No turning back now. The most redemption I can hope for right now is to stick with the practicalities of the situation, and hope that I don’t sound like a stalker in the making. “It makes sense, you’re closer to the town center, easier to get a part time job, and no expenses from living on campus.” I shrug my shoulders with as much blasé as I can manage. “Offer’s available, and it is a two bedroom. We can have our own rooms,” I say teasingly.
Jackson flips me onto my back and presses his body against mine, his arms beside my head. “Deal's off,” he says, his voice low and gravelly as he leans into my neck. A thousand butterflies erupt in my stomach, and heat radiates through me. “Unless I spend every night with your legs tangled around me, deal’s off.” His voice is barely a whisper as his lips trail soft kisses down my shoulder. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist pulling him into me. I can feel his hardness pressed against my leg, and the idea of the clothing that is separating us is driving me crazy. Jackson’s hand slides down into my underwear as his lips find mine. His hand and lips move in perfect synchronicity, causing my body to arc towards him. He brings a finger to my mouth, warning me to keep it down. His hand works faster, and just as my whole body is about to explode, he slides it away and gives me a coy grin. “These can’t have all the fun,” he says cockily just before sliding down and taking my breast in his mouth.
My entire body feels lit up, from the inside. I need Jackson. Right fucking now. I jerk his head upwards and unbutton his jeans. As I take him in my hands, a low groan emits from his throat. “This,” I say breathlessly, holding his eye, “this is what I want.”
Jackson was working hard to contain himself, I could see, but those words were the last straw. In one quick movement his jeans are off, and so are mine. Pinning my hands above my head, he pushes into me, slowly at first. Each thrust moves me closer and closer to the edge. His eyes never leave mine as I fight to suppress my screams. I’ve yelled his name a thousand times in my mind already. His lips find mine as my legs wrap fiercely around his waist, forcing him in deeper. As my body reaches its breaking point, I press my mouth onto Jackson’s, the only way to stop me from crying out. Jackson leans his head into my shoulder and lays over me. Neither of us wants to move. My body still feels live, like a sparking wire. His breath is ragged in my ear, our bodies sticky against each other. Fuck everything else, after what I just felt, no one can tell me that this is not real. We lay there for what feels like hours. Through the window, I can see the sun glowing iridescent as it sets over the horizon. This may be a brief moment of happiness in a fractured reality, but it’s worth it.
Jackson rolls onto his side and props his head on his elbows. “Did you mean it? You really want me to stay with you?”
“Yeah, I mean, if you want to,” I say cautiously. “I guess you’re useful,” I say eyeing his naked lower half coyly. The joke is just a ruse, my feeble attempt at hiding my own insecurities and fear of rejection. For as much as I trust Jackson, a part of me won’t let my guard down completely, and maybe I never will. Maybe I’m just destined to keep these defense mechanisms as a means of self-preservation.
Jackson trails a finger down my shoulder. “You’re most beautiful like this,” he says softly.
“After sex?” I laugh, imagining my over flushed cheeks and bedroom hair.
“That too, but I mean when you’re vulnerable. It’s honest.”
I shift uncomfortably. I don’t like vulnerable. Vulnerable and easily toyed with was the old me, the me that I need to forget and move on from.
Noticing my now tense demeanor, Jackson turns my cheek to face him. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t promise you I never will. I won’t promise you something that I can’t completely control. But I promise you that you can trust me. You can trust that I will try every day never to hurt you.” A solitary tear rolls down my cheek as I avoid Jackson’s eyes. “Forget telling you, let me show you.”
He pulls me onto his lap, sitting me up and kisses me softly, a kiss so sweet yet so filled with passion that it weakens my legs and sends a delicious shiver down my spine. He slides me onto him and rocks me tenderly, holding me firmly against him. The room around me fades as my body surrenders, soul and all, to Jackson. A realization hits me as my fingers knead into his back. I let him into my world, I already have, and I’m terrified of losing him. This is one broken heart I couldn’t live with. I hold on to him with every fiber of my being.
