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Chapter Twenty-Eight

IVY

The second I step inside my apartment, I drop my bags and lean against the door, exhaling a long, shaky breath.

I should be exhausted. I am exhausted. But my mind won’t shut off. The entire weekend felt like a fever dream—one of those moments in life where everything shifts, even though you’re not quite sure how yet.

Jackson.

I press a hand to my stomach, warmth spreading through my chest. He wasn’t just saying things. He meant them. He wants to be here. Wants to be with me.

And I believe him.

That should probably scare me more than it does.

I peel off my dress and change into an oversized t-shirt before collapsing onto my bed. My phone buzzes beside me.

Jackson: You make it home safe?

I smile, already typing.

Me: Yeah. Just walked in. You?

Jackson: Back at the stadium, wrapping up film. But I’m about to head out.

I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then?—

Me: Long day?

Jackson: Longer now that you’re not here.

I should roll my eyes. Or at least act unaffected. But I don’t. Instead, I press the phone to my chest, smiling like an idiot.

I pull up the one photo I managed to take of him this weekend—one of him at the Art Institute, staring up at a painting with this quiet, thoughtful expression. He didn’t even know I snapped it. It’s my new favorite picture.

My fingers hover over the keyboard again.

Me: Thank you. For this weekend.

Jackson: Baby, I’m not done yet.

Me: Good

I stare at the screen, my heart pounding way too hard.

Jackson: Get some sleep. I’ll text you in the morning.

Me: Yeah?

Jackson: Yeah. Night.

Me: Okay. Yeah. Night :)

I let out a breath, rolling onto my side.

I close my eyes, knowing I’m already in deeper than I should be.

After school on Monday, I pull into my parents’ driveway, gripping the steering wheel for a second before turning off the engine.

Okay. You can do this.

My nerves are all over the place, but I need to do this. No more avoiding. No more waiting. I owe them the truth.

I step out of the car and head up the front steps, forcing my heartbeat to settle as I knock. A few seconds later, my mom swings open the door.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” she says, stepping aside so I can walk in. “We were just talking about you.”

I pause, immediately suspicious. “Why?”

She waves me off. “Carl was just wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night. Nothing nefarious.”

“Uh-huh,” I mutter, kicking off my shoes.

My stepdad, Carl, is already in his recliner in the living room, flipping between channels. When he sees me, he points the remote at the TV.

“You watch that Stallions game yesterday?”

My stomach clenches, but I keep my voice casual. “Yeah, I caught some of it.”

“Damn shame. Bad calls. And that quarterback—he’s a hell of a player, but they need to get him better protection. That O-line is made of tissue paper.”

I nod, pretending to listen, even though my brain is spinning in circles. I sit down on the couch, rubbing my palms over my thighs.

Mom shoots me a look. “You okay? You seem tense.”

I exhale slowly. Now or never.

“I need to talk to you guys about something.”

That gets Carl’s attention. He mutes the TV, his expression shifting into something more serious.

“Alright,” he says, sitting up a little. “What’s going on?”

I swallow, gathering my courage.

“I’d like you to meet the father,” I say, my voice steady. “He’s coming here the weekend after next.”

The room goes silent.

Carl blinks. Mom just stares .

“Wait, what ?” Mom says, her voice raising half an octave.

Carl leans forward, narrowing his eyes. “You’re telling me we’re finally meeting this mystery man? The guy who’s been MIA for months?” His voice is laced with accusation.

“He hasn’t been MIA ,” I say quickly. “Things were… complicated.”

Mom crosses her arms. “And now they’re not?”

I exhale, bracing myself. “They’re still complicated. But he wants to be involved. He is involved. And I want you both to meet him.”

Carl is silent for a long moment.

Then, finally, he asks, “Does he know what he’s walking into?”

I hesitate. “What do you mean?”

Carl snorts, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, if this man thinks he’s just walking in here and shaking my hand like everything’s fine and dandy, he’s got another thing coming. I don’t mean to be rude but where the fuck has he been?”

I resist the urge to groan. Of course Carl is going full protective stepdad mode.

Mom places a hand on his arm. “Carl. You know what we talked about. We’re not going to badmouth him. Not yet, anyway.”

