Chapter 16: Ten

4:37 AM He walks us to the couch without breaking the kiss and he spins his body, sitting with more grace than should be possible. I move my legs to accommodate our new situation. Problem is, now I'm straddling him. I feel him between my legs and although it's scary, it's somehow magnificent at the same time. With courage I never new I had, I push myself against him. The friction feels amazing. I move even more. I'm no expert-having never done this before-but everything about it comes naturally. My hips move against him, my hands cupping the side of his face. My actions prompt him to bite down on my lower lip before I can feel his mouth spread into a full on smile. "You'd better watch yourself, Angel. I might just turn into the devil if you're not careful." He moves his fingers to my shoulders, sliding the strap of my sundress down before placing his lips there. "I missed this," he whispers, tracing his finger where his lips just were. "I miss you." Three words that make me almost unbearably sad. I want to miss us, this, him. I want to remember what it is I'm missing. "Jax?" "Yeah?" "Tell me," I say, "about us." He pauses to kiss my shoulder once more before slipping the strap back in place. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know," he says, "but you're going to have to get your perfect body off of mine. I'm only human, Angel. You're turning me on something fierce." Ugh. I've never turned anyone on before. At least not to the point where they'd say so. The fact that I can affect him, affects me so much more than it should. A voice in my head reminds me that I don't actually know him. Not yet. I swing my leg over him, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. "Sorry." "Don't apologize for my weakness. I can't lie though, you're my kryponite." He rises to his feet and I suddenly feel cold. Alone. The space where he belongs is empty. What on earth is wrong with me? He walks to the kitchen and grabs two glasses of water. When he returns to the couch, he hands one of the glasses to me. "First," he says, "we are health conscious." I take the water. "Good to know. How did we meet each other?" He smiles at the memory only one of us has. "I'll never forget the first time I saw you. It was a dreary day, there'd been three days straight with no sunshine. I walked to the bookstore around the corner from my place, mostly because they serve the very best Americano coffee there, not so much because I actually wanted a book." "Rainy day coffee?" "You bet," he says. "That's the best time to go for coffee. When it's all raining and miserable. Anyway, there I was with this impossibly good coffee, walking around the store, killing time more or less and there you were, this impossibly perfect girl." "Standing in the middle of the bookstore?" "You were sitting on the floor with your arms wrapped around your knees which were pulled to your chest, a book in your hands. You were so into that book, you didn't care that people were stepping around you, stepping over you, you had tunnel vision for the words on that page. Whatever they were, they captured you." Sounds about right. "And?" "And you captured me, Angel," he says with a grin. "I'm a curious person. I had to know what you were reading." "So you asked? Is that the first thing you said to me?" He shakes his head. "Naw, I didn't ask." "What did you do?" "I sat beside you," he says. "I sat down beside you and read those words with the hope that I could learn how to get your attention so deeply." "What were they?" He laughs. "You really wanna know?" "Yes." "He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began." I arch my eyebrow. "Tolstoy. Oh my God. That kills your cheesy supermarket romance theory on my favorite books." "Just because you were reading Tolstoy doesn't mean it was a favorite. Now, had you seen it from my perspective, how utterly enthralled you were with it, you'd might not be arguing that it was never your favorite book." "Fair enough," I allow. "Maybe I was reading it for school or something. What happened next?" "I read the words out loud and told you just now, in this moment, I could completely understand what Tolstoy was talking about. That two seconds ago, when I laid eyes on you, I didn't know where I ended and you began." "You did not." He holds his hand up in a pledge. "I swear to you I did." Well it's no bloody wonder my future self is madly in love with Jackson Sunday. My current self is headed there too. "What did I say?" "You smiled, this shy, coy, unbelievably beautiful smile. That was the beginning of my undoing. I knew I'd give anything to see that smile for the rest of my life, even after that." "So I was mute? A mute booknerd?" He tilts his head to the side and regards me with an amused expression. "You're the quiet one out of the two of us. Always have been. You choose your words carefully whereas I just blurt out whatever the hell I'm thinking or feeling at the time." "So we compliment each other, I guess." "You're the best thing about me," he