Eventually we manage to disentangle ourselves, spent and completely euphoric. We decide on separate showers because truthfully, the exhaustion versus the temptation of being naked in such close proximity to each other is a conundrum all on its own.
I feel eyes on me as I slide my jeans up my thighs. “What?” I ask.
“So, do you feel like going out tonight?” Jackson asks apprehensively, avoiding my gaze. I get the distinct impression that he wants me to decline.
“To where?” A nervous knot forms in my stomach.
“Emmanuel invited us to go to a club.” Jackson sighs, as though he’s waiting on the torrent of expletives that should leave my mouth at the mention of Emmanuel’s name and the suggestion that I actually spend more than five seconds in the fool’s company.
“You should go,” I reply, walking over and lacing my fingers round the back of his head. “I think he’s an asshole, but he is your friend, so go.” The words exit my mouth with confident fluidity, but every part of me wants to beg him to stay here with me. Jesus, I hate this neediness that Jackson has stirred in me. Such weakness.
“Really?” He’s dubious about my response, and with good reason. “If you’re sure,” he says finally, reaching for his phone amidst the disheveled sheets. My gut tells me that this is not a good idea. Jackson’s hot and sweet, and has just enough of a bad boy edge to make him extremely fuckable. But I trust him; if I’m going to love him, I have no choice.
Chapter 18
Jackson
Truth be told, I don’t really want to be anywhere but with Maia tonight. Or any night. But I have to show my face, rep is everything in these parts. Plus, the friends I have who are not assholes like Emmanuel deserve a look in. No doubt that in my absence my parents will search their memory banks for my most embarrassing childhood moments to pass on to Maia. It’s all good, though; she knows the worst of me so far and loves me anyway.
“You look hot,” Maia comments from the edge of the bed as I button up my ice blue shirt. The quiver in her voice betrays her as she feigns nonchalance.
“I can stay,” I say for the hundredth time this evening. But the answer won’t change.
“No, go,” she says absently. I lean down and give her the most reassuring kiss I can. I hear the bass from Emmanuel’s truck before it pulls up, and make my exit before guilt tells me to keep my ass at home. As I leave, Maia follows me into the kitchen, where my mother is filling the house with the most delicious aromas. My mother gives Maia a soft smile and shoots me a hard, disapproving glare as I leave.
Emmanuel doesn’t change, he never will. Heavy bass beats over a hip hop track, which I can guess it either about bitches or weed. The bass reverberates against my back, the music all but deafens me as I slide into the passenger seat. Shotgun, just like old times. Our old crew, Tripp, Mike, and Daryl look more than faded. Now more than ever I realize that I’m so over this fucking shit. Before we drive off, Emmanuel throws me a Corona and a blunt. I stare down at the offending weed and pass it back.
“What’s the matter, Ivy League? Smoke up, the night’s young. And Amber’s waiting for you at the club,” he shouts over the music with a sly smile. I crack open the Corona and lay the joint on the dash, and Emmanuel’s attitude tells me that this pisses him off.
No one talks on the way to the club, ‘cause who the fuck can say anything over this loud ass music? Club 40 is exactly where I left it, the same raggedy ass strippers polluting the entryway, the same high as hell fools looking for a fight.
“So, remember I said Amber’s waiting for you? She missed you man. Last ti
me I did her she couldn’t stop talking about you.” Emmanuel chides confidently as we amble over to the club’s door.
Even his gangsta lean pisses me the fuck off these days. “Not interested,” I say plainly. I have no intention of contributing anymore to this fucked up plan of his. Why in the hell would I need to stick my dick into some filthy stripper with Maia at home?
“Man, stop being a pussy! What the girl at home don’t know won’t hurt her.” Always the argument. Screw now, think later. I turn to face him.
“I’ll know, so quit with this shit already. It’s not happening. The weed, whatever else is stashed in your pocket, none of it, and especially not Amber.”
He throws his hands up in surrender, “Alright man, but don’t say I didn’t try to hook you up.”
The distinct smell of Club 40 assaults my nostrils as I walk in. Nothing but sex and weed, and too many fools who don’t own deodorant. The more steps we take inside, the more I regret not staying at home with Maia. Before too long, I’m running into people that I know, some I’d rather not.
