Page 9 of Prey Tell
I snort. “Fuck off.”
“Are you excited for tomorrow?”
I shrug. “It’s just an engagement party. You know I hate when the attention is on me.”
“Please tell me you’re wearing white,” he chides, goading me.
Heknowshow I feel about the whole virginal bride thing.
I pretend to gag. “No. My dress is black.”
He hollows his cheekbones but doesn’t say anything when he goes back to typing. I play with a loose thread on the sleeve of my robe, trying to ignore the hardness in my gut that’s still lingering from earlier. I grab my laptop from the coffee table and take a seat on the opposite chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jackson glance over at me.
“Jules, you should go to sleep. You look exhausted.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tell him, jaw hard. “And I will. I just need to do a bit of work before tomorrow.”
When I look back up at him, I see a mirror version of myself. Hardworking, determined, passionate. While he’s planning an entire production ofMuch Ado About Nothingfor four-year-olds,I’m working on my dissertation which is due in three months. Sometimes I forget how similar we are—how we both go after what we want, like it’s the only thing we can see on the horizon. How we learned to be self-sufficient and rely on our self-discipline like it was the only lifeline we had. How we both work hard to be thebestin order to cover up our shortfalls.
Losing our parents so young meant that we needed to keep moving forward.
Keep our eyes on the prize.
But I’m not entirely sure the prize is what either of us expected.
My research has only gotten more complex over the last few months, and soon I’d need to stop compiling new data in order to collate a submissible piece of work. For any normal person, this was a natural part of the process. But my mind never stopped working, so I knew it was going to be a rough couple of months trying to figure out what I was going to include and what I was going to leave out.
It was like asking a toddler to choose their favorite candy.
Though I’d solidified my research questions and theories, my arguments needed work. I wasalreadyfretting about them.
It didn’t help that I was getting a PhD in Human Sexuality.
Sexuality meant a lot of studies on orgasms and sexual relationships.
The irony wasnotlost on me.
Despite that, though, I didn’t have room to complain. Dylan and I had our engagement party tomorrow. He’d be moving in soon, and I’d already had numerous assistant professorship offers from prestigious universities all over the country. In the world of academia, that was practically unheard of. But I’d made a name for myself in the human sexuality field over the years—publishing papers once a year, coauthoring several large studies which were all presented on, and serving as an assistant editor on several renowned academic journals.
Once I finished this fucking dissertation, my real life could begin. I’d been working toward this moment for over eight years, and everything was falling into place.
I was doingjust fine.
“How was your date last night?” I ask absentmindedly as I format a new reference.
“Ugh. She was fine, but I didn’t see a future with her, so I left early.” He gives me alookand continues. “Before you ask, of course I was honest with her. I’m not an asshole, and I didn’t want to waste her time or mine.” He chews on his lip for a few minutes. “I’m beginning to think that something is wrong with me.”
I glance up at him and take in his pinched, unhappy expression. My heart sinks.
Oh, Jackson.
I carefully weigh my words before speaking. “Was it something she said?”
He shakes his head. “No. There was no chemistry.” Sighing heavily, his expression turns drawn. “I think I’m done dating for a while. It’s too disheartening.”
My lips pull downward. “Whatever you decide to do—even if it’s forming a vow of celibacy—just know that I always support you.”
His eyes soften as he looks over at me. “I know, Jules.”
