Two Weeks (12 page)

It doesn't help that my parents are fairly conservative and always got worried and paranoid when I dated anyone growing up.

But it's not like I can go stay at a hotel or something.

"Isn't Max going to be upset that you're not coming back?" my dad asks, interrupting the question I was supposed to answer. He's almost finished his hamburger, but he's taking his sweet time with the last few bites to be polite. He's always been a fast eater.

As usual, my mom made one extra burger—it normally ends up in the fridge and is eaten by my dad for the lunch the next day—and I'm halfway through it. I grab a handful of chips as I consider what to say. I need to be circumspect. They haven't even met Max, except through a couple of Skype video chats. And while my family knows my
former
plans for the future, this situation could get really messy if I lie about it.

"Max broke up with me," I blurt out. "So I'm staying here for a bit, until the dust settles. I've got some vacation time to use up. Maybe I'll go up north or something. If that's okay."

My parents' faces light up with intense concern. "Oh, honey," my mom says. "Of course, that's fine."

"Are you doing okay?" my dad asks. "Did you think this was going to happen? Were there any signs?"

"I'm fine," I say. "And no, I didn't think it would happen. I'm so shocked that it doesn't even hurt."

"Did he say
why
?" my mom asks.

I've been pretty blunt thus far, so I decide not to waver. "He was seeing my best friend behind my back. She called and told me the other day. Right after the reunion." Once again, I decide
not
to mention the whole pregnancy thing.

"That son of a bitch!" my mom says. It's totally out of character and makes me choke on my burger. I finally get it down with a swig of water.

"Well, you're better off without him then," my dad grumbles, proudly defending his daughter. I'm honored. "He doesn't know what he's missing out on, that's for sure. I'm just glad you didn't wind up in that place together, especially with this going on behind your back."

"I know," I say. "I got lucky, actually. Maybe he did me a favor." I throw a handful of chips into my mouth and don't even notice how obnoxiously I'm crunching them until I realize I can't even hear my mom speaking over the chewing.

"Huh?" I say after realizing she's waiting for me to respond.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want," she repeats.

"Oh, thank you," I say.

"You seem to be handling it well," my dad says. "I'm proud of you. Not all of us men are so bad, I swear."

I blush a little. "Thanks, dad. But I'm still a little shocked. It's ridiculous."

"Damn right," he says sharply.

"So where were you today?" My mom asks again as if she didn't already try once before.

"I was just, uh, hanging out with Liz," I say awkwardly.

"I thought she was leaving today too."

My dad doesn't seem to be paying attention to our dialogue; he's tapping away on his cell phone.

My heart is pounding. I feel absolutely idiotic and immature about lying. But I also don't know how they would take the whole "hanging out with Jackson" thing, especially in the wake of me just admitting I was dumped.

I don't want them to think I'm just jumping into the arms—and bed—of any guy that will take me. Maybe I'm ridiculous, but I can't shake the feeling.

"She's staying a little while longer." The words feel slimy as they come out. I really dislike this choice, but I'm not sure what else to do just yet.

"Well, that's good. So you'll have someone to hang out with."

"Yeah," I say. "What did you do today?" I ask her.

When she starts talking about her normal stuff, I'm relieved. She's not focused on me anymore and I'm glad to have escaped the spotlight. After I finish eating, I load the dishwasher and help her tidy up the kitchen.

"I've got to take a shower," I say. "And then I'm going to watch a movie with Liz."

"Okay," she says. "I think I'm going to head out on a walk."

My dad nods and heads into the living room to watch television.

I jump into the shower and wash all of the grime away—both physically and mentally.

***

Jackson

I
feel weird after admitting so much to Ally. I'm surprised that I actually did it, but blown away by how much of a catharsis it really was. It's clear that she still has her doubts about the whole story, but I don't need to illuminate those dark areas right now, not after all I've done to come to terms with them myself.

I'm filled with an optimistic energy I haven't felt in a long time. I feel giddy and excited, like I'm about to head into the ring for a fight. And dammit, I've felt that way all day.