As promised, Amber is there, front and center. Her stretch mark-covered breasts bulge out of an ugly looking corset, and leather hot pants add to the foul opinion I have of her. Seeing her does nothing but make me think of Maia’s smooth breasts and perky ass. My dick rises to attention at the thought, as I try to ignore Amber grinding against me. She raises her head and gives me her best attempt at a seductive grin, and reaches down to grab my crotch. “Not for you,” I yell over the music, moving her wrist away with necessary force. Her eyes flash anger and hurt, before she turns away, whispers something to Emmanuel and stalks off. Fucking classless whore.
As the night rolls on and the drinks keep flowing, I find myself loosening up, even managing to converse on a real level with Emmanuel once or twice. It’s no surprise that after hearing that I was at Brown, loose women from all over the place are desperately trying to get my attention. And this baffles me, I’m still fucking broke, still driving the same car, and not looking to take any of these hood rats from the ghetto and rehabilitate them. I am impressed at how many of them actually do think of the future. More classless whores. Emmanuel threatens a few wannabe gangstas who are getting a little anxious that their women keep trying to ride my dick.
Sitting at a booth in the back, Emmanuel lights up another joint, and passes it over to me. I stare down at his outstretched hands in contemplation. The vibe in this place is crazy, and all around me people are just letting loose dancing and laughing. I can’t trust myself, I know I can’t. But I take it anyway. The feeling of the thin roll between my fingers is familiar, too familiar. I pull back on the joint. What harm can this do, just one, right? Two blunts and a few more Coronas later, it starts to hit me. I vaguely remember Amber walking over to me. There is a distinct haze in my vision, and not from the smoky club. Moments before I pass out, I hear someone say ‘smile’. And I do.
* * *
My eyes open slowly, my head throbbing, and see the sun rising. I’m in the front seat of Emmanuel’s Range, and for once the music is off. Thank fuck for that! He’s rolling another joint and as I turn my head, I see a very exposed Amber sprawled across the back seat, makeup smeared down her face.
“Oh, the man of the night finally turns up!” Emmanuel cheers. Turning my head away from the private parts of stripper Amber, I see that we’re parked in front of my house, and all I can think is, shit, Maia! I need to get him and that bitch out of here. I scramble to do up my belt, which I have no recollection of undoing, and speed out of the car. Emmanuel takes that as his cue to leave, probably planning on having Amber for breakfast.
Thankfully the house is quiet, and I creep slowly to my bedroom avoiding the creaks in the wooden floor. Opening the door carefully, I audibly sigh in relief when I see that Maia is still asleep in my bed. She looks angelic. So trusting. Now, if only I knew what the fuck I did last night. Guilt and remorse flood through me. I never should have left in the first place. Fucking Emmanuel. The clock on the bedside reads 6:15, so I pull off my jeans and climb into bed with Maia, wrapping my arms around her waist and breathing in her scent. She turns slightly in response and curls her arms around mine. This right here, this is heaven.
Chapter 19
Maia
Pretending to be asleep this morning when Jackson came in seemed like my easiest option. I don’t want to know what he did last night. I don’t want him to know that I spent most of the night awake, staring at the clock, and wondering when he was getting back. I know that I’m insecure, but there’s no reason he should know that. Opting out of comfortable PJ’s, I had chosen to sleep in my bra and panties, just in case. It wasn’t until 9:30 that he finally stirred.
I turned to face him, in time to see his face break into a sweet smile as he opens his eyes. “Morning, beautiful,” I whisper.
“Isn’t that my line?” he asks teasingly. Jackson’s hands wrap tenderly around my waist as he pulls me into him and kisses me deeply, with passion. My hips navigate towards him in response. I want to say ‘how was your night’; want to ask if he had a good time, but at the same time I don’t want to hear it. Don’t want to look at Jackson and wonder whether he’s telling me the truth or not. Just as he moves his hand to my breast we hear a small knock at the door and both scramble to cover ourselves.
