“I damn sure hope so,” he says. “Because having you not be with me is brutal.”
The valet arrives, then parks the Porsche in front of us and gets out, holding the door open for Jackson.
Jackson steps to the passenger side and does the same for me. “Please, Syl. We need to talk. More than that, I think I need to apologize.”
I get in the car. Honestly, there was never any doubt.
And though I don’t know what exactly we are going to say to each other, I do know that there are things that must be said.
eighteen
Traffic is light, and we manage to get from downtown to Jackson’s boat in less than half an hour. During the entire drive, Jackson says nothing, and we both just sit back, lost in the ear-blasting sounds of Dominion Gate, as Jackson continues to play the album we didn’t finish the other night during our drive to Westerfield’s.
When we arrive at the marina, he maneuvers to his parking slot in front of the Veronica, kills the engine, and turns to me. “I miss you. And I’m sorry.”
I swallow, then blink back tears. “I need to hear you say it. Are you sleeping with her?”
“No.” The word is fast and harsh. “God, no. I told you. Once, and that was a long time ago. She’s a friend, Syl. She’s only a friend.”
I nod, then open my door. “Come on.”
He still looks a bit wary, but he follows me out of the car and then onto the boat.
As soon as we’re on deck, I go to him. I slide my arms around his waist and press my cheek against his chest. His arms surround me, and I breathe deep, feeling content for the first time in hours. We stay like that, feeling the boat sway beneath our feet, until I finally pull away, then go to sit on one of the lounge chairs.
“Is that all that’s bothering you?” he asks. “Megan?”
I shake my head, trying to articulate what I haven’t even really worked out in my own head. “I was pissed,” I admit. “Because when I met you in front of the office, it was clear you were keeping secrets. And—no,” I say as he starts to speak. “Let me get this out. And I didn’t like the way I felt when she kissed you. I—I was jealous.” I lick my lips. “And then I saw the other pictures.”
His brow furrows. “What other pictures?”
“On social media. You on the boat with Megan today. And you with other women you’ve dated over the last few years. Usually at parties and stuff.”
“I haven’t seen them.”
“No? Well, they pissed me off. And I know that it’s stupid, and I know that we weren’t together then. And I know that you told me they didn’t mean anything to you—”
“I told you that because I meant it.”
“I know. You just fucked them. Except for Megan, you didn’t care about them. Not like that. I get it. I really, really do.” I shrug. “But I’m still jealous. Especially when I think about, you know, the other stuff.”
“Other stuff?”
I can feel my cheeks turning pink, which pisses me off because I don’t want to be embarrassed or uncomfortable. I want to keep a tight grip on this conversation, and I’m afraid that I’m doing a piss-poor job of that. “You like control, Jackson. And we’ve done stuff. In bed, I mean. And I like it—I do. I like it a lot.” As I speak, I’m rubbing my wrists, thinking about the leather cuffs he’d used on me not so very long ago. “And you’ve got that whole trunk of stuff in your bedroom, and I don’t think it’s been sitting there just waiting for me to come along like Christmas Day, and I can’t help thinking of all the other—shit.”
I cut myself off because I’m saying too much. And honestly, I didn’t intend to say any of this. Hell, I hadn’t even fully processed any of this until I started talking. All I know is Megan. Jealous. Other women. Jealous.