I don’t frequent the library often.
The quiet doesn’t work for me, the people milling around distract me, and I can’t blast my music obnoxiously loud like I can at home.
But I needed to get out of the apartment and away from the non-stop sibling re-bonding session Cass and Amelia have been on for days. It’s starting to get a little nauseating; as much as I love Cass’ frequent angry, vivid threats against Dylan’s life, there are only so many mushy childhood stories and sappy moments I can take.
So, I’m braving UCSV’s draughty library that reeks of old books and mothballs just to escape all that healthy familiar love for a while, tucking myself in a quiet corner in an enormous leather armchair, my laptop propped on my lap and a list of readings to bang out. Or try to, at least. The couple across from me prove a particularly interesting distraction, what with being in the midst of a fantastically dramatic breakup.
I may or may not have purposely lowered the volume of my earphones just so I can eavesdrop. The girl is hurling some exceptionally creative insults at the guy, including colorful language I’m pretty sure is frowned upon being used in a library at a volume I’m definitely sure is frowned upon in a library.
I’m contemplating jotting down a few for future reference when my attention is abruptly torn away. A surprised gasp escapes me as a headphone is yanked from my ear. My head whips to the side, ready to hurl expletives at whoever’s so rudely interrupted me but the words evaporate when I find Jackson crouching down beside me. “Hi.”
A strange fluttering erupts in my stomach at the sight of him, a feeling that I shut down real fucking fast because I refuse to be a fluttery ditz who melts at surprise visits and single word greetings from pretty men. Though it’s not easy with him smiling at me like that, all teeth and dimples and warm brown eyes.
“Uh, hi?” I remove my other earphone, forehead creased in a frown but a smile tugging at my lips. I’m surprised, sure, and slightly confused how he knew where I was, but it’d be a bare-faced lie to say I’m not happy to see him.
It’s been three days, three minuscule, inconsequential days, since I last saw him but, fuck me, I felt the loss. Texted him pretty much every damn minute, did my fair share of reliving a certain round of events, yet I missed him.
I hate myself a little for it but I missed him.
And I hate him just a little when I lean in, lips puckered and intentions clear only to be bypassed. Instead, he kisses my cheek, and I don’t quite manage to hold in my grumbled, indignant complaint. “What am I, your sister?”
“You’d like my sisters.” Jackson snickers as he scoops my laptop off my lap, shuts it, and tucks it into the bag at my feet. “They’re a little bratty too.”
I scoff an offended noise, ripping my hand away when he tries to grab it. “Rude.”
Ignoring me, he rises, crooks an expectant brow. “Ready?”
“Ready for what?”
Swinging my tote over his shoulder, Jackson dials his smile up a notch until it’s borderline blinding. “I’m collecting on that date you promised me.”
It lasts a fraction of a second, my hesitation, but it’s enough for Jackson to notice. He crouches again, in front of me this time, megawatt smile becoming nothing short of wicked as he smooths his hands up my thighs. “You need a reminder?”
Need a reminder? Nope—that experience is ingrained in my mind, probably for the rest of time, like a non-stop porny home movie reel.
Wanting a reminder, however, is a different story.
I don’t admit that, though.
I do have a shred of self control.
“No,” I lie, shucking away his hands so I can think a little clearer, “but I’m not dressed for a date.”
Ripped jeans, a white tank, and a fuzzy pink cardigan aren’t exactly what I envisioned wearing on my first date. I definitely imagined something with a little easier access. Jeans are cumbersome; too tight, too many buttons, too much material.
“We can swing by your place first.”
I hum a non-answer, fidgeting with the ring on my finger as I try to come up with another excuse. It’s not that I don’t want to go. I’m just… nervous, I guess. Unsure what I’m in for, and I fucking hate being unsure. I’ve never exactly been wined and dined or whatever Jackson has planned before. I’m more of a hit and run kind of girl.
Knuckles graze my cheek before fingers comb through my hair until they reach the curve of my neck, holding firm. “Luna,” he says my name low and slow, dragging out the two syllables. “I wasn’t asking. Get your pretty little ass up and let’s go.”
Jackson doesn’t wait for a response before hauling me to my feet. A good thing, too, because he probably wasn’t going to get one; any and all words I try to speak die in my suddenly parched throat. He places a single chaste kiss on my lips, perfectly appropriate for a library, entirely too appropriate for my liking. I feel his self-satisfied smirk, and I nip at his bottom lip before he pulls away.
Smug bastard.
You know, there was a time I thought Jackson might’ve been a bit of a pushover. I blame the quiet, nice guy stereotype; they’re notoriously easy to bend to your will.
A single real conversation with him changed my mind about that, and when I spend the entire ride to my apartment unsuccessfully grilling him for information, I learn how truly wrong I was.
I don’t like it. Both being wrong and not being in-the-know. I like being right almost as much as I like being prepared.
And I can’t exactly pick an appropriate outfit when I have no idea where we’re going.
“It’s dinner, right?” I insist for at least the third time.
For at least the third time, Jackson forgoes answering in favor of continuing to hum along to the music playing from the radio.
“Dinner and a movie,” I say more to myself than him. “It’s gotta be. I hear that’s a classic first date.”
“You hear?” Jackson side-eyes me, and suddenly it’s my turn not to respond.
Shrugging, I lean forward to turn up the radio, hoping it will drown out the impending conversation.
Jackson turns it back down. “Luna, have you never been on a date before?”
For unfathomable, inconsequential reasons, heat assaults my cheeks. “Define date.”
The man behind the wheel waits until we’re safely parked outside my apartment building before shifting to face me, brows high and mouth agape. “How is that possible?”
