by Devney Perry
I caught my breath and scowled down at Willa. “When were you going to tell me that we’ve kissed before?”
“When were you going to tell me that we’ve kissed before?”
He remembered? Oh. Shit. I didn’t cuss much, but this situation called for a curse word, even if it was mental.
“Um, never?”
His jaw clenched. “Never?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “Maybe someday.” No, never.
Jackson shook his head, taking a few moments to put it all together. “That’s why you were pissed and avoiding me. Not because I called you Willow.”
“Right,” I admitted.
The timing was ironic. On the walk home, I’d made the decision to let go of our playground kiss. Since Jackson was oblivious to that night, I wasn’t going to hold it against him any longer. But just my luck, he remembered.
I’d been hoping to avoid this conversation for all eternity, but the look on Jackson’s face told me there’d be no getting out of an explanation.
What I really wanted to do was run upstairs and bury my red face in a pillow. This discussion was going to bring on a whole new level of humiliation, worse than even the going-to-school-naked dream I’d had for two months straight my junior year.
“I can’t believe you didn’t fucking tell me we’ve kissed before.” Jackson was fuming. “When was it? At a party? At the bar? I assume I was drunk. I never would have forgotten you otherwise.”
That actually made me feel a teensy bit better.
I didn’t get a chance to answer because he slammed a hand down on my banister. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me when I showed up here that first night?”
“You forgot,” I hissed, looking over my shoulder to make sure we hadn’t woken up my parents. My embarrassment fizzled away as my temper spiked.
Jackson didn’t get to be mad. He didn’t get to yell at me. He was the one who forgot!
I turned and stomped up two stairs, leaving him behind with a hair swish, but when my foot landed on the third, I spun back around and poked a finger toward his nose.
“Why didn’t I tell you? Uh, why do you think?” I asked with an eye roll. “Do you think that’s something I wanted to admit? That a guy who I’ve known for years, the one who calls me by the wrong name, randomly wanders into a park one night and kisses me? Then the next day, he doesn’t remember who I am? Golly gee, I wonder why I didn’t say anything.”
I whipped back around and pounded up the remaining stairs. With the pruning Mom and I had done on the flowers earlier, I could actually stomp without leaving flower carcasses in my wake.
“Willa, wait.” Jackson’s footsteps sounded behind me, but I didn’t stop. I kept going right to my always-unlocked door and straight inside, slamming it closed behind me.
“Grr!” My growl filled the dark room.
I kicked off my flip-flops, sending them flying across the loft in different directions. Then I whirled back to the door and jerked it open.
Jackson was standing in the middle of the landing with his arms crossed, just waiting.
“You hurt my feelings!” I shouted, startled by my own volume.
“What happened?” When I didn’t answer, his eyes softened and his arms dropped to his sides. “Please, tell me. If you’re mad, you can yell and cuss. Don’t hold back, not from me. Tell me what happened.”
“You hurt my feelings,” I confessed again.
He nodded but didn’t say a word as I stepped through the doorway. Something about being on my doorstep, my turf, made admitting the truth a bit easier. That, and I just knew that Jackson wouldn’t run away, no matter what I said.
He was here to listen.
“I was watching the stars from the playground and you were walking home. You came over. We talked. Then you walked me here. You kissed me and the next day when I came into the bar to say hello, you called me Willow. You told Wayne and Ronny you didn’t remember much from the night before because you were drunk and high. That’s what happened. That’s when you kissed me.”
Jackson’s shoulders fell, but he remained quiet, sensing I wasn’t quite done yet.
“Do you have any idea how long I’d been waiting for you to notice me? How many times I’d walked into the bar and wished you’d finally just see me? Then you did and I was so happy. And then you forgot.”
He nodded, still standing in silence as words came out of me I didn’t even know I’d needed to say.
“You don’t get to be mad at me for not telling you. Of course, I didn’t want to tell you about it. It’s mortifying. The first person to ever kiss me forgot.”
His stoic stance faltered and he staggered backward a couple of inches. “The first?”
“The first.” I nodded, tears filling my eyes. I hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it was out there now along with everything else. “I’m not bold. Or daring. But you . . . you were my risk. I put myself out there for you and it didn’t work. So yeah, I didn’t tell you about the kiss.”
Jackson stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, Willa.”
Why did his apology make me feel worse? Before, I’d only felt bad for myself. Now I felt bad for dumping all of this on him too.
I dropped my chin, drawing my arms around my ribs even tighter, like I was physically trying to dam up the tears. But the wounds were open now, my pain on full display, and the water in my eyes just welled deeper.
“Hey. Don’t cry. I’m the asshole here. I’m sorry.” His hands cupped my face like they had when he’d kissed me. A tear fell and he brushed it away with his thumb. “What can I do?”
I sniffled and stepped back, forcing him to let me go. With some space to collect myself, I pulled in a shaking breath and brushed away the welling tears. “I’d be okay if we never talked about this again.”
“Can’t do it.” He shook his head. “Not until I know this isn’t going to come between us.”
Us. U-S.
