy came over here, you don’t seem to have difficulty attracting guys.”
“You know, people who go online are looking for someone who is serious about being in a relationship because they are sick of the crap they get from people they meet at bars. They want something real, and it’s just easier to find that sort of connection from meeting someone on a site. Plus, it’s cheaper than going to a bar and spending money on drinks.” Realizing that I’ve ranted a bit, I quickly add, “Not that I date online or anything. I just know some people who do; that’s how Skyler met Dave.”
He nods his understanding and drinks his beer. Why did I lie to him? I shouldn’t even care what Jackson Foster thinks. Still, I know that I do.
The night rolls on and we continue to drink. I’ve had enough alcohol to leave me feeling courageous. Our most recent conversation has been about love, and Jackson has revealed that he thinks that love is hyped up by the media.
I shake my head after he gives a little speech about how movies influence people’s feelings for one another.
“Who was she?” I ask, being bold. He raises his eyebrow in question. “The woman that turned your heart cold,” I clarify.
“Why do you think that there was a woman?” he asks. I raise my eyebrow, jokingly imitating the same face he’d just given me. “Fine,” he sighs. “I was engaged to marry someone when I lived in London but it didn’t work out.” Before I can interrogate him further, he changes the subject, “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about what happened Valentine’s Day weekend and tonight?”
I nod my head in agreement, glad that he brought the subject up because even though I was bold a moment earlier, I’m still too chicken to bring it up. He leans back, giving me a grin. “So what do you want to know?”
I ask, “Well, first, why did you kiss me tonight?”
“To make your ex jealous,” he answers simply.
“And after that?”
He winks. “You kissed me, sweetheart.”
“OK, fair enough. What about Valentine’s Day weekend? What was that about?”
“You are very attractive. As much as I sometimes want to cover your mouth with duct tape, I also want to cover it with my lips.” He leans across the table and moves a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Plus, I didn’t hear you complaining.”
Playfully I say, “That’s just because you catch me at my weak moments.”
He pulls away from me and finishes his beer. “I have to be honest with you: I’m actually having a good time. You’re not like the other women I know. But then again, I am pissed drunk, so maybe that’s why you’re more tolerable.” He winks again. Just like that, he’s back to his asshole ways. He looks down at his watch and says, “It’s getting late.” My stomach drops as I assume that he’s about to end the night. Instead, he asks, “Do you want to go get something to eat?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’m starving.”
“They have some decent food here, or we can go somewhere else instead. Your choice.”
“Well, I know a great place, if you’re willing to take a cab again,” I suggest.
A little while later, we get out of the taxi in front of Big Daddy’s. I skip to the front door, my mouth watering already. I hear Jackson tell me to wait. I turn around and see him standing by the curb, smoking a cigarette.
“You do know those things kill you, right?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes at me. “Thank you, Mom.”
“And smoking is really unattractive,” I add.
He gives me one of his grins. “I highly doubt that, sweetheart.”
“Hurry up, I’m hungry,” I complain, a grin on my face.
He winks at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll satisfy you soon enough.”
We spend the rest of our time together eating and laughing. We talk about work mostly, discussing the gossip going around the office and laughing about our coworkers’ inter-office flings. With food
in my belly, I begin to sober up and lose the nerve to ask him about Lisa. I still have no idea who she is, but I certainly wish I did.
After our late meal, Jackson and I take a cab together, both heading home. The cab drops me off at my place first, and I give him a peck on the cheek and thank him for a wonderful night. Heading toward my apartment, I feel a double-sided sense of excitement and worry. What will happen because of tonight? Will Jackson and I pretend that nothing has changed, or will we try and carry on with our new friendship—or do we only get along when alcohol is involved? As I enter my apartment, I consider what could happen, all while smiling because of what already has.
Chapter 13
Today is Friday, my birthday. I’m turning twenty-eight, a fact that I don’t feel warrants celebration. I wake up to Autumn singing to me, and I immediately get a headache. Skyler has covered my desk at work with balloons and flowers, which only makes things worse by alerting everyone to the fact that I am now one year older. Both Patrick and the crew sing “Happy Birthday “to me before the show starts, marking the second time I get to hear that infamous song.
My relationship with Jackson at the office has taken a turn for the better, and instead of wanting to rip each other’s heads off, we instead laugh, joke, and occasionally enjoy lunch together. Everyone at work has noticed the change, and even Skyler swears that at times she can “see sparks fly.” Patrick has commented that Jackson seems to no longer have a stick up his ass, and Caitlin simply sends me dirty looks. I’m curious if one night actually changed things between us in such a significant way, or if they’ll just eventually go back to the way they were.
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