Page 25 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

Margot’s eyes go wide. “Oh, um . . . I don’t know.” She looks around for Rae to help her, but Rae’s busy laughing at something Matt must have said.

She’s squirming under pressure, and as much as I enjoy watching it happen, I open my mouth to put her out of her misery. “No. Margot’s riding back with us.”

All eyes are on me, and of all the shocked faces, Margot’s is probably the most surprised. Hell, I’m surprised, too.

“What?” I ask. “It’s not like we aren’t going to the same place.” I glance around at everyone, but it’s Margot who catches my attention. She’s watching me curiously, her eyebrows pinched as she tilts her head.

Luckily, no one questions my logic, and we end up parting ways with only a few pouts from Izzy.

Margot and I walk next to each other a few paces behind Rae and Matt. She has her arms wrapped around herself as she walks, the night air leaving goosebumps on her bare arms, and I have to fight the urge to try and warm her up somehow.

It’s like no matter how bad Margot and I being around each other may be, something about her is taking root, tightening its hold on me like a damn python. I’ve seen her at her worst, but if anything, I might like her a little more because of it.

What the hell is happening to me?

17

margot

Izzy was putting out all the right signals to let him know she’s interested. I’m sure he could have slept with her, but instead, he sent her home in the other car. I know he said he doesn’t want a relationship, but after playing Never Have I Ever, I also know he’s not a stranger to sleeping around, either.

I glance at him to find him already watching me. Having his undivided attention makes me overlook a crack in the asphalt, and I stumble forward. Quickly catching my footing, I ask, “Why did you do that?” and hope he doesn’t insult my inability to walk.

I probably drank too much. My buzz has to be what made me almost fall on my face—not his look. It’s the whiskey.

To my surprise, he just shrugs and says, “You didn’t want to go with them.”

I frown, not sure how he’d know that, but maybe it’s just the liquor making my thoughts slow. He can always read me so well. It’s unnerving—like the feeling of wondering whether or not you remembered to lock the door. Every time he’s a little too intuitive about my overall mental state, I get a flood of panic. How does he know? Did I tell him and forget?

But it’s always just Jackson reading something between my lines like they’re not even there. At least tonight he used his powers for good.

Before I can say anything, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “The real question is, why didn’t you want to go with them?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, not sure I want to tell him anything personal. I’m sure he’ll use it as ammo against me later. Then again, he learned worse about me during the game. I let out a sigh. “I was afraid Keith might try something. The more he drank, the friendlier he became. I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

“Have you tried telling him you’re not interested?”

I weigh my head from side to side, gripping my arms around my torso a little tighter. “Basically.”

A laugh escapes him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, when the semester started, I told him I wanted to focus on school.”

He shakes his head. “Not good enough.”

I gape at him. “That’s perfectly clear!”

“Not when a guy’s got hope, and no one has hope like a virgin.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

He steps closer, and our arms are almost touching as he leans in to whisper in my ear. “I’m honest.” His warm breath against my neck makes my entire body tingle. It has such a strong effect on me, I’m instantly embarrassed like he’ll know my insides are melting while every hair on my body stands.

I force myself to keep breathing and step away from him. I even go as far as to push him away from me gently, but as soon as my fingertips make contact with his bicep, it only makes my symptoms worse. It ends up not being a quick, playful shove like I intended. Instead, it turns into this slight graze that has my heart buzzing in my chest. His arm is strong under the sleeve of his button-down, and as soon as we’re touching, it’s harder for me to pull away.

Jackson and I make eye contact while I’m still touching him, and I swear I catch a subtle lift of his brow like he’s loving the mental disconnect I’m suffering from—like he loves it so damn much and finds it funny.

I snatch my hand back—just another thing I can blame on the whiskey. “Sure. If that’s what you want to call it,” I say as I try to recover from what just came over me, but my reaction only pleases him more. He holds my gaze and one side of his mouth lifts into a smirk. He opens his mouth to speak, and I can already feel the crushing weight of dread because I just know he’s about to call me out.

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