Two simple letters that made up possibly my newest favorite word in the entire English language. One tiny word that made some of the hurt wash away.
He didn’t want anything to come between us.
“It won’t.”
“Promise?”
I nodded. “Promise.”
“Good.” Jackson didn’t let me keep my space. With one stride, I was in his arms again and he was stealing another kiss.
This one was different from the others. It was careful and tender. He peppered small kisses all over my mouth, not letting even a little bit go untouched. Then he slid his tongue into my mouth in a slow invasion, letting his taste seep in behind it. After a few gentle strokes, he backed away, planting one last wet kiss on my lips.
He ran his fingers over my ears, tucking away a few frizzy strands of hair. “You deserved a better first kiss.”
“No.” My hands slid around his waist. “It was actually quite perfect.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” I whispered.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. So I stood on my toes, hoping he’d get the gist and meet me halfway. I was too short to make it to his lips on my own.
Jackson didn’t disappoint. He dropped whatever he was going to say and grinned before giving me the kiss I’d been after.
I kept my hands wrapped around his narrow waist, exploring up and down from that position. I pressed my soft curves against his hard ridges and used my fingertips to study every contour of his muscled back. He was so . . . hard. Everywhere.
From beneath his jeans, there was a definite bulge digging into my hip. Knowing that I was the one turning him on—me—skyrocketed my desire. I clung to him, pulling him closer to let him plunder my mouth until he finally broke away, panting.
“We’d better slow down.”
I nodded, though it sounded like a bad idea. All these years, I’d been waiting for a kiss, his kiss. The time to wait was over.
“Want to come inside?” I asked.
He looked over my shoulder to the door, then down the stairs. “I shouldn’t, but yes.”
Yes. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered as I let him go to step inside. But the moment I crossed the threshold, I froze. The butterflies dropped dead.
My laundry was piled up on my couch. Clean panties were folded and stacked on the coffee table. There were five bras air-drying in the kitchen.
I spun back around and shoved my hands into his pecs, stopping him from coming in any farther. “Can I, um . . . can you cover your eyes for a sec?”
“Huh?”
“Can you just cover your eyes?” I took one of his meaty paws and lifted it toward his face. “Just for a second.”
He chuckled but kept his hand over his eyes.
“Don’t move.” I turned him away from my couch and kitchen, just in case he peeked. “And don’t look.”
“Are you hiding a dead body?”
“Of course not.” I ran over to the couch and swiped all of my laundry into a single pile. All of the shirts and pants and panties I’d folded earlier—that I’d refold tomorrow—got tossed into a basket. Then I hustled to the kitchen, triple-checking that the bras I’d hand-washed this morning were no longer hanging on cupboard doors.
With it all cleared away, I shoved the laundry basket behind the small bar in the kitchen. “Okay. You can take your hand away now.”
He did, turning around to face me. In my haste, I hadn’t even turned on a light. He reached for the switches by the door and flicked them on. Then he nodded to himself as he assessed the room. “Cool place.”
“Thanks.” I came out of the kitchen, toying with the hem of my tank top. It was nerve-racking to have him in my space. No one but my parents and some girlfriends had ever been in here.
Jackson walked right down the center of the room toward my now-clean couch. The slanted ceilings were too short for him at the edges, and as he got closer to the exterior walls, he began to crouch, bending lower and lower until he collapsed into the sofa.
“This probably feels like a dollhouse for you.”
He grinned and kept looking around. “Kind of. But I bet I’ll only whack my head on the ceiling a couple of times before I get used to it.”
A couple of times. I shouldn’t have liked the thought of him hitting his head, but I did. Because that meant he was coming back.
I walked over to the couch, maneuvering around the coffee table and feeling more self-conscious than I’d been on the stairs. It was easier to be adventurous and brave in the night. Now that we were inside, I was worried Jackson would pick up on all the little things I’d been able to hide in the dark.
Jackson was sitting in the middle of the couch, leaving me exactly half a cushion of free space between him and the plethora of throw pillows by the armrest. The moment my butt hit the cream upholstery, he tossed an arm across the back of the couch.
He sat there so comfortably, claiming my couch. It was almost as if he’d been the one to haul it up the stairs and squeeze it through the door.
“Did your parents build this for you?” he asked, inspecting my bed at the other end of the open room.
“No, they had it built a while back for my grandma. My dad’s mom. She lived here for a year but then started to show signs of Alzheimer’s. It broke my dad’s heart to move her into a home in Kalispell.”
“Sorry.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. She’s happy.”
Grandma didn’t remember any of us now, but that hadn’t stopped us from visiting her often. A lot of my things were actually hers. I’d kept them here as a tribute to her beautiful taste.
The loft was divided in half by the front door. On the left was my bedroom area. On the right was my kitchen and living room.
The pitch of the roof was at the tallest by the door so you could walk in comfortably, but in other areas, the walls tapered at the edges to only about five feet.
