The Sophomore (College Years #2) - Monica Murphy Page 0,38
like I’m wrapped up in a Jackson-made cocoon, and all is right in my world again.
I am such a sucker.
His unique scent fills the space. And he’s so big, so broad, he physically fills up the space. He glances over at me with a faint smile, and I smile weakly at him in return.
What am I doing? I’m supposed to be mad at him. Cutting him off for good. Yet here I sit, indebted to him financially after he sweeps in and rescues me.
Jackson starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot, headed in the complete opposite direction of his apartment. And mine too, since we all sort of live in the same area.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice low.
He sends me a quick look before returning his gaze to the road. “I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving.”
My stomach growls at hearing his words. “Same.”
“Let’s grab a late lunch. Or an early dinner. Whatever you want to call it.” Jackson checks his dashboard. “It’s already past five. We can call it dinner. My treat.”
I glance down at myself. “I’m not dressed the best.” I bet I smell bad too. I was sweating up a storm when I had to walk to Tony’s condo complex.
“Me either,” he says with a chuckle. “We won’t go anywhere too fancy.”
He takes me to a Mexican restaurant near downtown Clovis called 559 Taqueria.
“Ever been here before?” he asks as he pulls into a parking spot behind the restaurant.
“No, but I’ve heard of it.”
“You’re going to think you’ve died and gone to taco heaven. Trust me.” He sends a grin in my direction before he climbs out of the car.
I’m left sitting in my feelings for a moment, stunned stupid by the look on his face. Sometimes I really hate how attractive he is.
Though most of the time, I love it.
I follow after him as we enter the restaurant, and we have to stand in line to place our order. It smells delicious in here. Like…mouthwateringly good. My stomach growls nonstop, reminding me that I never ate lunch and had a really crappy breakfast, and I think about my options. I just want a couple of tacos. Maybe some chips?
“What do you want?” Jackson asks, his eyes on the menu board on the wall.
I tell him my simple request and he nods.
“I’ll order for you. I know what you like.”
Frowning, I stare up at him, at a loss. He does?
He tilts his head down, lowering his voice. “I know you think this has been a one-sided thing between us the last couple of years, but I’ve been paying attention to you, Ellie. I know you love Mexican food, but you don’t like tomatoes. And all the other girls drink Diet Coke, but you prefer root beer. Though you’re not a big soda drinker at all. You’ll eat salsa, but you dunk your chips in it without scooping anything up. I’ll make sure there’s no pico de gallo on your tacos.”
Jackson’s right. Every single thing he just said is correct when it comes to my Mexican food preferences. And while I usually feel silly over how I eat chips and salsa, and that I don’t like Diet Coke like my other friends, he just made me feel as if everything I do and like is perfectly natural.
Perfectly me.
Out of nowhere, he grabs my hand and brings it up to his mouth. As in, his lips are on my knuckles, and what the hell is he doing?
“Trust me?” he asks with those blue, soulful eyes.
I nod, unable to speak. As if I’m in a trance.
“I got you, El.” He kisses my hand. “More than you know.”
His words stick with me as I listen to him order for us, and I want to pick them apart. Analyze them. Turn them over and over in my head. Have him explain to me exactly what he means by that.
But I will never ask. I’m too afraid of the truth. That he really only likes me as a friend. That he’s ‘got me’ in a friendship way and that’s it. Coming to my rescue with my car. Paying for the repairs.
He’s just being kind.
Jackson finishes paying for our order and we each grab our drinks before going outside to sit on their covered patio. Spanish music plays softly in the background and a new song starts—that one that’s on TikTok. “Telepatia.” The song about being in tune with your lover so strongly, you don’t even