Choosing Us (Pierced Hearts Duet #1)(28)

Suddenly, the box would move along the floor beneath me and I’d hear my brothers laugh and whisper, “Hold on tight.”

Next thing I knew, I was flying down a flight of stairs, bouncing side to side. Sometimes even flipping several times, landing at the bottom of the stairs in a heap of cardboard and pillows.

At least they thought to protect my head, I gave them credit for that. It was their idea of fun, convincing me at the age of five that fear was simply unacceptable. Never back down from anyone.

Ever.

Jackson’s scare tactics never ceased to amaze me, though. I swear they were getting more and more inventive as the weeks went by. His creativity knew no bounds.

The first week it was the YouTube video which he did end up taking down. Only after it already had thousands of views on it.

Although, it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. In the long run, it worked in my favor. When I was bartending at Danté’s club, if I didn’t stay at the Pierces, I was making a killing. My YouTube fans were loyal and big tippers.

However, it was the second week that genuinely took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to continue our World War III battle. The little shit tricked me, using his charm and my stupidity, thinking we’d reached a peace treaty.

Oh, how wrong I was…

“Little Miss, I know you want me to hold you, but I have to cook,” I explained, trying to calm down an unhappy baby in her glider. “I can’t hold you and cook, it’s too dangerous. I’m making fajitas and the oil—”

“I’ll watch the stove for you while you tend to Journey,” Jackson offered, catching me off guard.

I turned to find him leaning against the fridge with his arms folded over his chest.

“You will?” I replied, looking him in the eyes.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He smiled, showing me his pearly white teeth. “It’s the least I could do after what I did to you … you know, with the video.”

“Yeah, that was kind of a dick move.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, appreciating I was talking to him like a man and not like a child. Jackson was no kid, he didn’t even look like most almost-thirteen-year-olds. He was definitely big for his age.

“What can I say? I can be an asshole.”

“Clearly.”

He smiled again, this time his eyes beamed. “You didn’t deserve it. You’re only here because of Skyler, we’re just a job to you.”

“What?” I shook my head. “No, Jackson, that’s not true at all. You’re not just a job to me. I’m here because I want to be. I want to help you. Your family. It’s obvious there’s more going on here than anyone is letting on. I mean for starters, where are your pare—”

He abruptly pushed off the fridge, ending our conversation by saying, “Journey needs you now. I’ll watch the food.”

Journey let out the loudest wail, agreeing with him.

“Alright, I’m going to go change her diaper. Just yell if you—”

“I can handle food, Camila.”

“Right, okay. I’ll be back.”

“Take your time.”

That should have been my first indication, the sweet talking, the smiling, the understanding … he was trying too hard. And I fell for his act.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The little terrorist dumped every hot sauce imaginable into the food I was cooking. I spent over three days trying to get my taste buds back. Did I fail to mention, I was also pissing hot sauce when I went to the bathroom? Though nothing outdid the hours I spent trying to get the fire sensation out of my mouth and nose.

After, I threw up, out of said mouth and nose.

I was a hot mess, literally.

As retribution, I fed it to him the next day. Sneaking it into his sandwich for lunch at school. Carelessly forgetting to pack him a drink with it.

Ever since then he’s packed his own lunch.

Jackson: 2

Me: 2

Even battlefield.

By the third week, there was a mutual understanding that our war had only just begun. Jackson decided to take it upon himself to play professor and scribbled and messed up all my anatomy notes for my nursing class. I could have strangled him, they were the only notes I had to study from.

Needless to say, I failed the impromptu quiz the next day.

While I sulked over the fact that it was the first test I’d ever bombed, I savored in the thought of Jackson’s face when he opened his gym bag for football practice. Wrapped in his jersey was an entire box of tampons covered in Kool-Aid, but he didn’t know that.

The expression on his face as soon as he rushed through the door later that day, darting straight to his precious room, was enough to have Journey and I laughing our cute little booties off for hours on end.

“Got ‘em, Journey!” I celebrated, blowing raspberries on her belly.

Jackson: 3

Me: 3

Once again, we were even.

He should have known better than to mess with someone twice his age. I was older, wiser, and knew how to fight dirty if need be.

Call me the Yoda of comebacks. It was the only way I survived being raised in a home filled with boys, who were all jokesters and loved to pick on girls for shits and giggles.

We were now into the fourth week, and I’d been waiting for another one of his bombs to drop every single day. It was Friday and still nothing.