My kitchen was my favorite part, even though it was small. But with bright-white cabinets and a large window over the sink, it felt bigger than it actually was. The butcher-block counters were Grandma’s request. She’d loved to bake her own bread and had insisted on wooden counters rather than granite because she swore it made the bread taste better. I didn’t know if it was true or not, but her dinner rolls were legendary.
On the other end of the room, situated outside the single bathroom, was my bed. It was covered in Grandma’s favorite white quilt, one she’d bought from a church bazaar. It was simple and understated, much like Grandma herself. But it was stunning too, with intricate white flowers stitched on the soft white cotton.
The entire place was full of muted colors and warm woods. The floors were a chocolate brown that matched the wooden beams in the ceiling.
The only thing I didn’t like about it was how warm it got in the summer. Without an air conditioner, it was miserable in the afternoon and evenings until the night air cooled my room down.
I should have opened the kitchen window, but now that I was settled into Jackson’s side, I didn’t want to get up.
Neither of us spoke as he finished his inspection of my place. When his eyes stopped roaming, he focused on the opposite wall and sat there, just breathing in and out.
Was this awkward? Or was this normal? I didn’t know how to act after a midnight confession and three amazing kisses. I hadn’t invited him inside for a specific reason, more just because I hadn’t wanted to see him go.
So if he was waiting for me to make the next move, we were going to be here forever. I’d used up all my courage on the stairs.
“Willa . . .” Jackson trailed off and sighed.
My body strung tight at the warning in his tone. Was he about to give me a long apology about how he was sorry he’d kissed me? Maybe he needed someone with more experience, and now that he knew that woman wasn’t me, was he going to bolt?
I braced, waiting for him to continue as he shifted in his seat to look at me.
“I know I’ve been coming on strong,” he said. “But that was before I knew about everything else.”
Definitely not going to like this. “Okay,” I drawled.
“You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of shit from a man. I’m a mess. If you want me to stop so you can find someone better, just say the word. I’ll walk away.”
Better? I snorted a laugh.
There wasn’t better than Jackson Page. In my book—literally in my diaries—he was as good as it got. I didn’t know a lot about Jackson’s history, but it was likely he’d come from rough beginnings.
None of that mattered to me. What did matter was that he seemed down on himself. It left an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as he liked people to believe.
“Don’t walk away,” I told him. “And you’re not a mess.”
He scoffed. “I kissed you when I was drunk and high, then forgot. That’s the definition of a fucking mess. You deserve better than that.”
“Better is up for interpretation.” I settled into the couch, scooting closer to his side to tell him a story. “My mom dated this rich guy when she was younger. Obviously, that was before she met my dad. She grew up in Kalispell and he was her high school boyfriend. His family had a lot of money.”
Jackson relaxed a bit, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as I continued.
“They dated for a couple of years in college, but Mom says neither of them were really into it at that point. They’d grown apart, so she broke up with him. A few weeks later, she met my dad. One look at him and she knew she’d made the right choice.”
I’d been a preteen when Mom had told me about how she and Dad had met, but it was a tale I never forgot. Mom and Dad were a classic example of love at first sight.
They were the reason that, as a younger me, I’d never felt my crush on Jackson was ridiculous or silly or pathetic.
“So Mom came home on spring break not long after she met Dad and ran into her ex. I guess he wasn’t so happy he’d been r
eplaced in such a short amount of time. He claimed to be ‘better’ than Dad and asked her to get back together with him. You can guess how that conversation ended.”
Jackson chuckled. “I sure can.”
I smiled up into his beautiful blue eyes, glad I’d been able to make him laugh. “I think what’s important is finding a person who makes you better. And someone you can trust with your heart. And, Jackson? I trust you with mine.”
Even after our rocky start, I trusted him.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He leaned down and whispered, “I have a crush on you.”
I smiled. “It’s about time.”
He laughed and dropped his forehead to mine as I laughed too. When we stopped, he blew out a long breath and muttered, “I’d better go.”
“Okay.” As much as I’d like to make out with him on the couch all night, I had a long day tomorrow. I stood first and he followed, standing too fast and hitting his head on the slanted ceiling.
“Ah, fuck.” He rubbed the back of his head, ducking as he maneuvered to the center of the room.
I winced. “Sorry.”
“Told you.” He shrugged. “One more time and I’ll remember not to stand up so fast.”
“I’ll stock up on ice packs.”
He grinned and snagged my hand, dragging me into his chest. “Next time maybe we’ll be horizontal on the couch and I won’t have to worry about it.”
Oh. My. Goodness. My core quivered and I was suddenly quite aware of my nipples. Horizontal couch time was definitely a go. I wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, but I’d figure it out as we went along.
“Thea comes back Monday,” Jackson said. “I’m hesitant to ask, given the other times you’ve shot me down, but since I’ve had a rough night, I’m hoping you’ll take it easy on my ego. Dinner? How about Tuesday or Wednesday?”
I’d have to cancel my weekly dinner with the girls, but I didn’t care. The only one I’d really miss seeing right now was Leighton, and even though it was after two in the morning, I was calling her the second Jackson left.
“I can do both nights.”
