Page 82 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

Kiss her.

Hell, there are a lot of things I’d like to do to her.

My phone lights up again as another scathing text comes in. “I only see one problem with this,” I say, looking down at my phone.

The corners of her lips lift, but she keeps the straw in her mouth, downing her drink. “And what’s that?”

She’s wearing more makeup than she usually does, but I can still faintly make out her freckles. “None of these numbers are yours.”

Her smirk fades, and she pulls the straw from her mouth to look up at me. “I’m not giving you my number, Jackson.”

“Why?” I don’t understand why she’s being like this. Why is she so determined to stay away from me?

A frown pulls at her lips. “Because you don’t need it.”

“Isn’t that up to me?”

The bartender sets a full glass down in front of her, and she quickly moves her straw over and starts sipping. At this rate, she’ll be wasted within the hour. Looking down at the drink in her hands, she says, “No,” before taking another sip.

She’s impossible. Frustration laces my voice when I ask, “Why are you being like this?”

I want her to crack and tell me the truth, but nothing in her expression falters. She’s perfected her mask. “Why are you being like this? You’re about to be on stage every night, and I’ll be here. You don’t owe me anything just because we slept together. We’re both single, and that’s the end of it.”

“So, what?” I say, the bite in my voice coming out more than I meant. “Why does it have to be all or nothing with you? When I was living across the hall, you were fine with casual, but now that I’m leaving, we can’t even have each other’s phone numbers? It doesn’t make sense.”

“You don’t get it,” she snaps, and I swear half her drink is already missing. “We don’t need to stay in touch. It won’t be good for either of us. And we don’t need to have this conversation. What we did means nothing. We’re nothing.”

My jaw ticks. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes, Jackson. It’s what I want.” There’s so much clarity behind her eyes as she says the words. It’s like she hasn’t had a drop of alcohol all night, and I can’t help feeling like I know she means them.

I don’t understand it.

But I know she means it.

I hold her gaze, waiting—hoping she’ll crack, but she doesn’t. She pins me with her unwavering stare. My stomach drops and a sense of hopelessness washes over me. I’ve given this my best shot, and I don’t think I’ve ever failed so miserably at anything.

My phone lights up two more times on the bar, and I snatch it, jamming it into my pocket. “Okay. Have it your way.”

Everyone is getting sloppy around me, but I’ve been nursing my same drink all night. Margot just started her fifth. Three guys have tried to flirt with her—the bartender and two guys I’ve never seen. She’s still talking to one of them now.

She’s drunk.

She’s a fun drunk, but she’s definitely drunk.

Sometimes we cross paths, but for most of the night, she seems to want to stay as far away from me as possible. I lock eyes with her for the millionth time tonight, and her cheeks flare before she turns and gives her full attention back to her latest admirer.

Figures.

For someone who wants nothing to do with me, she sure knows how to piss me off. Matt takes a seat next to me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her. I can feel him watching me, though. I’m sure I look as pathetic as I feel.

“You’ll meet a lot of girls on tour, you know,” he says as he scratches the side of his head and sets his beer down on the table in front of us.

So much for a distraction. Margot giggles with Bachelor Number Three about God knows what, and I take a sip of my warm beer. “Yeah.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel better. Other girls aren’t Margot. No one has ever made me feel the way she did at my gig last weekend. Fully accepted and supported. Fuck, she made me feel loved, and even though I know she doesn’t love me—not really—I’m not ready to walk away from it yet.

“Want help packing your car?”

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