Still, I'm conflicted because I know we only have a maximum of two weeks for whatever this is. For whatever this will become.

It has to happen
now
. I want to rush forward and make the most out of it. But I'm also scared about growing too attached, especially with my history with her family and the fact that she'll be leaving again soon. So soon.

Too soon.

I don't want to be crushed when she returns to Boston. Maybe it will happen, and maybe it won't. There's no way to tell.

I shouldn't worry about this right now,
I think.
This is an opportunity.

I eat a steak by myself, but I don't feel lonely at all. The thought of her presence is enough to keep me company. I nervously await her text, thinking for some reason that she's going to bail out on me and head back to Boston. I try to swallow the feeling with each bite, but it keeps coming up again.

Thankfully, the food stays down.

And then my phone buzzes and all of those negative feelings disappear:

Ally: I'll be over in 20, okay?

Me: Okay. See you then.

I don't even remember typing the response. It's all such a blur. She was here earlier, but I still scramble around to clean up the place. I wash my plate and silverware quickly and put it in the drying rack. There's really no mess, yet I'm dusting and sweeping and vacuuming as rapidly as I can.

As I shut off the vacuum, I hear a knock at the door.

Shit. She's probably been knocking for ten minutes and I couldn't hear her over the roar of the vacuum.

I rush to the door and open it. My jaw drops—she's wearing an incredible blue summer dress, one that clings to her body in all the right places. There's some visible cleavage, so I have to fight to keep my eyes locked with hers. And her smooth, tanned legs are absolutely killing me. I want to shrivel up and die—in the best sort of way.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" she asks. "What was all that racket?"

"Shit, I'm sorry," I say. "I, uh, got crumbs on the floor and had to vacuum them up."

"Are you nervous about your house or something? I'm not
that
superficial."

"No way!" I say. "Just fell behind on my chores."

She steps inside and I close the door behind her. I watch her as she curiously eyes the interior. "Chores? Do you pay yourself an allowance too? It looks totally spotless in here. I think you're lying to me."

I start laughing, and it's borderline uncontrollable. "Okay, so I was trying to clean up for you. It was just this irrational... urge, I guess."

The dress rises and falls as she walks, and I'm totally beguiled by the motion. She's so beautiful, and I'm thankful that she's in my house with me. She could ask me to do literally anything—and I would most likely do it.

"Have you thought about what to watch?" she asks.

"Not really," I say. "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," she says.

"I was just going to have water," I admit. "I drink too much these days."

"Water is fine." She smirks. "Do you have any more of those beers?"

I walk over to the fridge and open it. There's one more on the shelf. I grab it and proudly display it for her. "You just got lucky."

"I keep thinking that," she says and smiles. I take a moment to admire her teeth; they're pristine, impeccable, perfect. Genuine pearly-whites. "Do you like staying here?" she asks. "It feels different at night."

I pop the cap off the beer and hand it to her. "It's fine, I guess. It's not really my place, but it is. I'm twenty-eight years old, basically unemployed, and living at home. Exciting, huh?"

She chuckles, and as usual, I'm so happy to hear her laugh. "Oh, Jackson," she says, "it's not that simple. You know that. No need to be so self-deprecating."

My mouth feels dry, so I fill a cup with water and take a sip. "I guess you're right."

Ally takes a sip of the beer and sits down on the couch. I love the delicate way that she moves, the way that she daintily plants herself on the couch and settles into a comfortable position. "I don't think I could do the same thing if well, you know, something happened like that."

"Don't even bother thinking about it. It's not something you plan, because if you do, you'll go insane. You just deal with it—
if
it happens." I'm firm, just as firm as I need to be.

She looks up at me with curious eyes. "You're totally right," she says. "You can't worry about all that could go wrong. The stress alone will give you cancer."

"Right," I say.

I feel giddy and excited, a feeling I haven't felt in so long. It's strange that I'm here with another adult and I feel like I've never even had a girlfriend before.

