Mine Would Be You (51)

He does. His eyes roam over my face, look at me like he sees all of me, slowly, carefully, like he’s taking it all in and doesn’t want to forget a thing. I glance away, taking in the crowd and catching my breath before looking back at him. He’s still looking at me.

A soft look in his eyes and a softer smile on his lips. “No, I don’t think I will.”





I haven’t stopped thinking about Jackson.

Not once since our first date ten days ago.

So, when he called me after work and told me it had been a bad day and I could practically hear him trying to force a smile onto his face through the phone, I didn’t hesitate to invite him over. He softly said, really? into the phone, as if he didn’t believe me, and I insisted that he come see his buddy Jenko and that we could make whatever he wanted.

My music comes through the speaker on my counter, echoing through the empty apartment. I’m picking up random items strewn about to various beats of my playlist as I wait for Jackson. Homemade chicken noodle soup is simmering on the stove, my dad’s recipe, and I set out butter on the counter for cookies or brownies later, whichever.

I don’t know how Jackson copes.

I barely even know what an upset Jackson looks like, aside from that fight with Myles, which he’d shoved down almost immediately. So, I’ve done my usual bad day routine, and I’m hoping it works for him too. The oversized old black Nike crewneck of my dad’s hits mid-thigh, and my leopard print shorts peek out at the bottom. Jenko’s ears are perked from his spot on the windowsill, where the last rays of the setting sun hit his skin.

I can’t contain the flutters of happiness that trickle over my skin as I sing along loudly to the lyrics at the fact that he’s coming over. We haven’t seen each other since last Sunday because of work, and maybe I can’t stop thinking about it because it’s new and exciting or because I’ve stopped fighting my obvious attraction to him or because, simply, it’s Jackson, but I can’t get him out of my head.

It doesn’t help that my friends and my parents—well, my mom—are all enablers.

Our group chat goes crazy often. Whether it’s Sloan and I berating Harper about how she’s handling having possible feelings for someone or the two of them ganging up on me about Jackson, the questions only stop for the occasional meme or video.

My mom has called me at least seven times asking me to tell her about him. But aside from the date, Jackson and I have only texted and called on the phone a few nights, so there’s nothing new to tell her. That’s when she asks me to just repeat the date, detail by detail, again or asks me about him coming to Labor Day.

My dad is the only semi-logical one. Although, he’s much more skeptical than logical, I think. Warning me to take it slow, that there’s no rush, that boys are stupid. But that’s usually when my mom, who still hasn’t met Jackson, shouts in the background of our call that Jackson isn’t a boy but a man. Then he throws in the occasional threat of if he hurts you, I’ll beat him up like I’m sixteen again. I usually just shake my head and assure my dad that I won’t be rushing into anything. I know he’s just looking out for me. Mom is too, but she’s just more excited about the whole thing.

She thinks its monumental that I went out on a successful date at all.

Dad would just rather I never date again.

A loud knock on the door that transcends the music brings me out of my thoughts. My heart beats quickly in my chest twice as I lower the volume and slide toward the door in my socks.

I unlock the door and am pleased to see a small smile on Jackson’s face.




Jackson



Nina’s warm brown eyes meet me at the door, and the sight alone alleviates some of the stress I’ve been feeling for the past few days. My eyes take in her legs peeking out of her shorts and the light flush on her cheeks.

“Hi.” She moves out of the doorway. “Come in.”

I kick my shoes off on the matt near the door as the smell of something cooking fills my nose. “It smells amazing in here.” I look down to her as we walk down the hallway. “Hi.”

She purses her lips, fighting a smile like always until a small one breaks free. “Hi,” she says again, laughing warmly. She steps forward, hesitantly, and then wraps her arms around me.

Her hands splay out on my back, and the muscles loosen up as she does. The comfort of her touch grounds me, takes away everything on my mind. I don’t know if she can tell, but she seems to hold on tighter for a few more seconds before letting go.

Jenko meows loudly from where I see him on the couch, and I stride toward him. “Oh, bud, don’t worry. I’d never forget about you.”

His ears perk as I approach him and reach out my hand. He lets me scoop him up, and I hold him gently as I make my way to the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter. There’s a large pot on the stove. Soup, it smells like. Nina watches me hold her cat with a raised eyebrow as I scratch him between the ears.

“Want something to drink or should I leave you boys to it? I don’t want to intrude on your romantic evening.”

I bend down to whisper to Jenko but keep my eyes on the girl in front of me. “I think someone is feeling a little jealous.” Jenko meows, and Nina narrows her eyes as I try to hold in a laugh and meet her gaze. “Oh, I didn’t see you there. Do you have whiskey?”