21. Jackson

Sweat poured down my back in droplets, the heat up far too high in my personal gym. The stair master was kicking my ass because I hadn't exercised in nearly a week and it showed.

I clicked through article after article on my phone, most of them about me, my ‘fiancée', or our engagement. I needed some form of entertainment to get me through my workout and laughing about the fake gossip spreading about us was ideal, even if it irritated me.

Jackson Big and his new fiancée Miranda Littleson planning a wedding in Egypt?

Uh, no. Absolutely not.

Miranda Littleson: everything we know about the former child star.

Where on earth did they come up with that?

Jackson Big's new fiancée is pregnant!

Nope. Unless she has something to tell me. But I highly doubt she'd tell the press before telling me.

My phone buzzed in my hand as I swiped, lighting up the screen with Samantha's face and name, a little PR symbol next to it. I answered.

"What's up?" I wheezed, hitting the stop button on the stair master and following it down, my aching legs hitting the ground.

"I just wanted to check something with you. Do you have a minute?" The sound of papers shuffling in the background echoed through the phone.

"Yeah, shoot."

"Great. So, you're probably not too aware of this yet, but your inboxes are, well, overflowing," she explained. "It's too much for us to handle with you being in the media like you are right now. There's a lot of spam that we have to sort through in order to find legitimate requests from reporters and journalists. Well, spam and a few death threats."

It's fine. It's not related.

I chuckled. "Yeah, that's not unusual."

"I know that. But we're struggling to keep up. Would it be okay if I hired another secretary to help us sort through all of it? Otherwise, stuff is going to get missed, and I doubt you want that. Ideally, we need to be on top of this shit in order to get the media off your backs."

I scratched the little bit of scruff growing under my chin, making a mental note to shave before bed. "Uh, yeah. That's fine. We definitely don't want to miss any important bits."

"Amazing. Thanks, Jack. I'll let you know when we've got someone, but I'm going to shift one of the HR reps over to cover in the meantime, they're not too busy right now."

"No problem?—"

Another call made my phone buzz against my ear.

"Hold on, Sam."

I pulled it away, checking the screen, and my stomach dropped. Why are you calling me?

"Same, I've got to go. Thanks again," I blurted, hitting the end call button and answering the other.

"Hello? What's up?"

Giggles. So many giggles.

"Mandy?"

"Hi, Jack," she slurred, her voice far too loud. Drunk. "How are you?"

Grabbing the towel from the stair master, I wiped down the back of my neck as I made my way toward the door. "Well, I'm sober, for one. How are you?"

She hiccuped, the sound bleeding through the speaker. "I'm amazing. So good. A little lost, but good."

"Lost?"

"Mmm-hmm. Amanda and Harry already went back to the hotel."

The sound of people mingling, chatting, and singing started pouring through the phone as I made my way through my living room, down the stairs, and toward the door. "What about Tiana?"

"She left with her friends."

"For fucks sake, Mandy." I held the phone between my ear and shoulder as I slid my jacket over my arms. The closest shoes were slippers, and they were going to have to do. "Where are you?"

"Don't really know," she slurred. She shouted something behind the phone, something that sounded suspiciously like an order for a rum and coke. "I found a bar so I'm just kind of hanging out here."

"Great," I mumbled, pulling open the front door. Bitter air hit me like a wave, leaving my shorts covered legs exposed to the freezing air. "Listen. Send me your location and I'll be there as soon as I can."

She giggled again, the unmistakable lilt to her voice that told me she had a straw between her teeth. "Don't be silly, Jackson. I'm all the way out in Denver. That's, like, almost forty minutes away."

"Not with me behind the wheel."

"You're so dramatic. I'm fine, Jack. I'll find someone nice enough to drive me to the hotel?—"

"Absolutely fucking not. You're staying exactly where you are and you're going to send me your location. Now." I ripped the driver's side door of my Ferrari open, wishing I'd had a spare five minutes to pre-warm the car, but it would warm up soon enough. She was silly drunk and a fucking target.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I will check every single fucking bar in Denver until I find you."

"Can I tell you a secret, Jack?" She asked, her voice fading into the background noise.

I took a deep breath as I started the engine, switching the phone to Bluetooth, her voice coming out of my car speakers instead. "If you send me your location."