says. "What else do you want to know?" "Where was our first date?" "I'd like to think the bookstore because after that, we spent the whole afternoon together. But if we're talking official date, I took you on a scavenger hunt." "Are you kidding me?" "Nope," he says. "Not at all. I like to think outside the box." "Did we have fun?" "You married me, so yeah, I think we had a good time." "How long did I know you before you proposed?" "Seventeen Sundays. That's all it took to make you my wife." "Three and half months? I married you in three and half months?" I try to wrap my head around the idea that I would do something so impulsive, so utterly reckless but I just can't. "Or seventeen Sundays. Either way." "That's madness." He shrugs. "When you know, you know." "You make it sound like it was love at first sight." He scoots closer to me, settling his hand on my knee. "That's because it was. It is. We are amazing together. I know it's a lot to take but it's true." I don't know how to reply but Jackson speaks again. "Stay with me," he says. "I haven't slept much since I got here. Too used to having you beside me." "I don't know if it's a good idea." "It's a great idea," he says. "Trust me. I will be on my very best behavior. Promise." "Xavier would lose his mind." I freeze. I haven't texted Xavier like I'd said I would. I grab my phone out of my purse. "I have to text him," I tell Jackson. "Every hour until I know you better, or he trusts you. Whichever comes first." Jax laughs. "Xavier Morgan has never been and never will be my biggest fan but I admire the fact that he's watching out for you." I fire a text of to Xavier stating that I'm fine and not to worry, I even include the obligatory happy face at the end. "I don't know if I can stay here," I tell Jax. "I didn't bring pajamas." "It's a good thing you look hot in my clothes then. C'mon Lola. I know this is strange, but you're not going to be able to allow yourself to explore the idea if you keep your distance from me all the time." I close my eyes and try to tune in to my body in search of warning signs but there are none. Sitting with Jackson feels as safe as sitting with Xavier. "Is your silence a plea of no contest? Do I have you all to myself for a whole night?" I nod. "Yeah," I say, yawning. "I'd like to stay." Jax rubs his palms together. "Perfect. Now, let's discuss important details." I figure he wants to talk about sleeping arrangements but instead he says, "What do you want for dinner?" "Are you always thinking about food?" He pats his belly. "I didn't get this body not eating, Angel. It's a shrine in need of fuel and nurture. Now that you're here, I can have both. I'm going to make us something." He grabs the remote and hands it to me along with the plush throw that is strewn across the couch. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable? Watch some TV or something." "Do you want my help in the kitchen?" "You are indeed a far finer cook than me, but not this time. Relax your overworked brain with some mindless entertainment while I make our dinner with my far less impressive skills. Hope you like kraft dinner." ***** We don't eat kraft dinner. Instead Jax prepares a feast of eggplant parmesan with summer vegetables and a salad. We compliment it with white wine and by the time we are done, I think Jackson was completely full of it when he said I was the better cook. Unless my future self took some hardcore cooking classes, there is no way I'm a better chef than that. I gather our dishes and head to the sink, filling it with soapy water. I start to scrub at the plate, hands submerged in the water when I feel his body behind me. The citrus smell overpowers the dish soap and it takes everything in me not to turn around and kiss him again. God knows I want to. I really want to. His hands grasp the tops of my shoulders before sliding slowly down my arms and into the sink in front of me. They disappear into the water and I feel him interlock his fingers with mine. I suck in my breath and forget to exhale. "Leave the dishes," he implores. "They can wait." I smile. I like this idea. "They can wait but you can't." "Remember what I said. I'll be on my best behavior and I will in fact, wait," he says, "But I don't mind living on the edge, just a little bit." What does that mean? I spin around, thinking it will cause him to take a step back but it doesn't. Now we're face to face, inches away from each other. I could lean in. I could kiss him. His gaze doesn't leave mine. He doesn't speak a word, but his eyes are filled with things he still wants to say. I can see it. Words unspoken. I wonder how long it would take for Jackson to tell me our story. All of it. Fact. Jackson Sunday, who I'm supposed to know more than anyone else but I don't know at all, is a bonafide Casanova. A smooth talking, tattooed bit of wonderful in an otherwise boring existence. Fact. He's gorgeous. Really, painfully gorgeous. Fact. I'm in trouble. I think I might be falling in love with him. Fact. I don't want it to stop.