Page 6

Chloe

A s I slide into the passenger seat, Jackson gives me a once-over. My heart gives a little sickly thud, and I feel my body freeze up when he nods toward my bare legs.

“Cute skirt.”

I blink a few times. “What?” My heart starts up again, firing rapidly.

“Cute skirt,” he repeats.

“It’s not too, uh, slutty?”

He gives a dry chuckle. “Since when are yellow flowery skirts slutty?”

I shrug. “Brendan never liked me wearing short skirts,” I admit softly.

Jackson takes his hands off the wheel and twists to face me. “For real?”

“Yeah, he…he used to give me the silent treatment when I wore one.”

I feel so dumb for even admitting I went along with this. I always knew it was wrong, but it seemed easier not to argue.

“God, Chloe, he’s even more of an asshole than I thought.”

I nod stiffly. It was only really skirts Brendan hated.

And too much makeup, I suppose. I wait for Jackson to notice the extra eyeliner and lip gloss I’ve applied, but he doesn’t say anything as he shakes his head and starts the car.

“If my girlfriend had legs like yours, I’d want her in skirts every damned day.”

My cheeks warm, and I struggle to summon a response.

The image of being Jackson’s girlfriend pops into my mind, and I suddenly wish it were true, which is insane.

A guy like Jackson wouldn’t really be interested in his best friend’s little sister.

Next to him, I feel na?ve and foolish. His previous girlfriends have all been far cooler and worldlier than me.

I bet they never even considered not wearing short skirts if a boy asked them to.

“I take it the skirt’s deliberate?” he asks as he drives out of our neighborhood toward town.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

The word comes out dry and raspy. It’s insanely dumb to feel this way about wearing a skirt—one that I always loved but tucked away for fear of pissing off Brendan. I knew the moment I spotted it, I needed to put it on.

You lost the right to tell me what to wear the moment you dumped me, Brendan.

But I can’t lose that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that always happened whenever I did something he didn’t like.

“That’s my girl,” Jackson says with a grin, and the sensation low in my belly vanishes.

That’s my girl.

I’m not his girl, but it doesn’t matter. It gives me the strength to square my shoulders and think about facing Brendan, legs out and lipstick on.

“Yeah, screw Brendan,” I mutter, more to myself.

“Screw Brendan,” repeats Jackson loudly.

I laugh and throw my head back. “Screw Brendan!” I shout to the roof of the car.

“You got this, Chlo.”

“I have.” I nod rapidly. “I’ve got this.”

When we pull up opposite the restaurant, I don’t feel so confident. How do I face the guy who threw away our whole future in a text? Who was probably sleeping around behind my back while I was picturing engagements and a house and eventually children together?

Jackson’s hand rests over mine, warm and reassuringly rough. I look down at the contrast between his tanned, big hands, worn by working with cars all day long, and my small, slightly paler ones.

For some weird reason, I like the image too much.

“You deserve answers,” he reminds me, his dark eyes seeming to dig deep inside me as though he can see every fear floating to the surface. “You’re owed answers.”

“What if—”

“And you owe it to him to make him freakin’ squirm.”

I press my lips together. “Yes.”

He releases my hand and nods toward the restaurant. “Now’s your chance.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath and straighten my skirt.

“No matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

Jackson can’t even know how much the words mean to me. Somehow, knowing Jackson is watching, I find myself climbing out of the truck and crossing the road as Brendan steps out of the restaurant and closes the door.

He freezes as he spots me, and his expression sours. I know that look far too well. I’ve disappointed him. If we were together, it would mean a day of him ignoring me, and me having to apologize profusely for whatever it was I’d done.

I can’t really believe I ever let him treat me like that.

“What are you wearing?” is the first thing he says to me.

“Really?” My voice is shaking, and I fold my arms across my chest. I can’t tell if the shaking is from nerves or anger now. “You dump me over text, and that’s all you can say?”

“You look slutty.”

“I look cute,” I retort.

Brendan opens his mouth, then closes it. “Look, Chloe, I need to get going. Dad says—”

“I’m sure you can spare two minutes to tell me why you didn’t even have the decency to dump me in person.”

To his credit, he at least looks a little ashamed. “I thought it would be easier. It didn’t seem right to drag it out.”

“Oh, but it seemed right to ghost me? To leave me with no explanation?”

He glances over my shoulder, and his cheeks pinken. I look at his face, the face of someone I thought I loved, and it looks so weird to me now. It seems boyish and immature. I don’t want to run my hands through his sandy hair or stand on tiptoes and give him a sweet kiss anymore.

“Look, Chloe.” He runs a hand over his face. “I know it wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but—”

Someone barges past me and slips into Brendan’s side, practically shoving herself under his arm. “Hey, babe!” Maisie Collins gives me a bright smile. “Chloe! How are you? Looking forward to college?”

Brendan stares at his feet. I swing my gaze between them both, fighting for words. My pulse begins to quicken, and I think I can see stars in my eyes.

It was all true then. Brendan was seeing Maisie, and by the sounds of it, they’d been together a while. You don’t go straight to babe after a day or two of dating.

I struggle to draw in breath.

“Are you ok?” Maisie asks, her eyes narrowing in on me.

My vision begins to darken. I try to breathe again, but my lungs just don’t seem to work. Just as I think I’m going to pass out, a strong arm comes around my shoulder. I manage a stuttering gasp, and the world brightens again.

Jackson tugs me into his side, providing much-needed support.

“Are you nearly ready, baby?” he asks.

Baby? I look at Jackson. He must have made a mistake.

Brendan scowls at Jackson, who merely grins back, his arm still protectively around me. The contrast between their expressions couldn't be starker—Brendan's defensive scowl versus Jackson's easy smile.

“What are you doing here?” Brendan demands.

Jackson doesn't miss a beat, his smile widening. “Just picking up my girlfriend.” The word rolls off his tongue so naturally that for a moment, I forget to breathe.

Girlfriend. He called me his girlfriend.

Maisie's eyes widen, and Brendan shifts uncomfortably beside her. “This is between me and Chloe,” Brendan mutters.

“And Maisie?” Jackson asks.

“Well, she wasn’t…that is…” Brendan’s blush deepens, and I struggle not to laugh.

“Are you ready to go, baby? We’ll miss the movie if we don’t hurry.”

Jackson glances down at me, an unspoken question in his eyes. I look up at him, feeling the weight of the moment between us. In that split second, I make a choice—one fueled by frustration, hurt, and maybe a hint of longing.

“Yes,” I say firmly, surprising even myself. “Yes, I am.”

I have all the answers I need from Brendan. He’s a coward, and I can’t say it doesn’t still hurt to know he cheated on me and threw away years of planning, but I think I can finally see it now—he’s definitely not worth any more of my time.