Page 21 of Just One Look

Maverick

When I finish up in the bathroom, Jackson is lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, teetering so close to the edge it looks like he’s about to fall off any second.

I could be emotionally drained from the day, or it could be my energy levels spiking after that ginormous sugar intake, but I don’t have it in me to be mad about it. It just wouldn’t be Jackson if he did the easy, logical thing, like, say, lying slightly closer to the middle of the bed like a normal person.

I toss my old clothes into the corner and cross the room.

“I’m getting in.”

“Thanks for the warning”

is his flat reply.

He still isn’t looking at me as he folds his lean, toned arms across his chest. A few loose threads of his undershirt’s gray sleeves brush against the tanned skin of his shoulders.

“Don’t want you falling over, that’s all. You know, you can move in a tiny bit closer. I don’t bite…unless you want me to.”

His nose twitches.

“No, I do not, and I’ll be fine. Just hurry up and get in already.”

“You always this bossy?”

I say, chuckling lightly.

“Good thing I don’t mind being told what to do. In or out of bed.”

Our eyes meet.

Then…his dip lower.

Oops, did I forget to wear a shirt again?

At least I was discreet when I checked him out when he stretched after our marathon sofa session. Jackson was shameless when he ogled me waiting for the shower, and he’s equally shameless now, his green eyes raking me up and down my body in just my blue Zimmerli pajama shorts.

“Suit yourself, then,”

I say, peeling back the top cover and hopping into bed like I normally would, not making any effort to minimize mattress bounce. He manages to hang on, but after a few seconds, he shifts away from the very side of the bed and slightly closer to me.

I make myself comfortable as I think about what to do next. Jackson has already turned his bedside lamp off, but I’m not ready for this night to be over yet. I wish I hadn’t done so much yakking. Not because I regret anything I said, but because I didn’t get a chance to find out more about him.

He’s still such a mystery.

I sneak a glance his way. His profile is illuminated by the golden glow of my bedside lamp. His upturned nose. His plump lips. Those freckles I can barely make out in the dim light but know are there.

My dick is definitely eager to keep the night going, too, but since I’m getting zero signs of interest from Jackson, I think the best course of action is to call it a night.

I turn off my light.

“G’night, Jackson.”

“Night, Benson.”

A frown forms as darkness settles over the room. I wish he’d stop calling me that. He doesn’t do it all the time, but whenever he does, it creates a distance between us I don’t like.

With all the sugar coursing through my veins, there’s no way in hell I’ll be falling asleep anytime soon. It’s wild to think I’m sharing a bed with a guy who can’t stand me. And while it’s slightly annoying that we’ve been captured like prisoners, the whole situation is kind of funny if you think about it.

A quiet chuckle breaks past my lips.

“What?”

Jackson asks.

“Nothing. Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

But the more I think about how absurd all of this is, two grown men being held hostage by their families who have had enough of dealing with their shit, the more amusing I find it.

I can’t stop another chuckle from slipping out.

“You’re being weird.”

I’m pretty sure laughing to yourself is a sign of insanity, but I can’t help it. Something about Jackson’s quasi-gruff tone sets me off, and I burst out laughing.

He sits up.

“What. Is. It?”

“It’s this. You and me, in the same bed,”

I say, my words spilling out between laughs.

“I mean, come on. Could you have ever imagined we’d end up in bed together the first time we saw each other?”

“Outside Bunny’s?”

I stop laughing and turn on the bedside light.

“That’s not the first time I saw you.”

He flinches, blinking a few times as he adjusts to the light again.

“It isn’t?”

I prop myself up and lean against the headboard.

“No. The first time I saw you was inside, marching toward Ridge Duporth with what I now recognize as your typical murderous look.”

He casts his head back, his eyes fall to my chest, then asks.

“My murderous look?”

“It’s cute…and also completely terrifying.”

He smirks.

“I like to keep people on their toes.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

He drifts back until he’s resting against the headboard as well.

“I wondered why you stopped me outside. I assumed you were one of Duporth’s buddies.”

“I figured as much. I saw what happened, and when you got kicked out, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why? You didn’t know me.”

That’s a good fucking question. One I’ve asked myself a thousand times over.

I don’t believe in love at first sight. At all. But just one look at Jackson stomping across the crowded bar, and I was intrigued. Pulled by an invisible force I can’t find words for. How else can I explain chasing after a complete stranger to make sure he was okay? Jackson had me hooked from the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Dunno,”

I reply, trying to play it off.

“Just being nosy, I guess.”

“Hm.”