“No, no. I just think we need to ask some questions, that’s all.” He looks at me again. “What does he do for a living?”

I bite my lip. Shit.

“He, uh…he works in sports. ”

Carl raises an eyebrow. “Sports. The hell does that mean? He’s an athlete?”

“No, not an athlete.”

Mom’s head tilts. “Like… a coach? A trainer?”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Something like that.”

Carl narrows his eyes. “He’s not one of those personal trainers who calls himself a coach, is he? Some gym bro influencer type?”

I burst out laughing. “No, definitely not.”

Carl sighs, running a hand down his face. “Alright. Fine. We’ll be nice. But, Ivy?—”

Carl leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Well, the Stallions are playing in New York next weekend. You should come over and watch the game with us. We can talk more then.”

I hesitate, but nod. “Yeah…they are.”

Carl gives me a look, his voice firm but full of something undeniably protective. “If this guy hurts you? I don’t care what sport he’s in. I’ll make sure he never plays again.”

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “I know, Carl.”

Mom reaches toward me, squeezing my hand. “Sweetheart, we just want to meet the man who’s going to be in our grandbaby’s life.”

“You will,” I say, swallowing down the nerves rising in my throat. “I promise.”

And the weekend after next?

They’ll finally meet Jackson Knox.

The crisp autumn air is filled with the scent of popcorn and freshly cut grass as I settle into the bleachers beside Lauren and Jacob. The Friday night lights glow over the high school football field, the energy buzzing through the small-town crowd.

Lauren nudges me with her elbow. “You okay? You look distracted.”

I exhale, scanning the field. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Jacob leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Thinking about what? Or should I say who?”

Lauren smirks. “I’ll give you one guess.”

I roll my eyes but don’t deny it. “Shut up and watch the game.”

The Riverbend Hawks are lined up for kickoff, and the crowd erupts as the ball soars through the air. My younger cousin, Karsten, is on the team, and I spot him down on the sidelines, adjusting his helmet.

“Proud cousin moment?” Lauren teases.

“Always.” I smile.

But then—my stomach twists.

Kyle.

He’s standing near the concession stand, talking to some guy, but his eyes? They me find me, and lock right on me.

I stiffen.

Jacob notices. “Who’s that?”

“No one,” I say too quickly.

Lauren follows my gaze and scowls. “Ugh. He’s still lurking? Honestly, what the fuck is his deal? He needs to get a life.”

Kyle gives me a slow, knowing smile before turning away.

I force myself to shake it off.

And then—my phone buzzes in my lap.

I glance down.

Jackson: How’s my girl?

My pulse picks up.

I bite my lip, typing back.

Me: At the high school football game.

Jackson: A woman after my own heart. You wearing something cute?

Heat rises in my cheeks.

Me: Are you flirting with me, Coach?

Jackson: Absolutely. And it’s only going to get worse. Better not send me a distracting photo, or something. That would be bad. I really don’t need to be distracted tonight. I’m not missing you and I’m not thinking about you…;)

I swallow hard, staring at the screen, reading between the lines.

Oh.

Well, damn.

I cross my legs, the cool fall air brushing against my bare skin. The game is fine—good, even. My cousin is playing well, and Lauren is fully invested, yelling like she’s been a football fan her whole life. But my mind? Elsewhere.

I glance at my phone, at Jackson’s last text, and before I can second-guess myself, I shift in my seat, snap a quick photo of my thighs in my skirt, and send it.

Me: Yeah? Well I’m Thinking about you.

It takes less than five seconds for his reply.

Jackson: Jesus fucking Christ, Ivy.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across my face.

Jackson: You trying to kill me?

Me: You’re the one who started it.

Jackson: And I’m gonna finish it, too. Soon. I haven’t stopped thinking about Friday. Or Saturday. The way you fell apart for me. The way you begged me for more.

My breath catches, my thighs squeezing together.

Jackson: I need you again, baby.

I swallow hard, heat rising under my skin.

Jackson: You wanna be a good girl for me tonight? Have a little fun?

A full-body shiver rolls through me.

I glance up, heart pounding, suddenly hyper-aware of the noise around me—the cheers, the whistles, the sound of Jacob complaining about a ref’s call.

I have to go.

I grab my purse and stand. “Hey, I think I’m gonna head out.”

