JAX (The Beckett Boys #2) - Olivia Chase Page 0,81
invite, but I think I should go.” I finished this lecture both horrified and pleased with myself— I’d just mentioned blowjobs out loud, which was so not something I would normally talk about to anyone, ever, but I’d also said everything I’d been wanting to say to Jacob since that day in class.
“Wow,” Jacob said after pausing a moment. I wished he’d take a step back— did he realize how imposing his presence was? Probably. It felt like we were being pressed together, and I wanted it to stop, but didn’t want to be the one to crack and create more space between us.
“Wow,” Jacob said again, and rubbed the back of his head.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s just…been a while since someone told me to go fuck myself.”
“I didn’t say that!” I protested.
“You did, in so many words. I’m not mad. It’s just been a while,” Jacob said, sounding amused. “Look, being invited to a party by me is a big deal. I meant it as a compliment. Same way that I meant those tickets.”
“A compliment is telling someone they look nice, not showering them in your own greatness,” I said.
“You look nice. You look great, actually,” Jacob said immediately.
“Oh. Thanks,” I said.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” Jacob asked.
“Now?”
“Do you have other plans?” Jacob asked just a bit sarcastically.
“No, but you do. Hype night,” I said, motioning to the Manhattan behind them.
Jacob shrugged. “There’ll be others.”
I eyed him warily. “I’m still not interested in getting in line to—“
He waved my words off. “Look— walk with me up to tenth street, we’ll turn around, we’ll come back here. Then if you want to go home, go, and I promise I won’t crash your super boring archaeology class again.”
“Anthropology.”
“Sure.”
I studied him, avoiding his eyes since I wasn’t totally certain they wouldn’t lock me in all over again. He still looked solid, strong, someone who couldn’t be moved, but I also saw the rise and fall of his chest, the way he ran his thumb across his fingernails, the way he blinked— the way that despite his stature and reputation and perhaps totally inappropriate attempts at complimenting me, he was human.
“To tenth street, then back,” I agreed.
Jacob grinned, put his hands in his pockets— almost like a show of noble, hands-free intentions— and we started down the street.
Chapter 8
We walked along in silence for the first few blocks— or at least, I did. Jacob didn’t speak to me, but every few feet someone called his name, or waved, or screamed and cheered for the Harton football team out of a moving car’s window. It wasn’t until we’d made it a fair distance away from the clubs that the streets became quieter— still busy, given that we were in the middle of Atlanta, but in an anonymous, hurried way.
“So. Tell me something about yourself,” Jacob said.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
Jacob shrugged beside me, admiring the buildings as he walked along, a king surveying his kingdom. “Well, I know you’re a freshman. You’re Piper’s roommate. You’re not straight out of high school though— you took a gap year?”
“I worked for a year,” I corrected— I wasn’t trying to impress Jacob, so why pretend like my life was glamorous? “As a waitress. To pay for school.”
“Ah. I understand,” Jacob said.
I lifted an eyebrow and looked at him. “Do you?”
“You clearly think I don’t. Why?”
“You’re here on a full scholarship, I assume.”
“I am, and I work for it every day. Sure, it’s a game, but I work to be good at that game every single day of my life. I’ve been working to be good at that game since I was six years old. I work to go to school too, it’s just at a different job than you did.”
I blinked at him, stunned.
Jacob seemed entertained by my reaction, and he half-grinned. “Look. We already have something in common.”
“Hardly,” I said, but I smiled as I did so. “What else do you want to know?”
“What’s your major?”
“Business, but I want to minor in anthropology. Actually, I want to major in that, but business is a more flexible degree and will be easier for me to complete on a three-year track,” I said, words rolling from my mouth easily— I’d explained this a half thousand times to everyone in Tifton, back when attending Harton was a dream rather than a reality. Speaking the words had always made it seem more attainable. I went on, “What about you?”