We fall into silence after that. Jackson slides down, rests his head on his pillow, and turns away from me. I turn off the light. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out, getting longer and deeper.

I lie down, listening to him sleeping, and remind myself to be careful. If today has proven anything, it’s how volatile Jackson can be. Do I need that in my life? Probably not. I’m doing well staying sober, and I’ve got plenty to do at the sanctuary. I should focus on that, on my family, on staying on the right path.

But I’m being pulled into Jackson’s orbit, whether I like it or not. From that very first night at Bunny’s, Jackson Hunter has had a hold over me I can’t explain or rationalize.

I have no idea what it means, or how the fuck the rest of this weekend is going to go, but I should probably try to get some shut-eye, too. Something tells me I’m going to need all the rest I can get to prepare for whatever lies ahead.

The problem with sharing a bed with someone who’s used to getting up before dawn is…the fact that they get up before dawn.

Gentle light spills into the room from around the edges of the curtains. I yawn and stretch out in the empty bed, feeling tired even though I slept all the way through once I managed to drift off. Unfortunately, waking up exhausted and dragging myself out of bed is par for the course for me.

I peel off the covers and pad barefoot down the hallway. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits me as I enter the kitchen. I smile as I spot a mug of freshly brewed coffee on the counter. There’s a note scribbled on a lined memo pad beside it. I read it as I take my first sip.

See? I didn’t fall off the bed. I was right…as always.

Grinning, I glance out the window. Jackson is lounging in an Adirondack chair in the yard, the sun lighting up his black hair. He’s dressed in a black crew-neck tee, denim shorts, and a pair of white Vans, drinking his coffee, staring out at the expanse of empty land in front of us that leads to a forest on the horizon.

He looks so…I don’t know. Peaceful? It’s hard to identify because it’s not a side of him I’ve ever seen before. I take a few more sips and enjoy my view, then decide to head out and join him before he catches me watching him like a creep.

I wonder what today has in store. What mood is he in? Are we going to get on each other’s nerves and snip at each other all day, bored out of our minds with nothing to do out here? Or are we capable of getting along and having more mature, interesting adult conversations like we did last night? Or was that an anomaly? A one-off, never-to-be-repeated moment.

Only one way to find out.

I open the sliding door and step out onto the patio. “Mornin’.”

He turns his head and almost spills his drink.

“Uh, good morning.”

Did I “forget”

to put a shirt on again? Why, yes. Yes, I did. It’s becoming a bad habit. Then again, Jackson has seen a lot more of me than just my bare chest, so what’s the harm in a little early morning flex?

I pick up a slat-back wooden chair from the patio and carry it over to him, gripping it by the backrest. Not my fault if the way I’m carrying the chair in one hand and my coffee in the other makes both my biceps pop. Intense green eyes track my movement across the grass, Jackson’s lips remaining suspended over the rim of his mug.

I set the chair down near him with a soft thud and swing one leg over the seat, folding my arms across the top rail.

“Sleep well?”

“No. Some rich asshole needs to invest in a CPAP machine. You toss and turn so much. And your breathing? Don’t even get me started on your breathing. I thought I was sleeping in the freaking jungle with all the noise you made.”

I frown.

“Are you for real, or are you just giving me shit before I’ve even finished my first coffee?”

“I’m serious. Hasn’t anyone ever told you?”

“That would imply people have stayed the night.”

“You’re not a stay-over guy?”

I take a hearty sip. I’m used to Jackson being intense, but it hits differently first thing in the morning, when I’m not fully caffeinated yet.

“I’m not. You’re actually the first guy I’ve ever slept with.”

“Not even your ex?”

I shake my head.

“Nope. Not even him. Said he was an insomniac and couldn’t share a bed with anyone. Of course, now I know he had no problem sharing plenty of beds.”

“Oh.”

Jackson bites his lower lip.

“Well, get that shit looked at. It’s not right. Reminds me of Clancy. He used to snore and choke so badly I could hear it from my room. He’s been sleeping like a baby ever since he got a machine.”

“Are they those Darth Vader–looking things?”

Jackson smiles. “Yep.”

“But I’ll look like a freak.”

Jackson’s smile deepens as he looks over at me. “Yep.”

After breakfast and having some time to process the fact that I may need to spend the rest of my nights hooked up to a sleep machine, we’re at a loose end.

The day stretches out in front of us, and with no cell reception, no TV, no one around for miles, and the possibility of assassination should we try to take a break for it, the reality of just how together we are seems to dawn on us at the same time.

“What would you like to do today?”

I ask as Jackson finishes wiping down the kitchen counter. He insisted on washing up and cleaning and wouldn’t let me help.

