Page 85 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

When we reach his car, Jackson helps me into the seat and buckles my seatbelt for me. He’s gentle and sweet, and when he shuts the door and walks around the front, my eyes track him the entire way. He gets in and pauses before putting the key in the ignition. “Are you okay?”

I guess my staring wasn’t subtle.

Leaning my head back against the seat, a soft, “Mm-hmm,” leaves my lips. I am okay. I am beyond okay. Because he’s here and being around him somehow makes everything okay—even the fact that he’s leaving soon.

Jackson lets out a breath of laughter. “Let’s get you home, Red.”

The nickname makes a small smile come to my lips. “Okay.”

As we drive, Jackson goes on about how he can’t believe I almost left, but I just listen. I let the sound of his voice wash over me for the short drive back to campus, finding comfort in all of it.

The dorm is quiet when we get back—everyone is likely asleep or still at the bar. Jackson takes my keys to unlock my door, and as soon as I step inside, I take off my jeans and kick them toward the closet. I can’t wear jeans when I’m drunk. They’re the most uncomfortable piece of clothing. I consider taking my sweater off too, but it’s loose enough. It can stay.

Jackson clears his throat, and I look over my shoulder at him. His eyes jump from my pink lace underwear to my face, and I recognize the flash of hunger in them. “Do you need anything?” His back is against my desk, his hands gripping the edge, and I can’t stop myself from looking him up and down.

He’s wearing dark jeans, with a gray shirt and a black jacket.

And he looks good.

Really good.

“Are you going back to the party?” I ask, ignoring his question.

He shakes his head. “No. I’ll call it a night.”

I nod, taking a step toward him. It’s probably how many drinks I’ve had, but, right now, I don’t care that he made me angry earlier.

I don’t care that he didn’t tell me he was leaving sooner.

I don’t even care that he’s leaving at all.

Right now, all I know is that I want him. The damage is already done, right? We’ve already slept together. I’ll already miss him when he leaves. One more night with him won’t change any of that.

“Why didn’t you want that guy to drive me?”

He scoffs, but his eyes track my movement as I take a step closer. “Because I didn’t trust him.”

“And?” I ask, taking another step.

“And I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, watching me carefully.

By the time I take my third step, I’m standing right in front of him. “Because?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

Jackson’s gaze hardens, his eyes dipping to my mouth before meeting my stare again. “You know why.”

I let my fingers lightly graze over his T-shirt, feeling the hard lines of the muscles underneath, and he sucks in a breath.

God, I love the way he responds to me.

Pushing myself onto my toes, I press my lips to his neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. A low, guttural sound leaves his throat, making me clench his shirt tighter. He says, “We shouldn’t,” but instead of finishing his thought, he tilts his head to give me more access. Working my way up, my teeth nip at his ear, making him curse my name.

Dropping back onto my heels, I look down at his hands. His knuckles are white as he grips the desk behind him. He hasn’t made a move to touch me, but it looks like holding back is taking a toll on him.

I don’t want him to hold back.

My eyes trail over his body, and I sink down until I’m kneeling in front of him.

“Margot,” he says, his voice strained. I look up at him, but as soon as my eyes lift to meet his, he mutters, “Fuck,” and shakes his head like just seeing me on my knees in front of him is too much.

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