As Jackson opens it, Daniella comes bounding into the room and jumps straight onto the bed, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Morning, she chides in her sweet little voice. “Morning, daddy,” she says with glee before jumping into his arms. A more loving child in the world, you couldn’t find. “Time for ice cream and the park, remember?” she continues, looking between us.
“I remember,” Jackson says softly. I smile to myself because I can picture us like this years from now. The little girl won’t be Daniella, but the moment will be just as perfect as this one.
After telling Daniella we’ll be right out after a shower, she goes happily skipping down the corridor to make pancakes with her newly found grandmother. I shower first and walk into the kitchen where Jade and Shana are sitting. A twinge of envy gnaws at me. I miss Jade, and I miss having someone to do everything with. Hell, for a split second I even missed Morgan.
“Morning,” I say cheerfully as pour a cup of coffee, which I need seeing as my pretend eight hours of sleep last night was actually only about three.
While Shana and Daniella swiftly beat pancake batter, Jade and I walk out to the front porch. “So,” she says as we plant ourselves on the love seat, “things look like they’re going well.”
“I think so” I reply softly.
“Are you okay, I mean with all of this, with Shana and Daniella, this whole situation?” Jade looks at me, her green eyes brimming with concern.
I want to tell her everything, about how scared I am of falling in love with Jackson, how I wish it were just us we needed to worry about. But I don’t. “I’m happy for him, happy for us. I’m glad Daniella can be in his life,” I reply, less information means less of an opportunity for Jade to seek out my lies.
“He loves you. I mean, I’ve known Jackson a long time, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you,” she says tenderly. “Not even Shana.”
Jade knows me well, and the last part was for effect, to reassure me that a happy reunion is not something I should be concerned with. “I know, I just…”
Before I can reply I see Emmanuel’s Range pull up out the front. Emmanuel comes strolling up the path with what appears to be a much more elevated level of cockiness than his usual, or at least what I’ve seen so far. He greets us both before reaching into his pocket and pulling out Jackson’s phone. “Your man left this in my car, make sure he gets it. I put the pics from last night in there, a reminder of his last night in the hood.” With a wink, Emmanuel hands me the phone and walks back down the path.
“What was that about?” Jade asks.
“Not sure,” I reply absently. “They went out last night and Jackson must have
dropped his phone in the car, that’s all.” I’m trying, while reassuring Jade, to convince myself that that is all.
“I don’t trust him,” Jade says staring down the path to where the offending Range Rover and its driver stood.
Looking down, I press the lock button and a picture pops onto the screen. I blink at first, hoping that what I’m seeing is an illusion, a picture of someone else, but it isn’t. Jackson is lounging, legs splayed out in a booth with a tramp in black leather shorts. There is a distinctly lazy smile on his face while the bitch’s head is firmly planted in his lap. This could have been from any other night. But I know it was last night. Because Jackson is dressed in exactly what he wore out. My head reels, tears sting at my eyes and my throat constricts. Jade, noticing my reaction, grabs the phone from my hand takes one look at the photo and storms into the house, slamming the screen door as she does.
I don’t move, my legs feel weak and my body is encased in a blessed numbness. The tears that threatened to flood from my eyes are no longer there. I should yell, scream, ask for an explanation, but I don’t want one. I want to leave, and I want to leave now. One problem, I have walk past Jackson in order to do so. Minutes later, the screen door opens and Daniella and Shana walk out. Shana looks at me with pity before saying goodbye, and telling me that it was nice to meet me.
Nice to meet me? Wow, I must have really been a fool. Even she knew that I wouldn’t be around for long. Daniella walks over and gives me a gentle hug before leaving with her mother.
Eventually, after what feels like hours, I find the coordination to stand and walk inside. Behind Jackson’s closed bedroom door, I can hear Jade voice, raised and angry, laced with expletives. As I approach the door and the voices become clearer, and I stop.
“I don’t know!” I hear Jackson.
“You don’t know!” Jade sounds exasperated. “So I ask you why Amber the hooker’s head is in your lap last night and you don’t know? You know how hard it was for her to trust you? What the hell!?” I’ve never heard her so angry. Even through the door I can hear the quiver in her voice, as she fights to rein in her anger.
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