“I don’t know,”

he answers.

“Can’t remember the last time I had a tech-free day. How did everyone spend their time before cell phones were invented?”

“No idea. But I do know people pay good money to go on a retreat and have all their devices taken from them. Ollie once went to a ten-day silent meditation retreat.”

“How did it go?”

I grin.

“He came back after three days. But he said he felt better anyway. Meant to be good for the soul. Or something.”

“My soul is just fine.”

Jackson lines up the toaster and coffee maker neatly on the counter, even though I just saw him doing that not even two minutes ago. Then he fusses with the dish cloth, making sure it’s hung perfectly straight on the oven handle.

“We don’t have to spend the day together,”

I suggest, in case he’s acting funny at the idea of being forced to spend time with me, which, let’s face it, is highly likely.

“Don’t be stupid. Let’s…”

He drums his fingers against the counter, staring out the window.

“Go for a walk? Check out the forest?”

It’s overcast outside but warm, and since I have no better ideas of my own, I agree.

“Sounds like a plan. Maybe we should take some food with us? There’s no point in rushing back, is there?”

“You mean, have a picnic?”

“Why not? Sammy is obsessed and makes me do them all the time with him. As long as you promise never to rat me out and tell him I said this, they’re actually fun.”

“I am so telling him the next time I see him.”

I smile and make my way to the pantry.

“Of course you will.”

We set out, and after walking for about half an hour, we reach the trees and find a nature trail. I was expecting Jackson to ditch our picnic plans and make a bold dash for freedom, but he never did. A one-hour hike later, we’ve parked ourselves in a beautiful spot with a view overlooking wave-like hills dotted with oak-studded meadows, lush grazing fields, and a carpet of gold, purple, and fiery red wildflowers.

“Clancy really did think of everything,”

Jackson comments as I open the picnic basket I found in the pantry, conveniently stocked with fruit, crackers, two baguettes, popcorn, and pretzels.

I take out the baguettes I made before we left and lift one into the air.

“Roast beef, mustard, and arugula?”

I raise the other.

“Or turkey, cranberry sauce, and baby spinach?”

“They both sound really good.”

“What can I say? I had an abundance of good ingredients to choose from.”

Jackson’s eyes narrow as he deliberates between the two choices.

“Tell you what?”

I say when he can’t make up his mind.

“How about I cut them in half, and we can have one of each?”

He breaks out into a grin.

“That sounds great.”

I cut the baguettes, place one half of each on a paper plate, and hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

We start chewing, the occasional call of a meadowlark the only sound breaking the comfortable quiet.

“I’m liking this truce,”

Jackson says after a while.

I smile around my baguette.

“I’m liking it, too.”

He places his plate in front of him and crosses his legs.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t say the right thing last night when you told me all that stuff about your family and your addiction. It caught me by surprise, and I wasn’t sure what the best response was.”

“You were fine. Really. Most people don’t know how to react and only end up saying something cheesy or eye-roll-worthy.”

“Like what?”

“You know, clichéd shit like, ‘everything happens for a reason’ or ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’”

“Ugh. That one’s the worst. I also really hate ‘it could always be worse.’”

“That one is pretty dumb… You speaking from experience, by any chance?”

His shoulders go rigid.

“No. Just general stuff.”

“What about you? I gave you my sad life story. I want to know more about you. How did you get into horses?”

Yes, I’m fishing for details about his life. I figure horses should be a safe place to start. It remains to be seen whether he’ll eventually open up to me about his family once owning the rescue center.

I pick up my second sandwich as he collects his thoughts. And then something rare happens. He smiles. But it’s a real smile, one that lifts his cheeks and reaches all the way up to his eyes.

“Clancy says I could ride before I could walk, which is probably a lie but could also be true. My dad got me into horses. They were one of his two big passions in life. He was the barn manager at the Spring Mountain Equestrian Center. Do you know where that is?”

“A few towns over?”

I take a guess, the name ringing a bell.

“Yeah. We lived there until I was eight.”

“What was his other big passion?” I ask.

A slight blush rises up Jackson’s neck.

“Fireworks.”

“Really?”

“Random combo, I know. One he passed down to me.”

“Well, you’re a weirdo, so that tracks.”

He smiles but doesn’t retaliate.

“Every single holiday where there were fireworks, Memorial Day, Labor Day, we’d stake out the best vantage spot before dawn. We’d all sit there as a family, talking and laughing and eating, waiting countless hours for the show. And even though it was a long day, it never felt boring. And then when the fireworks finally started at night, he’d hoist me up onto his shoulders, and it was just magical. That and riding a horse are two of my favorite feelings in the world. I have no words. They’re…indescribable.”

