“Great,” I say dryly. “Can’t wait.”
“Have a good morning,” says Mia cheerily as she lets herself out, not even bothering to close the door.
I close the door behind her, glaring at Lacey who’s still sleeping.
A few hours later I’m strolling through the nearly deserted grocery store, stocking up on the college student essentials: ramen noodles, microwavable meals, paper plates and plastic silverware, and a box of cookies for special occasions. I’m about to get in line when a guy in his thirties or forties stops me by grabbing my forearm.
“Hey, Jeva,” says the man in a thick Latin accent. His eyes scan the contents of my basket and he smiles. “Damn, girl. You want to come back to my place and I’ll make you some real food? That body of yours deserves some real nourishment. None of this processed stuff.”
“Uh,” I say, taking a step back and trying to pull my arm free. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure my boyfriend would appreciate that. So I’ll have to pass.”
He doesn’t let go of my arm. “Just come with me, I’ll take care of--”
I notice movement from the corner of my eye at the same moment I see a hand squeeze the man’s forearm. He lets go immediately as he’s shoved back. He stumbles backwards, smashing into a display of glass salsa containers. Half of the jars fall around him, smashing and covering him in salsa.
“What the fuck!” he yells.
Jackson is standing between me and the guy. His height and the broadness of his shoulders always surprises me. I start thinking I must imagine how big he is until I see him again, and he’s just as impressive as I remember. The college guy notices too, and gets up carefully, trying not to cut himself on the glass.
“Here’s a tip,” says Jackson. “When a girl makes it clear she doesn’t want to be touched, you fucking let go. Unless you want to get touched.”
“Whatever pana,” says the guy, clutching his wrist where Jackson grabbed him. “Fuck you,” he says.
Jackson grips the guy’s shirt in both hands and actually lifts him off the ground like he’s a child. I see Jackson’s face scrunch in obvious pain as he strains his still-battered body too hard, but he doesn’t relent. He pins him against the shelves. One of the grocery store managers is fast walking toward us and speaking quickly into a walkie-talkie as he approaches.
“Jackson,” I say. “Come on. He’s not worth it.”
Jackson doesn’t seem to hear me, or he chooses not to. His face is pulled into a mask of rage as he pulls his right arm back and cracks his fist across the guy’s face. The force of the punch snaps the guy’s head to the side and sends him crumpling to the ground.
“Jackson!” I shout. “Stop it!”
He stands over the guy, chest heaving. “You working for the fucking Dominicans?” he asks.
“What?” asks the guy.
Two security guards come from behind Jackson and grab his arms, trying to pull him back. But the rent-a-cops are no match for him, even two on one. He wrestles free easily, pushing them back.
“The fucking Dominicans!” he shouts down at the guy. “Just tell them to leave the lights on. Because they pissed off the wrong guy.”
I reach to grab Jackson’s arm. It feels like warm granite. “Jackson, it’s okay. You have to stop. Please,” I urge him.
Some of the wildness leaves his eyes and he looks down, sighing.
The guards are standing just outside his reach, clearly out of their league and unsure what to do.
“I’ll escort myself out,” says Jackson. “Come on, Brianne.”
I follow behind him, feeling all the eyes in the store on us as we leave. Jackson fishes out a couple hundred dollar bills and slaps them on the customer service desk on our way out. “For her groceries.”
“What was that?” I ask once we’re outside. “And what are you doing here?”
Jackson shakes his head and clenches his jaw. “I had reason to believe I should keep an eye on you today. Don’t worry about it.”
“Too late,” I say irritably. “I’m worried about it. And I think I have a right to be. I looked over the contract, and if you expect me to sign something like that, I deserve to know what’s going on.”
He sighs. “I’ll be open with you. I promise it. Just not right now. I’ll just say there’s something I’m dealing with and it’s putting some extra stress on me.”
I cross my arms, staring at him while we stand in front of the grocery store. I still have trouble wrapping my head around the fact that I’m involved with a guy like Jackson. I guess from an outside perspective, it’d be easy to say I should just go along with whatever I have to, because guys like him are even more rare than one in a million. Most women probably let him get away with anything. But I’ve waited this long to really be with a guy in a serious relationship, and I’m not about to throw all my good sense out the window just because he’s sexy as sin. If he has issues, I want to know about them before I get any deeper into this.
“I need more than that,” I say.
“There’s nothing more to say. Nothing important. I’m handling it. I will have it handled soon, and it won’t be an issue for long.”
“What’s to stop that temper of yours from turning toward me?”
He shakes his head, bending his neck to meet my eyes as he cups my face with his large, possessive hands. “If you sign those papers, I’ll be your dom. You can bet your ass I’ll put my hands on you, but I promise you won’t want me to stop.”
I look away. “I’m being serious, Jackson.”
“So am I. What did you think about the contract?”
I know he’s diverting me from questioning him further, but I can also sense I’m not going to get more out of him right now. He’s hiding something though, and I’ll get it from him eventually. “I think it looks scary. I also wouldn’t want the money. If I do this. If I do,” I repeat, not wanting to make him think I’ve already decided. “I don’t want to feel like some kind of prostitute. I’m not going to let you buy me.”
He gives me a strange look. “The money doesn’t matter to me. Let me help you. I want to help. Even if you decide not to sign.”
“No. Thank you, but no. If something happens between us, I don’t want money to confuse it. I don’t want to let it cloud my judgment. If I’m with you, it will be because you’re the right one, not because you made it easier to pay my bills.”
“Goddamn,” he says softly, kissing me. “How did I get lucky enough to find you?”
“Technically, I found you,” I say, grinning.
He chuckles. “You get any more perfect, and I’ll be the one hesitating. At some point, there’s such a thing as too good to be true. You’re going to make me suspicious.” He narrows his eyes at me, taking me by the shoulders and making a show of examining me. “Are you a serial killer?”
I laugh. “Very funny.”
“How long are you going to string him along?” asks Lacey.
We’re sitting in the common area of the upper floor of our dorms. Students are still wandering out of bed every few minutes and heading to the communal showers to get ready for morning classes.