Page 49 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

She doesn’t.

She leans into it.

When I do pull my hand away, she turns over so she’s facing me, lying on her other side. “What?” she asks, but she doesn’t look annoyed. She looks like she’s dying to hear what I’m about to say.

I want to know where she stands . . . what she’s thinking—really thinking. I want to know if she’s thought of me the way I’ve thought of her. I want to know if I should keep avoiding her, or if I should welcome whatever this is.

Finally, I let out a sigh. Fuck this. I need to know. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest.”

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margot

“Okay . . .” I say slowly, not trusting where he’s going with this.

His lips press into a hard line like he’s debating whether he should ask his question. “Okay.” He moves to lie on his side so we’re facing each other, then props himself up on his elbow. “I know we joke, but do me a favor and don’t bullshit me, Red.”

“Don’t worry,” I say sweetly. “I’m not afraid to hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah.” He lets out a breath of laughter. “Not exactly where I’m going with this, but good to know.”

I frown, not understanding.

Jackson takes in a breath before speaking slowly. “If you could be here with Emmet, or stay with me, who would you choose?”

I start to laugh but stop when I register how he’s looking at me. His eyes are darker, more focused than usual. “You’re serious?”

He nods.

My heart rate picks up and my body warms the longer he looks at me. “Why does it matter?”

“Answer the question.”

My instinct is to deflect the question in some other way, but he doesn’t look like he’ll let this go. He wants the truth, and the truth is that I would gladly be here with him over Emmet. The truth is that, after the initial shock, I think a small part of me has been looking forward to spending the night with him. Jackson infuriates me, but I’m comfortable around him. There’s something about being in his presence that feels like letting your hair down after a long day.

But there’s also excitement.

Like the unknown of what he’ll do or say thrills me. Will he make my blood boil, or will he make me laugh? Will he roll his eyes and dismiss something I’ve said, or will he stare at me with an intensity that feels like he’s trying to understand every part of me?

Keeping my voice low, I say, “Probably you.”

He raises his eyebrows, surprise etched in his features. “Probably?”

Too afraid to speak, I nod.

I brace myself for some type of ridicule, but he just holds my gaze, studying me. There’s no arrogant smirk pulling at his lips. No cocky lift of a brow. There’s nothing. He’s just watching me with a crease between his brow, deep in thought.

“And Keith?” he asks, his voice low.

Part of me wants to lie. I don’t trust what he might do with this information. He knows I’m not interested in Keith—that much he’s made perfectly clear, but he’s not asking that. He’s asking if I’d rather be here with Keith, right now, and the truth is I wouldn’t. When the word “You” leaves my lips, all the air in the room goes with it. My breath hitches in my throat as I wait for his reaction, but his furrowed brow just deepens.

His gaze dips to my mouth, lingering a beat longer than it should, and all the heat in my body rises to the surface. I can’t deny I’m attracted to him—especially when he’s not being an ass.

Especially when he’s looking at me like he wants to understand everything about me.

Doing my best to hide my shallow breathing, I say, “Why?” in a voice that’s hardly a whisper.

His eyes jump to meet mine. “Because,” he says, the fog in his eyes clearing. “I was thinking about kissing you.”

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