“Okay, it’s just…it seems a little hypocritical coming from you,” she said, the last words coming out in a nervous rush.
Jackson shook his head to indicate he didn’t understand, and Mollie felt a little stab of irritation. Was the man being deliberately obtuse?
“I mean…your own marriage wasn’t the most faithful. Yes, Madison had the affair first, and I’m sure you were hurt and pissed, and maybe a little vengeful, but, well, you weren’t exactly the worm.”
Jackson’s head snapped back. “You think I cheated on Madison?”
Mollie stilled, the sheer rage in his eyes freezing her in place. “I—”
Of course he had. Hell, Mollie wasn’t even sure she blamed him. She knew he’d tried desperately to get out of his marriage. Knew that in the last year he and Madison had barely been speaking, much less sharing a bed. It wasn’t that Mollie was cavalier about monogamy so much as realistic, and realistically, she couldn’t imagine him staying celibate while his estranged wife slept with half of Houston.
But the look on his face told her that perhaps she was dead wrong on that.
Jackson very slowly rounded the counter and moved toward her. Instinctively she leaned away. Not that she thought for a second that Jackson would hurt her, but he was mad. Really mad.
“You think I cheated on Madison,” he repeated, his voice little more than a growl.
She looked at him helplessly. “Well, sort of. I mean, I assumed, especially when all of those pictures and rumors about you and those women, and…well, you never denied it.”
“I shouldn’t have to!” he shouted, coming to stop just inches away from her. “Not to you, Mollie.”
Her lips parted, and she was saved from having to respond as the movers headed back out the front door to get another load. Mollie and Jackson stood silently, their eyes locked on each other, as they waited for the movers to retreat into the hallway and toward the service elevator.
“You didn’t cheat?” Mollie asked quietly.
“No.” His voice was clipped.
Mollie lifted her fingers to her lips, her mind reeling.
Jackson hadn’t cheated on Madison.
He wasn’t a cheater. Her heart jumped for joy, even as her mind tried to accept the fact that her sister had outright lied to her—to everyone.
But worse than any of that, Mollie had doubted him. And even now it was a struggle to wrap her mind around the fact that he had been loyal to a woman who long before had stopped acting like a wife.
She had doubted one of the people she cared about most.
Mollie’s eyes closed, struggling to sort everything out.
“You believed the media,” Jackson said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “You didn’t even ask me.”
Her eyes opened and she reached out a hand. “Jackson—”
He backed away from her touch. “Don’t, Mollie. Just fucking don’t.”
“But wait, I didn’t know—”
“You should have.”
He walked away then, retreating down the hall toward his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click.
“Well,” she said to a silent room, “this is off to a great start.”
Chapter 8
It was official. Jackson was avoiding her.
They’d been roommates for nearly a week now, and ever since their sort-of fight in the kitchen, she’d barely seen the guy.
He was gone before she got up. This morning she’d even been out of bed by five-thirty, hoping to coax him into coffee with her, but she’d opened the door to her bedroom just in time to see him disappear out the front door with both gym bag and laptop bag in hand.
And since her workweek had turned unexpectedly crazy, she was lucky to make it home by eight, at which time he’d force a tight smile, give her a cursory “How was your day?” and then retreat to his bedroom to watch TV, only to have the same stifled routine repeat the next day.
But by Friday Mollie had decided she’d had enough. Not only were they not acting like friends, they were barely acting like adults. It was long past time she fixed it. Fixed them.
Thanks to an extra-early morning and skipping lunch, Mollie was able to get out of the lab by a reasonable hour, determined to beat Jackson back to their place. She’d just made it home and changed into the comfy sweatpants and T-shirt that were all part of the plan when he walked in the door a little after six.
Jackson froze when he saw her pouring herself a glass of wine, clearly not having expected her to beat him home.
“Hey,” she said as nonchalantly as possible, considering that she was standing barefoot in his kitchen.
No, their kitchen.
The thought of sharing anything with Jackson gave her a strange little thrill, one that she immediately pushed out of her mind. The last thing either of them needed was for her to start rekindling her long-ago crush.
He dropped his keys on the table by the door, and she saw the way he glanced toward his bedroom as though wanting to retreat. But perhaps Jackson, like her, realized the ridiculousness of their situation, because he deposited both his gym bag and his work bag by the front door and joined her in the kitchen.