Page 14 of Inevitable Love
Instead of chatting with Cal, he’s standing at the side of the group, arms crossed over his chest and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but at this reception.
Jules and Kate chatter about the bride and groom, but I keep watch on Jackson. And the more I do, the more I realize he’s being standoffish to everyone.
It’s not long before he collects me and ushers me to a corner table, where he puts me against the wall and seats himself facing the room. Not completely hiding me behind him but definitely seated in such a way that doesn’t promoteconversation.
Something is up, and the longer I sit here overanalyzing, the more I’m convinced he’s regretting bringing me as his plus-one.
I thought we’d be dancing and having fun. Music is pumping through the loudspeakers. The dance floor is littered with couples. There’s even a group of women at the table next to us, and more than once, I’ve caught them giving eyes to the man accompanying me, but he’s being quiet and not himself. He’s sitting beside me with an arm draped over the back of my chair, nursing a beer and being way too handsome for his own good but also utterly silent.
It’s not him, and it’s not us, and it frustrates the hell out of me.
I thought we’d at least mingle, or rather he would while I people watch. But no. He’s been by my side and silent for the last half hour, and it’s driving me insane. He’s doing this because of that stupid conversation we had, or some ill-conceived notion that if he leaves me to do his own thing, I’ll be proven right about him ditching his date while he talks to everyone else in the room.
But he’s not holding up his own standard. Nothing about this frustrating evening is making me feel like I have his full attention. Far from it. I feel more like he’s embarrassed by me.
If he doesn’t want to be here with me, why did he invite me? If I leave, will he find his way over to the next table and take one or two of those women home? And why does that thought hurt?
“What are you doing?” I blurt, too damn transfixed by the way his lips kiss the rim of the bottle.
His eyebrows dart to his forehead like I’ve caught him off guard. “Drinking a beer?”
“No.” I jerk my head. “You aren’t. You’re sittinghere babysitting me. Making a point after that conversation last week about being left sitting alone at a table. I’d much rather be alone, where I could at least attempt to pick up a date for the night, if you’re going to sit there being all broody.”
“Mags, what the hell are you on about?” A frown mars his stupidly handsome face.
This night is going to shit. I don’t want to be here.
I huff, pushing away the wineglass I’ve been sipping from. It’s time for something stronger. “I’m tired of sitting here holding you back. It’s obvious you don’t want to be here with me. Good news for you, there’s a whole table full of women right there who would love to have some of that special Jax charisma aimed their way.” It’s been a long time since I unloaded such a scathing string of sentences, and it feels good to stand up for myself. I shove my chair back, the metal feet screeching loud to my ears despite the volume of the DJ, and stalk away without another glance.
Am I being irrational? Maybe, but whatever.
If Jackson wants to be a broody asshole, fine. For once, I look like a million bucks. And instead of reveling in it and stepping out of my comfort zone, I’ve been stuck sitting in a corner. No more.
I down a glass of champagne from a server on my way to the open bar, where I order a vodka tonic, heavy on the vodka.
“And I’ll take a whiskey.” The low voice at my shoulder has me whirling.
His glacial blue eyes glitter in the twinkling light as he looks at me. “What?”
Is he serious? My temper reignites, and I fight back the urge to shove my heel through histoe.
“You’ve made your point, Jackson. It’s fine. Go. Have fun.”
He blows out a breath and turns to fully face me, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Mags. I’m all in my head tonight. It’s not fair to you.”
“No. It’s not.” Why is it I can find the courage to say things to Jackson that I’ve never been able to articulate before? I unload all the pent-up aggravation the last hour has gifted me. “If you don’t want to be here, fine. If you don’t want to be seen with me, fine. I came here as a favor to you, but this DJ is playing some hella good music, and I look fabulous. I’m tired of sitting back, watching everyone else have a good time.”
The bartender returns with our drinks, and I march through the open doors that will take me away from this man and the stupid conundrum he is. The courtyard is empty of partygoers and just the reprieve I need. A narrow walkway winds through manicured flower beds in full bloom. A water fountain in the corner is supposed to lend a comforting effect, but it’s the gate at the end of the walkway I’m aiming for as I round the path.
“Maggie, wait.”
I stop and whirl on him. He slams into me like he wasn’t expecting me to turn around, and my breath swooshes from my lungs. His big hands land on my hips, steadying me as we jostle back two steps before the brick wall lining the courtyard halts our progress. Suddenly, I’m pressed up between a cold, hard wall and a warm, hard man. The hands at my hips flex, fingers digging into the fleshy bits I hate so much.
He swallows thickly and watches me in a way he’s never looked at me before. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s heat in his eyes. But he gets whatever he’s feeling undercontrol by glancing around as if to see who might be nearby. Deep blue eyes bore into mine. “I’m just kind of thrown off by…” His gaze floats from my eyes to my mouth and then away as he swipes a hand down his face like he’s trying to decide how much to tell me. Finally, after a lengthy pause, he murmurs, “I turned in my application last week.”
Oh.Oh.
Well, haven’t I just been a shit friend, making his broodiness all about me, when he’s been up in his head for a truly valid reason. This isn’t about me at all.
