His forehead wrinkled. “Everything?”
“Everything.” With a short nod, I spun around, retreating back inside and kicking the door closed with my foot. My chest was heaving and the blood was rushing in my ears, but I still heard the soft knuckle tap on the window behind me.
“No,” I groaned. Hadn’t I made myself clear? Couldn’t we just be done with this?
Couldn’t I just be done with him?
Curiosity, that wretch, made me turn around and open the door again.
Jackson had this sheepish look on his face and—blargh—it was adorable. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at me from under his lashes.
“What am I missing here, Willa?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “A lot.”
“Care to explain?”
Explain? To explain meant giving Jackson too much insight into my past.
I’d been born and raised in Lark Cove, Montana. It was small and charming. Sheltered. My mom was a valued member of the community. My dad was a beloved teacher at the school.
Students loved his energy and feared his authority alike. Boys in high school had found it safer to stay in the friend zone, and since I’d had a massive crush on Jackson anyway, I hadn’t minded one bit. I’d gone to prom with my cousin because all of the other boys in my class had already been paired up.
When I left town for college, I will admit my crush on Jackson faded—though only slightly. There were plenty of cute boys in the dorms and a few stole my attention. But then the unthinkable happened to my best friend Leighton at a party where we’d both been drinking. After that, well . . . things changed.
Boys became inconsequential. Partying was out of the question. We learned that the college experience so many bragged about wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.
The two of us moved off-campus and threw ourselves into our studies. I also got a part-time job at a preschool to ease the financial burden on my parents. So the years when most young women were experiencing their firsts, I was busy studying, working and supporting my best friend as she learned to stand tall again.
I didn’t regret my college years. After what happened to Leighton, I made the conscious choice to only date men I knew and trusted. I went on a total of four dates in college, and though each of the guys had been a gentleman, none of them had been worthy of a first.
None of them made my pulse race. None of them made my breath hitch. None of them were Jackson.
It came as no surprise that after moving home, the crush I’d had on Jackson roared back to life. I fell back into the habits of my youth, daydreaming about him and no one else—not that there was a plethora of single men my age in Lark Cove. I let myself get caught up in the fantasy that he’d get all my firsts.
I knew it was rare for someone my age to be so inexperienced. Maybe my crush on Jackson had been an excuse. Maybe I’d convinced myself it was safer to love him from afar than risk an actual relationship with anyone else.
Or maybe it was real.
It felt real.
But at the moment, my feelings weren’t to be trusted. And I certainly couldn’t explain them, especially to Jackson.
“Willa?” Jackson prompted. When I didn’t answer, he looked at his feet.
I stayed still, expecting him to leave, but he just stood there. Was he waiting me out? Did he think I’d cave and spill my guts?
He’d soon learn that I was an expert at staying quiet. I’d learned long ago that people always felt the need to fill silences with conversation. If you didn’t speak up, eventually they would.
So I didn’t utter a word.
Jackson began shifting his weight from one foot to the other, while I didn’t move a muscle. I was a statue—on the outside.
On the inside, I was a twisted mess of anger and frustration and shame.
How many years had I waited? How many months had I wasted? All I’d ever wanted was for Jackson to take notice, or at least call me by the correct first name.
I’d just wanted one chance to see if there might be something real between us. I wasn’t delusional. The chance of us falling in love, getting married and having babies was slim. Who knew if we’d work as a couple? But I would have settled for friendship.
Now even friendship was impossible.
A breeze blew across the back of the garage and goose bumps broke out on my forearms. Still, I didn’t budge. The smart thing to do was to turn around and go inside. But my feet were glued to the wood underneath.
I opened my mouth to bid him good night, but nothing came out. So I clamped it shut with a click that echoed between us.
That made Jackson’s face split in a wide smile, like he’d won the battle of silence.
I narrowed my eyes. As of two weeks ago, that smile had lost all of its power.
Well, not all. But a lot.
He crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring my stance with a dare behind those blue eyes. Then he ran his gaze up and down my body.
I loathed the shivers it left in its wake. It was intimidating, having his bulky, brutish frame tower over me. But still, I said nothing. Instead, I let my eyes wander, giving him the same languid perusal as he’d given me.
Jackson always wore jeans that were faded in just the right places to highlight the apex of his thick thighs. They molded over the best ass in Montana. He had on his standard black boots with the scuffed, square toes. The man must buy white T-shirts in bulk because they were always the same. They fit perfectly over washboard abs and chiseled biceps.
Most days, he covered the T-shirt with an open plaid shirt. My favorites were the blue and green ones. They had shiny pearl snaps instead of buttons. In the summer, the plaid was cotton. In the winter, flannel. Though, regardless of the season, he always had his sleeves rolled up, revealing his tanned forearms.
Today, Jackson was in a light blue plaid and it matched the color of his eyes. Normally, the plaid was left hanging open, but tonight he’d tucked his shirt into his narrow waistband.
He was breathtaking. He was more handsome now than the first day I’d seen him.
And here I was, in my jammies with bedhead.
The breeze picked up again and I was suddenly very aware of my nipples. I didn’t need to look down to know they were on high beams underneath my cotton, V-neck tee, which had been washed thin.
Jackson shifted his weight again, then uncrossed his arms and sighed. “You’re not going to tell me what I’m missing here, are you?”
I blinked once for no.
“Fine.” His scowl was endearing. “Then I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
Without a word, I whipped around and scurried back inside. I used my foot to kick the door closed behind me so I wouldn’t have to see him again. Then my shoulders collapsed, rolling in on themselves as I let myself breathe again.
Jackson’s boots thudded down the steps, and when I was sure he’d made it to the bottom, I went to my bed and flopped down on the mattress.
“I will not go to the window. I will not go to the window.”
I went to the window.
And I watched from behind the sheer curtain as Jackson crossed my backyard, stopping once to gaze up to my garage apartment before striding through the playground on his way home.
“You missed your chance,” I whispered. “I have to let you go.”
After Jackson left, I went back to bed only to toss and turn all night while I waited for my alarm to go off. Then I dragged myself into the shower and got ready for work. Caffeine, Snickers and chaos fueled my Sunday at work. After a hectic day of saying good-bye to one group of campers and welcoming the next, I should have slept like a log on Sunday night.