The Sophomore (College Years #2) - Monica Murphy Page 0,39

have to speak. It’s also about being in a long-distance relationship.

I might’ve looked up the meaning behind the lyrics a couple of days ago, curious because I really love the song.

A breeze blows through the space, making the vines covering the lattice walls rattle. A beam of sunlight shines upon Jackson, outlining his face in gold, making his hair look blonder than usual.

I stare at him, unable to look away. He’s ridiculously good looking. Painfully so. Even doing something as mundane as scrolling through his phone, which is what he’s doing currently. His hair hangs over his forehead, so long it has to be in his eyes, and I’m tempted to lean over the table and push it out of the way. Run my fingers through it. His hair is soft. I’ve only really touched it once…

“Oh my God, are you Jackson Rivers?”

We both glance over to see a group of four teenaged girls sitting at the table next to us. Their eyes are comically wide, and they all have braces on their teeth. I’d put them no older than freshmen in high school, and I’m probably pushing it. More like middle schoolers.

They’re definitely dressed better than I am. A table of really pretty, soon-to-be knock out beautiful girls. And they’re all looking at Jackson with stars in their eyes.

Jackson smiles, his expression turning bashful. “Maybe.”

One of them squeals. So loudly, every person sitting on the patio looks up and over in our direction. “OH MY GOD CAN WE TAKE A PHOTO WITH YOU?”

“Sure,” he says, rising to his feet.

The girls lose their damn minds. There is no other way to describe their reaction to finding Jackson in the same restaurant as them. They flutter around him, giggling uncontrollably as they each individually take a photo with him. They lavish on the praise, telling him how much they love his music, his lyrics, his performances, their adoring gazes never leaving his face once. As if they’re afraid if they look away, he’ll disappear.

I’m thinking they love more than his music, but they’re keeping that part quiet.

“Could you take a photo of all of us with Jackson, please?” one of the girls asks me with hope shining in her eyes.

“Of course,” I say as I stand and take the phone from her hand. I wait for them to position themselves around Jackson, noticing how they keep looking at me with frowns on their faces. As if they can’t believe their beloved idol is hanging out with a commoner like me.

Or maybe that’s my own personal complex coming out in full force.

I snap what feels like a million photos so they have plenty to choose from. I’m a girl, I know what it’s like to take group photos with a bunch of other girls. It’s so difficult to find a photo where every single person looks good.

“Thank you,” the girl says when they’re done and I hand her back her phone. “We appreciate it.”

“When are you performing next?” one of the girls asks Jackson.

He smiles. Shrugs. Playing it cool with that warm gleam in his eyes, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be but with those girls. He knows how to put it on, making people feel alive in his presence. “Don’t have anything scheduled at the moment.”

“Too busy playing football?” She bats her eyelashes at him, trying to flirt.

It’s cute and all, but she’s wearing braces. She’s terribly young. But I guess this is good practice for her.

“Yeah,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You coming to the Bulldog games?”

“Yes!” they all say in unison as they jump up and down, like the little girls they truly are.

Though, technically, I’m not that much older than them, I feel much older. And wiser.

Wait a minute. Not so much wise. I am the idiot, after all, who’s in love with a boy who only thinks of me as a friend.

Once they’re gone, as in they’ve left the restaurant, and we have our food in front of us, Jackson sends me a wry smile.

“That was wild,” he says, seeming in a daze.

“Happens a lot to you when you go out?” I take a bite of my taco and holy crap, it’s delicious.

“Not really. That was kind of a first,” he admits right before he takes a big bite of his own taco.

“They were true fangirls. They even knew you were on the football team,” I point out.

“Yeah. I mean, that’s public knowledge. I don’t hide it,” he says, his