She was silent for a moment, just a few faint noises making their way through. I could hear Shania Twain in the background, so I was guessing she was in a southern-themed bar. My phone lit up with a text from her with her exact location. The Grizzly Rose. I sighed a breath of relief.

"Okay, you can tell me your secret now."

"Wait, there's one of those electric bull riding things here?—"

"Mandy, no. Tell me your secret."

She hiccupped. "I miss you."

She's just drunk. She doesn't mean it.

"And I kind of wanted you to come get me tonight."

My fingers gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles going white. "Well, it's a good thing that I'm on my way, princess."

————

I waded through the sea of people crowding the bar, men in cowboy hats line dancing and women in their daisy dukes bouncing along with them. I glanced at the electric bull as I passed, half expecting her to be on it, but thankfully, it was empty.

I spotted her bun first, loose and nearly falling out. She was wearing the sequined black dress I'd bought her, one strap was falling off, and her heels were resting on the floor beneath her. Her head rested heavily against the likely sticky counter, a half-drunk glass of rum and coke next to her. Even drunk off her ass and half-dead on the counter of a random bar, she still looked beautiful. She was lucky that the press hadn't found her.

I came up behind her, my hand landing on her bare shoulder blades, her body jumping beneath my fingertips. "There you are, princess," I drawled, leaning over her as she lifted her head toward me. A little trail of drool hung from her red lips, far too enticing for my own good and hers considering how absolutely plastered she was.

"Jack," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the blare of Toby Keith. Her gaze met mine, eyes wide as saucers as I dragged my thumb under her lip and wiped away the saliva. "You came."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Of course I did. Did you think I was going to let you wander around Denver at the start of winter, alone, in the middle of the goddamn night?"

"What time is it?" She asked. The glare of the spinning lights overhead landed on her, lighting every inch of her beautiful face, every spot of her flawless makeup that had somehow stood the test of whatever had gone down throughout the evening.

"About three in the morning."

"Shit," she mumbled, scooting her butt to the edge of the barstool and stretching her feet down to reach the floor. She slid her shoes on one at a time, her fingers fumbling with the little straps until I reached down to help her. We needed to get out of there and into the privacy of my car as quickly as we could before anyone noticed who we were. The last thing either of us needed was more publicity, drunken at that. "Thanks, panda bear."

The breath left my lungs as the words crossed her lips.

She was just drunk. Yeah, but it's been ten years. It didn't mean anything. You know it meant something. She didn't know what she was saying. She couldn't control her mouth. Isn't that exactly what you wanted? The truth from her?

I released a breath as I stood straight, my leather jacket crinkling uncomfortably against her sequined dress as I wrapped one arm around her waist, hoisting her up and onto her feet. "Can you walk?"

She snorted as she took one wobbly step. "Obviously. I'm not a baby."

One more step and her heel snapped to the side, her foot going out from under her, my arm sweeping her back to her feet. "So that was a lie, then."

"No. It was a stretch," she clarified, her giggles breaking through the sober mask she so desperately tried to cling to.

I held her around her waist, taking the brunt of her weight as I practically carried her out the front of the bar, leaving Toby Keith and his far-too-excited fans behind. The bitter air whipped around us in an instant, sending the little curls hanging loose about her face flying, her eyes widening at the sheer sharpness of it.

I made a mental note to make a complaint about The Grizzly Rose when I had the chance as I opened up the passenger side door, depositing her in her rightful spot beside mine. They shouldn't have served her more alcohol, not when she was as drunk as she was. And they definitelyshould have done more to help.

Though I guess I was thankful they hadn't called the police. Her mugshot would paint the tabloids for weeks.

"Jack," she mumbled again. Those fucking red lips, those half-lidded eyes. Absolutely not.

Taking a shaky breath and urging my blood flow away from my pelvis, I shut her door, going around to the driver's side and slotting myself in beside her.

————

I got distracted and spotted a classic, old-school style diner halfway back to Boulder. Food would sober her up and make her feel less like she was dying in the morning.

She sat back into the red vinyl of the booth, her droopy eyes on mine, a coy little smile on her mouth as she stole a slice of bacon from my plate. It made me think far too much about the times we had back at NYU, the late-night study sessions or dates we'd have in the diner by campus, that last night when I'd finally found enough courage to ask her to be mine officially.

"Thank you for this," she cooed, biting down on the fatty strip that ran along the edge of the slice. "It's definitely helping."