I nod along like I can relate, but I can’t. I’ve never had anything I’ve been that passionate about. But I love that Jackson has.

“You said you lived in Spring Mountain until you were eight. What happened then?”

A shadow crosses his face.

“Dad died.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He blinks a little faster.

“It was a heart attack. Out of the blue. No warning signs or anything. One day at work, he was loading a horse into a trailer. He fell to the ground and never got back up.”

He blows out a breath.

“It was a huge shock for everyone, and Mom went off the rails.”

“How so?”

“I was young, so I don’t remember too many specifics, and I’m sure I was being shielded by Clancy and my sisters. But she didn’t cope with the loss of Dad at all. We started staying at Clancy’s to give her some space. Then one day, when she was supposed to pick us up from his place, she never showed.”

“Like, at all?”

“Uh-huh. She just up and left us.”

“Where did she go?”

“We had no idea. Apparently, she left a note saying she had to leave. That was it. Eventually, she called Clancy and told him she was staying with friends in Arizona and that she’d be back in a few weeks. A few weeks became months became years became…”

He releases a heavy sigh. “Never.”

I try my hardest to keep from showing the anger simmering in my chest. I feel so bad for him and his sisters. Not to mention Clancy, who, from what I know of him, wouldn’t have hesitated to step in and raise his grandkids.

“Where is she now?”

“South Dakota, apparently. I don’t really care. Clancy calls her every once in a while, which I get. She’s his daughter, and you never stop loving your kid. No matter whatever fucked-up shit they do. But she’s never made any effort with us, so why should I make any effort with her?”

“I hear you on that one.”

His eyes, brimming with emotion, lock onto mine.

“Yeah, I guess you do.”

I’ve never known what to do with my feelings about my own mom. Now that she’s passed, I feel even more guilty for having any anger or disappointment toward her. Even once she got sick, I didn’t really get any closure. The woman was dying; I wasn’t going to dump all my trauma on her.

I guess that’s the thing about life: it doesn’t always wrap up neatly. We’re often left with untied threads we don’t know what to do with. The work is to find a way to accept all the things we can’t change and keep moving forward.

“You seem close with your sisters,”

I say, steering the conversation into hopefully happier waters.

“I am. They’ve always been super protective of me. Especially Sib.”

“Tell me about it.”

Jackson turns to me, a tiny grin playing on his lips.

“Scaring guys off is one of her favorite pastimes.”

“Have there been many guys to scare off?”

“Not really. No one who ever hung around.”

“And you’re laying the blame for that on your sister and not your sparkling personality?”

A handful of popcorn comes flying my way. It bounces off my shirt and scatters into my lap.

“Did you just throw food at me? Even Sammy is better behaved than that.”

“You insulted me.”

“And you retaliate by using food as a weapon?”

He gives a firm nod.

“Precisely.”

“Speaking of your anger issues?—”

He rolls his eyes.

“We’re not, but go on.”

I lean over and take the cheese knife off the plate and move it out of his reach…just in case.

“You and Ridge Duporth. What’s the deal there?”

Maybe it’s because I opened up to him last night, or maybe enough time has passed that whatever the issue between him and Ridge doesn’t infuriate him so much anymore, but whatever it is, to my pleasant surprise, Jackson actually answers my question.

“Word got back to me that he was talking shit about me.”

“How do you guys know each other?”

“We don’t. People at his wealth level aren’t allowed to mingle with people of mine,”

he says with a mixture of resignation and lingering anger.

“It’s in the Rich Assholes Guide to Winning at Life. Chapter eight, I believe.”

I wince, hating that that’s the first place he went to.

“That’s not what I meant. I just…Ridge Duporth hangs out with idiots who have their heads so far up his ass he DMs his proctologist. You don’t strike me as someone like that.”

“Thank you?”

And then, because I can’t help it.

“Your head is probably too big to fit up there anyway.”

“Fuck off. I have a perfectly sized head.”

No prizes for guessing the mental image that just flashed in my mind.

I’m quickly learning that being in such close proximity to Jackson and not having blown my load in more than two days is not a good combination. Might see if I can sneak away and take matters into my own hands when we return to the house.

Jackson lets out another sigh, his expression tightening.

“Ridge found out something about me that he had no right to, and he started mouthing off about it.”

“That’s incredibly vague.”

He glances at me with a flicker of sadness in his eyes.

“I know. I don’t want to get into it, that’s all.”

“Fair enough. Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“Punching him in the face.”

Jackson grins.