Lauren whips her head toward me. “What? The game’s not even over.”

I force a casual shrug. “Yeah, I know, I’m just tired. Long week.”

Jacob side-eyes me. “Uh-huh.”

Lauren narrows her eyes, clearly suspicious, but she waves me off. “Alright, go get some rest, pregnant lady.”

I nod, already moving, my pulse a wild drum in my ears.

Because rest?

That’s the last thing I’m about to get.

I step inside the door to my apartment building. It’s been a long day, but something sitting at the door to go into my unit catches my eye—a sleek black box with a gold ribbon.

I frown, my heart kicking up a notch as I approach it. There’s no note. Just my name printed neatly on the shipping label. I pick it up, head inside, and set it on my kitchen counter.

Curious, I tug at the ribbon, letting it unravel before lifting the lid.

My breath catches.

Inside, nestled in delicate tissue paper, is the most stunning set of lingerie I’ve ever seen. Deep emerald green—silky and delicate, with lace detailing that’s both elegant and sinfully revealing.

My phone buzzes.

Jackson: Package arrive yet, Emerald Girl?

Heat rushes through me.

Me: This is from you?

Jackson: Of course it is. Put it on. Let me see you.

I swallow hard, my skin tingling all over.

I shouldn’t feel this excited, but I do.

So I do what he asks.

I slip into the bedroom, stripping off my clothes, and slide the delicate fabric over my skin. The silk cups my breasts perfectly, the lace hugging my curves, the matching thong leaving little to the imagination.

I turn to the mirror, my cheeks flushing.

Damn.

I look hot .

And I know exactly what he’d want to see.

I turn slightly, arching my back, letting the soft light catch the curve of my ass. The lace of the thong disappears between my cheeks, the silk bra barely containing the swell of my breasts. I angle the camera lower, making sure he gets the full effect—the dip of my waist, the tempting sliver of bare skin, the way the fabric clings to my hips like a promise.

Then, just to wreck him, I tug the waistband of the thong down just a little, hinting at what’s underneath.

I snap the picture.

Hit send.

The response is instant .

Jackson: Jesus Christ.

A few moments later come another text.

Jackson: I need you so fucking bad.

Me: Yeah? What would you do if you were here right now?

Jackson: Oh, baby. You sure you wanna know?

A shiver runs down my spine.

Me: Tell me.

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then reappear.

Jackson: I’d start by laying you down. Spreading you out. Taking my time kissing every single inch of that pretty body.

I squeeze my thighs together, my breath hitching.

Jackson: Then I’d have you ride my face until you’re so fucking wrecked you can’t even think straight. Then I’d flip you over and fuck you until you’re crying my name.

Oh, my God.

I sink onto the bed, my skin buzzing.

Me: Fuck, Jackson.

Jackson: You wet for me, baby?

I whimper, my hand drifting between my thighs.

Me: I’m soaked.

My phone starts ringing.

FaceTime.

I hesitate for half a second before I answer.

And there he is.

Jackson, shirtless, sprawled out on his bed, looking wrecked with need. His eyes dark and ravenous, his lips parted slightly.

“Show me,” he rasps.

My breath stutters.

“What?”

He grips his phone tighter. “Show me how wet you are for me.”

A rush of heat floods me.

Slowly, I shift, tilting the camera just enough to let him see.

His jaw clenches.

“Fuck, Ivy,” he groans. “Look at you. So pretty.”

I shudder as I stroke myself, circling my clit.

“God, I wish you were here,” I whisper.

Jackson’s breath comes heavier, his body tense. “I do too, baby. But for now? Let me watch you come for me. I want to watch your face get all red as you orgasm.”

And just like that—his voice, his filthy words, the intensity in his gaze—it sends me spiraling.

"I want to see you," I moan. "I want to see your big dick."

Jackson groans, low and rough. “You wanna see how hard you make me, baby?”

“Yes,” I breathe, my thighs squeezing together, desperate for relief.

“Then be a good girl and keep your eyes on the screen.”

I barely have time to process before his phone shifts, the camera angling down.

Oh. Oh my God.

His thick cock is gripped tight in his fist, flushed and glistening, veins running up the length like he was made for this—for me . He strokes himself slow, teasing, dragging his thumb over the leaking tip.