"I can tell." The edge of my lip twitched as I reached across the table, stabbing my fork straight into the top of her stack of pancakes. I plopped it back onto my plate, my conquest feeling far too laughable as she glared at me. "You wore the ring tonight."

She nodded as she swallowed. "I wasn't sure if there'd be press. You would've been surprised if you'd seen the way some of Tiana's friends reacted to it, though."

"Tiana's friends are assholes," I grunted, shoving a massive bite of pancake into my mouth. "I don't think I would've been surprised at all."

She looked down at the ring as she spun it around on her finger, her lids still heavy from alcohol and lack of sleep. "Tiana told me something about it," Mandy said softly. "Is it true? Was it supposed to be mine?"

My hand froze, a solid bite of pancake stuck to the end of my fork. Of fucking course Tiana opened her mouth. "Would you prefer a yes or a no?"

"I'd prefer the truth."

I gathered myself, forcing the anxiety brewing in my gut to calm. I could do this. "Then yes, it was. I asked my mom for it a few nights before the final night we were together. I wasn't planning on doing it right away, but I knew what I wanted."

She nodded, almost to herself, as she tore her gaze away from her ring and tried to focus on her food once again. "Did you graduate?"

"Yeah, technically. I finished my degree after my hiatus, but most of it was online at that point. I set up J.B. Tech about a year after. You moved home after you graduated, right?"

She chuckled as she swallowed a bite of pancake. "Such a stalker. Yeah, I did. Met Harry. Started planning to open up LV, and a few years later we got it up and running. I did a few internships in the meantime while living with Mom."

This was the stuff I knew very little about. I'd kept tabs on her through the years, trying to figure out where she was, who she was with, where she was living. I knew bits and pieces from what I could gather online, but her passions, her motivations, her lifein general was still a mystery. I wanted to know more. I needed to know more, I'd lost ten years of her.

"And then it's been pretty much the same ever since. I do miss New York sometimes, though. I've gone back a couple of times over the years but it no longer feels like home the way it used to."

"Because I wasn't there," I joked, the words falling from my tongue too easily.

"Yeah. Because you weren't there."

————

Getting her back to the car after she ate was a lot easier than the experience at the bar. I didn't need to hold her up this time, only a little bit of sway to her step. Her words were less slurred, the bit of brain fog dissipating, but it was clear that her inhibitions were still a little too low. I wouldn't try anything. I couldn't.

"Jack," she said softly, her back leaning against the curved roof of the car. She clung tightly to my jacket around her shoulders, my only source of warmth the NYU hoodie I wore over my tank top and shorts. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," I replied, leaning closer to her for extra heat but also because I just couldn't keep myself away.

"Did you think I'd say yes?" She lifted her left hand, the ring glinting off the low light of the street lamps. She tilted her chin up, a little bit defiant, a little bit needy.

"I hoped you would. I wasn't sure what your answer would be, but I knew what mine was."

She breathed out, a little cloud of fog filling the small gap between us, and before I could react she stretched upward. Her lips met mine, gentle, soft, her red lipstick staining me the instant they touched. She's drunk. She's drunk. She's drunk.

She's sobering up.

I parted my lips, kissing her eagerly, every part of my body being set on fire, chasing away the chill. She wanted this. Her hands on my neck, my hoodie, she pulled me closer, pressing her body to mine as she let me explore her mouth and the heat that came with it. I could kiss her forever—I wanted to devour her, have her, claimher.

The hand that clutched the front of my hoodie moved, her nails raking down my chest then lower, down to the waistband of my gym shorts. She's drunk. She's sober. She's drunk. She's drunk. "Fuck," I grunted as her hand broached the elastic band, dipping behind my boxers. My cock was already hard from kissing her. "Mandy."

"I want you," she breathed, her fingers wrapping around my hard shaft. "Please."

"We can't," I bit out. Every part of me screamed to continue, to let this happen, but I wasn't that guy. If she wanted me, she could have me when she was sober. "You're still drunk."

"Yes but it's okay?—"

She retreated within a second, her eyes going wide, her body freezing up. Her breath came quicker, her chest rising and falling a little too fast, a little too panicked. "Mandy?"

"I'm…"

She breathed in a shaky breath, one foot stepping away, then a second later her arm painfully clutched mine as she spewed every single drop of pancakes down the front of my NYU hoodie.