Page 21 of The Other One

As long as that’s all you give him.

There will be no sex tonight. There will be no sex tonight.

This mantra is on a loop in my head as I make my way to Jackson’s door. I’m not nervous about tonight per se, but the no-sex rule is still in effect, and it doesn’t hurt to remind myself one or two thousand times.

“There will be no sex tonight,” I mumble as I lift my fist to knock. The door swings open before my hand even touches the door, making me jump a little.

“Jesus, eager much? What were you doing, waiting with your eye to the peephole?” I ask as I shove past Jackson and set my purse on his kitchen counter, sliding out of my jacket and hanging it on the back of his barstool.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Nice to see you too, Red. Sorry, I heard someone talking outside my door, so I was curious.” He gives me a knowing smile. Busted.

Clearing my throat, I take a look around his place. Same as last time, cold and impersonal, but tonight the smells emanating from the kitchen are making my mouth water.

“Did you cook?” I ask, slightly perplexed by the idea. I don’t know any men who cook for themselves, and certainly not anything that would smell this amazing. Jackson walks toward the kitchen, grabbing a bottle from his wine rack on the way.

“Ah, no. I ordered Italian from my favorite place down the street. They make the best eggplant parmesan I’ve ever tasted.” He grabs a wine key from the drawer and opens the expensive bottle of red, pouring a generous amount into a glass before handing it to me.

“Trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?” I ask, only half joking.

“Nope.” He pops thepfor effect. “I heard you loud and clear. There will be no sex tonight.” He winks and heat crawls up my neck. Dammit, I thought I was being a lot quieter than I actually was when I gave myself that little pep talk at his door.

Clearing my throat, I take a sip of the delicious vintage. “Italian is my favorite. Eggplant parmesan specifically.”

“I know. I asked you, remember?” The corner of his mouth tips up before he clinks our wineglasses together and shoots me a wink.

I do remember him asking the question during one of his weird “get to know Abigail” text-a-thons. It just surprises me that he remembered. There’s an unwanted feeling swirling in my gut, making me feel slightly uncomfortable. Taking a page out of my mother’s book, I decide to ignore it and change the subject.

“Let’s eat, and we can discuss the plans for next week.” Grabbing my wine, I have a seat at the set table just off the kitchen. Jackson grabs the food that he plated in serving dishes, most likely a gift from his mother, and sets them between us. We dish up our plates and dig in.

“Mmm.” A moan escapes my lips when my lips wrap around a forkful of the cheesy goodness. Jackson looks at me for a moment with fire flaring to life in his eyes before looking back to his plate. This whole no-sex thing is going to be harder than I thought if he keeps giving me those heated looks. I repeat my mantra in my head a couple of times for good measure.

“So, Red, we established when I decided you were the girl for me. How about when you came to the same conclusion?”

Tilting my head for a moment, I contemplate how to answer. “I have to think about it. I should probably stay as close to the truth as possible.”

Jackson looks at me expectantly like I’m supposed to come up with something on the spot.

“It’s hard to say, Jackson. We didn’t exactly get on well the first several times we were together.” I think about the night our attraction exploded. In this very apartment. Maybe dinner here wasn’t the best idea. “I would probably say the way you came to my defense after the night out with Lindsey. Aiden was so angry, and you refused to let him make me feel bad. You had my back. That’s not something that happens often.”

Jackson looks at me with sad eyes. “Yeah, from the little you’ve told me about the situation with your dumb-as-fuck ex, it doesn’t sound like the people who are supposed to be on your side really are.”

Letting out a sardonic laugh, I stab my fork into the thick eggplant. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Let’s hear it. If we’re supposed to be in a relationship, it stands to reason that you would have shared this with me, no?” He sips his wine thoughtfully and sets his glass on the table, giving me his full and undivided attention.

Here goes.

“Davis didn’t just cheat on me with some random skank at a frat party. Well, apparently he did that too, but we’ll get there in a minute.” I take a fortifying sip—or giant gulp—of wine and continue. “I walked in on him getting a blow job from my best friend at his parents’ house right after our senior year at college. It was their annual Fourth of July barbecue. I thought we were on our way to the altar since we finished school and he’d be working with his dad. Apparently, he was just on his way to beating the record for most blow jobs received on summer vacation. Only, I guess he didn’t realize that it wouldn’t count toward his fraternity’s disgusting competition since he graduated. A fact that probably still irritates him to this day. Supposedly he was the reigning champion or some shit.”

The old feelings of hurt and disgust try to make their way to the surface. I shove them down with another swallow of wine.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims. “I’ve heard about stupid competitions like that happening in frat houses, but fuck, Abigail. I don’t even know what to say. What a dick.”

Hearing Jackson so outraged for me when my mom and sister wanted me to forgive and forget is soothing the wound that opens slightly every time I remember my mother’s opinion on the situation.

“Boys will be boys, honey,” she told me. “Don’t worry, he’ll tire of the other women, but you’ll be the one wearing his ring.” Like I would touch any ring he was going to give me with a ten-foot pole.

“My mom and sister were less than supportive, shall we say. Cesily had just started dating his brother, and my parents were really rooting for both of their daughters to marry into the Callaway legacy.” I roll my eyes in exasperation. “It would have been the feather in my mom’s cap for sure. Another thing for her to lord over the country club bitches.” A laugh escapes me, but there’s no humor behind it. “Guess I destroyed her plan for social domination once and for all.”

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