“Fucker has kept his mouth shut ever since.”

“Good. Not that I’m condoning violence. But I’ll make an exception when it comes to him.”

“Funny how everyone seems to do that.”

“Everyone?”

“Yeah, even Clancy. He’s not happy I punched him, but I know he’s not as mad as he’d be if I hit someone else because it’s a Duporth.”‘

“What does Clancy have against them?”

He shrugs.

“Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is the only time I’ve ever seen Clancy get really mad, like, me-level mad, is about the Duporths. My sisters and I suspect he might have a beef with Forrester Duporth, Ridge’s grandfather. But that’s pure speculation.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. That family has been fucked-up for generations.”

He tilts his head.

“Why do you hate him?”

“How long have you got?”

“Until lunchtime tomorrow.”

I snicker.

“Right. Our families have always been rivals in the wine game, so I’m pretty sure that’s where it stems from. The Duporths play dirty, though. We don’t. Never have and never will. Even if they’re currently beating us, Wagner would never stoop that low.”

I pluck a blade of grass and twirl it between my fingers.

“Dad had beef with Clarke Forrester, Ridge’s dad.”

“What sort of beef?”

“Just the usual rich alpha dick-showing contest. It was probably out of boredom and not based on anything real, but that’s how it was. Then when my sister ran for Congress, she was up against Forrester, and boy, did that fucker play dirty. It’s one thing to exploit an opponent’s youth and relative inexperience; it’s another thing to attempt to assassinate her character based on lies.”

“Is that what he did?”

I nod grimly, hating what that old prick put her through and the toll it took.

“But he severely underestimated how strong Adair is. And he paid the price for it. His gross tactics backfired with voters. After decades, he may have thought he had a lock on winning the race, but Adair had a grassroots campaign that spoke to meeting voters’ needs, a killer social media game, and an X factor that people are drawn to. She’s ambitious and ruthless, like all politicians, but she also genuinely cares and wants to make a positive difference. Duporth only offered fear; she offered hope. When given a choice, I think most people will choose hope.”

“She sounds pretty cool.”

I smile.

“Yeah. She is. I mean, she can be incredibly intense and single-minded. A lot like Mom in that regard. But she’s able to find balance and be a person, too. Make time for herself. For her family. Things that matter in life, you know?”

“Sounds like she learned from your mom’s experience.”

“I think she did. We all did. In our own ways.”

“Did, uh… Did you and Ridge ever…?”

Jackson trails off.

I blink innocently.

“Did we ever what?”

“You know…”

Oh, I know. I’m seeing the splash of red climbing up his neck, the way his fingers are fidgeting. I know exactly what he’s getting at. I just want him to get there himself.

“Play board games?”

I offer with an unassuming grin.

“Go shopping together? Have sleepovers?”

A sound of frustration bubbles out of his throat. “Fuck.”

“Is that the last word of your question or a blanket statement about how you feel about me?”

He narrows his eyes.

I know I’m pushing him, but I’m picking up on something that if it’s not outright jealousy, it’s at least jealousy-adjacent.

And frankly, I’m enjoying it.

So much of the energy between us has felt one-directional; it’s nice to be reminded once in a while that he feels something, too. He’s just way better, and way more committed, at masking it than I am.

“Have. You. Fucked. Him?”

I scoop up a potato chip and chomp down on it with an exaggerated slowness. When I chance a look his way, his expression is set to murderous glare.

Good.

But I’m not done yet.

I lick my fingers clean of salt.

“Bold of you to assume I fucked him. What makes you think I’m not a bottom?”

“Are you?”

That made him think.

“No.”

“And have you fucked him?”

Our eyes lock.

Oh yeah. He’s jealous all right. Not even a little bit. He’s so jealous he can’t even hide it.

“No. I haven’t. We’ve never even been more than passing acquaintances. Anything else?”

He gives a slight shake of his head.

“No. No. We should probably go.”

He points up.

Dark storm clouds are rolling in.

I growl under my breath.

Je-zus. I cannot keep up with this guy. Did I misread the situation? Did I push him too far? I never know where I stand with him. Despite his obvious jealousy, I thought we were low-key flirting.

But nope, he’s actually pissed.

And that pisses me off.

This hot-cold routine is starting to wear thin, and it’s messing with my head. Bristling, I scoop up the plates and gather our stuff, trying to tamp down the irritation growing inside me, not wanting to say or do the wrong thing to set Jackson off.

“Let’s go, then,”

I say, rolling the blanket up and tucking it under my armpit.

Maybe a nice long walk so I can clear my head is just the thing I need.