I almost lie. I should lie. But that implies shame and my dating history, or lack thereof, is undoubtedly the least shameful thing about me. “No one’s ever asked.”
“I find that really hard to believe.”
It’s cute, the look of utter shock on Jackson’s face. Good for a girl’s ego. But the conversation is a little too serious for my liking, his line of questioning a little too curious.
So, I adopt a sly smirk and try to steer it elsewhere. “Guess it’s just not where my skills lie.”
My joke doesn’t have the intended effect. The opposite, actually. It seems to piss Jackson off, his face falling. “Did someone say that to you?”
Say, no. Imply, once or twice.
“Relax.” I give his thigh a placating pat. “I don’t date because I don’t want to. Even if someone did ask me, I’d say no.”
“You said yes to me.”
“I was under duress.” I joke but my smile is soft. “Never wanted to say yes before.”
Funny how rejecting a man has never felt quite as terrifying as accepting him did.
A hand palms the back of my head. “That was sweet.”
“Sweet enough for you to tell me where we’re going?”
Jackson laughs as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Nope.”
I follow him out of his truck with a huff, putting on my best brat act as I storm past him and upstairs, adding an extra sway to my hips and a bounce to my steps because use the tools the Lord gave you and all that.
A sense of deja vu washes over when the moment I unlock the front door and step inside my apartment, I’m pinned between solid wood and an even more solid body. I try to stare defiantly up at Jackson but my bravado falters when he thumbs my bottom lip.
“Sulking?” he croons, dark amusement painting his features. “Really?”
“It’s a tried and true method of persuasion.”
“Is the ass shaking also a method of persuasion?”
My hands creep up his chest, fisting the collar of his shirt. “It’s working, isn’t it?”
“Depends what you’re trying to get, sweetheart.”
The sound of a clearing throat causes us both to freeze.
“As riveting as this is, can you maybe take it behind closed doors? Live-action porn isn’t really our thing.”
Peering over Jackson’s shoulder, I scowl at the two girls sprawled on the sofa. I brandish a middle finger at their grins. “Perverts.”
“Exhibitionists,” Amelia retorts.
“Hypocrite.” Only one of us had a half-naked drunken romp through the boys’ house.
Kate rolls her eyes. “Children.”
Amidst the bickering, Jackson stays silent. Stays exactly where he is, too. Now he knows we have company, he reverts to his quiet, borderline shy self. Body tense beneath my fingertips, a flush creeping up his neck, face twisted with embarrassment.
I stifle a laugh. Poor boy.
Gently, I push him towards the roommates suddenly deciding to behave and offering him welcoming smiles. Jackson shifts to lace our fingers together, maintaining a tight grip even when I direct him to the empty armchair. “You, wait here.”
He flops into the chair obediently, if not a little hesitantly, and reluctantly releases me. Not before kissing my knuckles swiftly, murmuring against them, “yes, ma’am.”
Hand tingling with the residual warmth of his lips, I shake it quickly before grabbing Kate and Amelia and yanking them to their feet. “You two, come with me.” Before either of them can protest or ask questions, I drag them to my room, casting one last glance at Jackson perched in that ridiculously tiny chair before I slam the door behind me.
Kate flops down in the middle of my bed while Amelia perches on the edge, both shooting me questioning stares. “Where’s the fire?”
Raking my sweaty hands over my thighs, I take a deep breath. “I’m going on a date.”
“You’re what?” If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d laugh at my friends’ comical reactions. Amelia’s jaw hits the floor while Kate sits up so fast she almost knocks our tiny redhead right off the bed.
God, you’d think I’d just told them I was going to jail.
“Going on a date,” I repeat, enunciating each word sarcastically slowly as though I’m talking to very small children.
“Like a real date?” Kate blinks. “With Jackson?”
“No, a fake one with my imaginary friend.” I reach over to smack her upside the head. “Yes, a real date with Jackson.”
“Are we on Punk’d? Is Ashton Kutcher hiding in your closet?”
“What happened to ‘relationships in college are as pointless as a circle?’”
“Yeah!” Kate harrumphs, pointing an accusing finger my way. “Do I get to give you the Great Disappointment Speech now you’re shacking up?”
They’re kidding, I know they’re kidding, yet against my will, my temper sparks. “What, is it really so unbelievable that a guy would want to take me out on a date?”
Immediately, my friends sober.
“Not at all,” Amelia replies without hesitation, the shake of her head frantic. “It’s more the fact you’re letting a guy take you on a date.”
Kate hums her agreement, a playful smile on her lips and a sing-song quality to her voice. “Jackson must be pretty special.”
Yeah, I silently agree. That’s what I’m afraid of.
I must be wearing my thoughts all over my face because, slow and careful, Amelia rises. “It’s okay to be nervous,” she says, gripping my biceps and squeezing. “Just means you like him.”
She means well but I still, I grimace.
I like him but I don’t want to like him because liking him is scary. Liking him means breaking down the perfect wall around my heart that I’ve been building for twenty years, specifically designed to ward off men like Jackson. Good men with the potential to destroy me completely.
Kate sighs and nudges Amelia out of the way, spinning me around by my shoulders and taking an entirely different approach. “You are Luna Evans.” She shakes me slightly, her no-nonsense, narrow-eyed stare burning into me. “You are beautiful and smart and you make men go all weak at the knees. You don’t get nervous. You make other people nervous. So snap out of it.”
I can’t help but smile. “You know, you’re really good at pep talks.”
“I know.” Kate pats my cheek, equally parts playful and loving. “Now, let’s get you ready for your first date, hm?”