I suddenly remember the other night—and the thought is repulsive.

I sure as hell wasn't giddy about fucking that blonde in the bathroom.

"Are you coming?" Ally calls from the living room.

I stand by the fridge, just out of view, staring at the wall like I'm in an art museum. "One sec," I say. I furtively open the cupboard and grab my faithful bottle of bourbon. I pop off the top and take a big swig.

My nerves are frazzled and I really need something to lessen the edge. It burns as it goes down, that faithful burn that's always there for me when I need it. I automatically bring it to my lips again, but I stop abruptly, realizing that oblivion is not what I'm after.

I close the bottle and return it to its rightful place in the cupboard. I wash the taste out of my mouth with water, swishing it around and then swallowing.

"What are you doing?" she shouts. "I'm on vacation, which means I want to
do stuff
, not just sit around." She's feisty.

"Sorry," I say again. I top off my water glass at the sink and then head to her. She's in an awkward position on the couch, one that forces me to almost sit on top of her. I kind of like that idea, so I nestle into the tiny amount of space that's available to her right. She slowly fine tunes her position until I can fit.

"You're taking up the whole couch," I complain.

"Well, now
you
are," she rebuffs.

I set my glass on the table to the left of the couch and take a deep breath. "Okay, what should we watch?" I fire up the TV and Blu-ray player and go to the Netflix app. A number of recommended titles populate on the screen, and I hope that she'll jump on one of them. I don't want to spend all night trying to pick a movie.

"I have no clue," she says, killing my hopes of a quick resolution immediately. "What do you like?"

"I'm not that picky."

She cocks an eyebrow at me. "You're just saying that to be polite. I don't really care what we watch. As long as it's entertaining and doesn't put me to sleep."

I nod and turn toward her. I can smell her hair from here, a fresh lavender/floral scent that is subtle, yet nearly pungent. She's absolutely gorgeous in the soft light spilling in from the kitchen. I don't know where my head is—I only know that it's not
here
.

"I don't have any ideas," I say. "I want
you
to pick. You're the opinionated one."

She gives me a curious look. "Have you been drinking, Jackson?" I'm so surprised by her inquisition that I don't even have a chance to respond before she's wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her lips against mine. My eyes lock shut reflexively and her tongue swims in my mouth.

I feel the strands of her hair around my head, the tiny sensations as they brush against my face and neck. I smell her more than ever, and the incredible aroma overwhelms me. She's like a goddess, powerful and sexy, battling my tongue with her own.

I feel her breasts against my arm and shoulder, and I'm so hard it feels like a curse.

My fingers separate the strands of her hair, pulling her to me, bringing her closer and closer, trying to totally absorb her. My heart rate is higher than if I was doing sprints or in the heat of battle.

Flashes of Saturday night hit me. I don't want to rush with Ally, even though we don't have much time together. I don't want to be so trashy; I want to be gentlemanly. I want to be good to her, respectful, kind—

Ally pulls away and gazes at me. "
Why
are you drinking?" she asks, killing my train of thought instantly. "I could taste the whiskey in your mouth. I don't care, but I thought you said—"

"Okay, I had a swig," I admit. "I'm just kind of nervous and I don't know why."

She grins at me, then leans forward and kisses my cheek. "Big tough
Juggernaut
is nervous around a girl. I guess I
do
know how to beat you in the ring now. I've found your kryptonite."

I laugh and then shrug at her. I can feel the trepidation building inside me as I consider telling her the truth about the other night. "You're an alligator, remember? Not a
girl
." I stare at the screen, perusing the random movie titles. I can't even read them because my mind is thinking so hard about the present situation. "You're a tougher foe than you think."

She shrugs my remark right off and goes directly for the throat. "How do you deal with rapid fan girls? Do they throw themselves at you after a fight? I mean, a big, sweaty, sexy man like you must be irresistible."

Ah, shit
. That's a tough one. "Let's just say it doesn't involve courtship and dinner dates." I scoff and look away from Ally. I'm not really sure how much I want to say.