I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(40)
Her lips parted. “You remember that?”
Jackson glanced down at the table, feeling strangely embarrassed. “Apparently.”
She stared at him before shaking her head. “Anyway,” she said after a moment of awkward silence, “I know the Ph.D. is next, and I know I’m close to deciding. I just want to be sure.”
He took a sip of his drink. “Do you think you’d go to school here? In New York?”
She shrugged. “It’d depend where I got in. It’s beyond competitive.”
He nodded.
“But I’d apply,” she said softly. “To schools here, I mean.”
He swallowed. He didn’t know why her answer was important, but it was.
“What about you?” she asked casually, running a finger around the edge of her plate to scoop up some of the sauce before licking it off. “Planning on staying in New York?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. It’s not home.”
“Left your heart in Texas, did ya?”
His eyes narrowed as he wondered if she was making some reference to Madison, but she only seemed curious.
“You don’t like New York?” she went on.
“If I had a gun to my head and had to describe it one word? Hideous.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You can’t tell me you don’t get off on the energy here. The city is so alive.”
“Sure. Alive with pigeons and rats and roaches and—”
She laughed. “Stop. Why are you here, then?”
Great question. “Nowhere else to go, I guess. Needed to do something after the accident. Oxford’s the only one that offered. Other than porn.”
She snorted. “It’s that bad, then?”
He took a sip of whisky. “Actually, it’s getting better, I think.”
“The job or the city?”
“The job.”
“I read your latest article. It was good, Jackson.”
He snorted. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m just glad you’ve found something. Something besides football.”
Jackson’s head snapped back a little. “This is only a temporary gig, Molls. Until—”
She frowned. “Until what?”
Until I can convince my former boss to give me a coaching job. But he didn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it out loud until he knew he had a chance. But the last email he’d gotten from Jerry had said that while he was damn good at football, there was no chance until Jackson had gotten his public image in order. Which meant…
“I’m thinking of doing an interview with Oxford.”
She frowned. “You mean for Oxford?”
“No, I mean telling my story. To the sports editors there.”
She sat back in her chair. “Wow.”
“You don’t think I should?” he asked, oddly desperate to hear her answer.
She took a sip of wine. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess you should. If Madison hadn’t talked, you could play the whole ‘Please respect our privacy during this difficult time’ card, but she did talk. She went on the offensive, and unless you defend yourself, you look guilty as hell.”
He shook his head. “You can admit that, and yet you and Madison still think I’m going to want to get back together with her?”
“People make mistakes,” Mollie said gently. “Madison knows she made some: going public with your problems, divorcing you when she did.”
“Those aren’t little mistakes. Those are the rip-a-man’s-heart-out-and-pour-salt-in-the-gaping-hole-in-his-chest type of mistakes.”
Something flickered across her face. “So her leaving—it ripped your heart out?”
He groaned and reached for a piece of bread.
“Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “Drop the macho act for thirty seconds, then you can go back to dragging your knuckles.”
He shook his head and dunked the bread in oil. Jackson had never really understood the appeal of Italian food, but he had to admit the Italians did know their way around bread.
“You know, most women like the macho thing,” he said, chewing his bread.
“Yeah, in bed,” Mollie said. “But dinner at a nice place? Well, let’s just say we don’t mind a little beta.”
“Beta?”
“Jackson Burke, are you intentionally trying to avoid answering questions about my sister?”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Fine. You want to do this? Sure. Yes, she ripped my heart out. Yes, she left me when I needed her the most, and it f*cking hurt. Okay? Even though things were awful between us long before that, when I was in the hospital…well, it would have been nice if she could have waited. Now, are we good, or should we stop on the way home and get me a diary and a soft pink blanket to snuggle?”
Mollie studied him. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. About the other women, I mean.”
He lifted a shoulder. “It was almost a year ago. And your sister told you I was a man whore, so…”
She reached across the table. “You’re my friend. I should have ranked that higher than I did.”
Jackson was a little shocked at just how much her apology meant, and surprised them both by flipping his hand over so that they were palm to palm.