“You see what you do to me, Ivy, baby?” His voice is strained, breath ragged. “I’ve been like this since you sent me that picture. Been thinking about peeling that tiny little thong off your body with my teeth.”

A soft whimper escapes my lips. My free hand glides down my stomach, slipping between my legs, finding myself already soaking wet.

Jackson groans. “That’s it, baby. Show me.”

I tilt the camera, letting him see exactly what I’m doing, how I’m touching myself just for him.

“Damn,” he growls. “You’re so wet. You’re making a goddamn mess, aren’t you?”

I nod, barely able to form words.

“Say it,” he commands, his grip tightening around his cock.

“Yes,” I whimper. “It’s all for you, Jackson. Just you.”

He groans, his strokes getting rougher, faster. “Play with your clit, baby. Nice and slow. Just how you like it.”

I obey, gasping as pleasure shoots through me.

“That’s it. You’re such a good girl for me.” His eyes are locked onto the screen, his jaw tight, his muscles flexing with every movement.

My legs start to shake. “You like that?”

“Yeah, baby. You gonna come for me?”

I nod frantically, my breath catching, my body winding tighter and tighter.

“Then let go,” he rasps. “Come for me, Ivy. Let me hear you.”

I shatter. I drop the phone and my body arches, a strangled moan ripping from my throat as I fall apart, pleasure crashing over me in waves.

Jackson curses, his body tensing.

“Ivy.” His groan is raw, guttural, his own release hitting as he strokes himself through it, his cock pulsing in his hand as he comes.

We’re both gasping for breath, the only sound between us the heavy static of desire still thick in the air.

I bite my lip, coming down from my high, warmth spreading through me as I watch him recover. He looks completely wrecked —his chest heaving, his lips parted, his muscles still tight with aftershocks.

And the best part?

I did that to him.

“Damn,” I let out, grinning lazily.

Jackson chuckles, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. Damn. ”

I smirk, settling deeper into the bed. “So…you glad I came home for you?”

It’s such an odd feeling to say that phrase. I came home for you . But it wasn’t a frivolous decision. Me deliberately wanting to please him—and myself—is a big deal for us getting to the next level.

His gaze darkens, something possessive flickering in his eyes. “Baby, if I didn’t have a flight to New York in the morning, I’d be in my car right now , coming to ruin you properly. Kills me that I can’t be.”

A delicious shiver runs down my spine.

“Guess we’ll just have to save that for next time,” I tease.

Jackson’s smirk is sinful. “Oh, sweetheart. Next time? I’m not letting you out of my bed for hours .”

I stretch out on the bed, still tingling from the high, my body warm and sated.

Jackson sighs, running a hand through his messy hair, looking as wrecked as I feel. His expression softens, something tender in his eyes as he studies me through the screen.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.

My breath catches, and a smile rolls over my face.

“I mean it, Ivy.” His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges. “Not just like this. Always.”

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the phone. “You’re really good at this whole sweet-talker thing.”

He smirks. “Only when it’s true.”

A warmth spreads through my chest, something deeper than lust.

Something that scares me .

But before I can spiral, Jackson exhales and shifts back against the pillows, looking relaxed, content.

“You tired?” he asks.

“Exhausted,” I admit. “You?”

“Yeah. But I don’t wanna hang up yet.”

I bite my lip. “You don’t have to.”

His lips curve into a lazy smile. “Good.”

And just like that, we stay on the phone, breathing together in the quiet, letting the night settle around us.

I don’t know where this is going.

I don’t know what will happen next.

But right now?

I don’t need to.

“By the way, I told my parents you’re coming.”

“Oh, did you? And what exactly did you tell them about me?”

“I told them you work in sports.”

Jackson chuckles, deep and hearty. “That I work in sports ? What the hell, Ivy? Now they’re going to think I’m a cashier at Dick’s Sporting Goods or something.”

I grin, biting my lip. “Well, guess you’re going to have to come here and set the record straight.”

He laughs again. “You watching the game this Sunday?”

“Of course I will. I can’t miss a game now that I’m…dating a coach.”

“Maybe I’ll turn you into a football girl after all.”

I grin. “We’ll see about that. I’m not making any promises.”

So I guess we are dating, then.