Page 83 of I Just Want to be Yours

Braden sets a plate of pancakes in front of me, and I glance up to smile and thank him. He returns the gesture before turning back to the stove. Rae and Matt have started debating something about Thanksgiving, so I go ahead and tapon the band’s tagged photos. They’re usually just shots of the stage or pictures of groups of friends at the shows, but I like looking at them. It’s fun to see people enjoying their music.

I pause when I look at the first thumbnail. It’s not a picture from their show last night. It’s a picture from what looks to be the same bar they were sitting in for the other photo. I tap on the image to make it bigger and blink. The photo is of a blonde girl in a leather jacket pressed against Jackson with his back to the bar. Her hands are in his hair, and even though they aren’t kissing, her face is only inches from his. He’s staring at her intently, but I can’t figure out if it’s because he’s pissed off or turned on. Nothing in his body language is pushing her away, but he doesn’t look like he’s pulling her closer either.

There’s a second picture with it, so I quickly swipe to see. It’s just them again, almost in the same position, but now it looks like she’s whispering something in his ear. Her hands have moved from his hair to his waist. I have to zoom in when my eyes land on her fingers because they’re completely tucked into the waistline of his pants.

There are only the two pictures, but I keep swiping back and forth between them like I might have missed something the first five times. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but this doesn’t look good. My heart pounds in my chest like a battle drum and sweat prickles my forehead. Then I read the caption.

I was lucky enough to score tickets to see Crooner Sins and American Thieves last night! I guess you could say I was lucky enough to score in other ways, too . . .

There’s a wink emoji followed by a black heart, and the whole thing makes me feel sick.

“What do you think, Margot?” Rae asks, and I tear my eyes away from the screen.

“Think about what?”

Her eyebrows furrow slightly, but she says, “Matt coming home with us for Thanksgiving? This way he can meet my parents while we’re there.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “Um, yeah. I think that would be great.”

Rae looks back at Matt. “See, it would be great.”

Slowly getting to my feet, I try to calm my racing heart. “I’m sorry. I have to call Jackson. I’ll be right back.”

“Everything okay?” Rae asks behind me as I hurry toward the door.

“Yeah!” I call out over my shoulder.

As soon as I’m safely in the hallway and peering eyes are all behind closed doors, I feel the hot threat of tears. It’s like I’ve stepped into some alternate reality where Jackson might not be the person I thought he was, and I hate this heart-sinking feeling making my palms sweat.

Rushing into my apartment, I’m able to make it to my bedroom before the first tear falls. I quickly wipe it away, but I pull up the post again, screenshotting both pictures like they might disappear any minute.

Now that I’m alone, I try to study the pictures more closely. I zoom in enough to see her black nail polish poking through strands of his hair as she looks like she’s thirty seconds away from kissing him. I study the set of his jaw and wonder if he’s struggling to hold back because he wants her. Is he staring at her intently because he’s ten seconds away from saying “fuck it” and giving in to the temptation?

I click on the girl’s profile only to have the rest of her pictures feel like a punch to the chest. She’s gorgeous. And not in an underrated, quiet way. She’s stunning, and she poses in these pictures like sheknowsshe’s stunning. I bet she could seduce anyone. So, the question is . . . did she?

Part of me doesn’t want to know. I’m not sure I’m ready to confirm anything. But a larger, louder part of me needs toknow if something happened. Well, from the looks of things, something probably did. Now it’s just a matter of how much or how little. How much am I willing to forgive?

With shaking hands, I let out a breath and press the call button next to Jackson’s name.

49

jackson

I groanas the annoying buzz wakes me up too soon and feel around for my phone, determined not to lift my head if I don’t have to. I swear to God, if Brian or Dave wants us up before checkout for whatever reason, I’m going to tell them to fuck off.

Unsuccessful, I lift my head and wince at the light shining through the crack in the curtains. It takes me a minute for my eyes to adjust, but then I see the lit-up screen in the middle of the bed.

It’s only when I see Margot’s name and photo that I feel more awake. Propping myself up on my elbow, I reach over for the phone and swipe to answer.

“Hey. Everything okay?” My voice is rough with sleep.

She’s quiet on the other end of the phone.

“Margot? What’s wrong?”

There’s another pause, and then she says, “Did something happen last night?”

“Last night?” I ask, my palm rubbing against my forehead like it will somehow clear away the fog in my brain. “We played in Lexington.”

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