You and Me (2 page)

Jackson steps aside to let me exit first and I am acutely aware of him watching me walk down the hall. The phone rings in my ear just once then goes right to voicemail.
 

"Delilah, you better be home. I was stuck outside in the rain and got let into the building by a possible serial killer with adorable dimples, which just makes him all the more dangerous. You know how I feel about dimples." Jackson's chuckle fills the hall and I smile. "I'll be at the door in ten seconds. So open up before I let him murder me."

I hang up and continue on to the sound of Jackson walking behind me. I'm not sure why we aren't walking side by side. Neither of us says a word, and there's a tension in the silence, a sense of being hyper-aware of someone's presence and knowing they are hyper-aware of yours.

When I finally reach my apartment door, I rest my luggage against the wall and knock a few times.

Jackson walks past, and as he does, he says, "See you around, freckles."
 

I give him a playful smirk over my shoulder, mentally high-five myself for my coyness, and then knock on the door again. Jackson comes to a stop a couple doors down, fishes for his keys and opens his door. All the while, I stand outside of my new home, waiting and dripping, a puddle of water growing beneath my feet.

The bubbly sensation I had while flirting with him is dissipating, my stomach sinking at the realization Delilah's not here.
 

And I have no way of getting inside.

"Freckles," Jackson calls from down the hall. "Come here."

I hesitate before responding. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Come on," he says, setting a hand over his chest. "I can't leave you out here like a lost puppy. Breaks my heart."

I stare at the closed door in front of me.
 

Well, what are my choices? I don't know anyone else in the building, or even within a ten-mile radius of this building. I have no clue where Delilah is or how long it will be until she returns my call. This Jackson guy is beyond cute and seems decent enough. We are neighbors. And he did trust me enough to let me into his building.
 

Okay, self, you've obviously made up your horny little mind.

"I'm texting my sister, letting her know where I am," I call out to him. "You know, just in case you try to impale me."

"I'd only impale you if you wanted me to and only with things you'd want to be impaled with."

That's awful and I love it. His dark humor, the way he stands outside of his open door, arms open as if I'm supposed to rush into them after what he just said.

He's freaking custom made, just for me.

I'm heading in his direction before I fully decide what I'm going to do. We cross the threshold into his apartment, him first and me right behind. My amusement dies when I notice the guy sitting on the couch, staring at Jackson and me. His face is scrunched up in confusion. He's wearing pajamas, eating cereal, and the sounds coming from the television tell me he's watching the morning news.
 

"Should I…be here right now?" he asks Jackson.
 

It's impossible to not feel awkward as I stand in this living room, unannounced and looking at him like he just ruined my entire life. Okay, maybe not my
whole
entire life, but I sure as hell would've preferred to be alone with my new friend.

Jackson ignores his question. "Samantha, this is Heath. Heath, this is our new neighbor, Samantha."

"Hi," I say, with a small wave.

"Excuse my outfit," Heath says. "Jackson didn't tell me he was planning to impale anyone this morning."
 

He sets down his bowl of cereal and the move reveals the details of his t-shirt. Huge, block letters on it read,
I have a PHD.
And underneath, in smaller letters,
Pretty Huge Dick.
 

I scratch behind my ear, silently wondering just how much sausage I've signed up for this morning.

"Ignore him," Jackson says. He walks farther into the living room, but when he notices I'm still by the door, he adds, "Come in. Make yourself at home. Do you want to change or something? You've got to be cold."

And as he says it, it's suddenly true. Outside, the rainwater didn't feel so bad. But inside, with the AC running at full-blast, my wet clothes are getting cooler by the second. I inspect my shirt to find my nipples have joined the party, poking straight through my damn bra. I cross my arms over my chest.
 

"That'd be great."
 

I clumsily search through my luggage for something to change into, then head through the door Jackson identified as the bathroom. The moment I close the door, a rush of giddiness comes over me. This time I do my victory dance, for real, spinning around in the small space.

What are the odds I'd run into such a freaking hottie and we'd hit it off so well? What are the odds he'd live just down the hall? I've had the absolute worst luck with men, so this? This is like a sign things are taking a turn for the better.
 

I take in my surroundings. The bathroom's small, with little to no decor aside from the navy blue stripped carpet and a blue hand towel of a different shade. I get the urge to snoop around. You can tell a lot about a person by what they keep in their medicine cabinet.
 

That desire is chased away by the sight of my own reflection. My makeup isn't running the way I'd feared, it's completely gone. Actually, I don't think I wore any makeup last night when I rushed to the airport. I stare at myself for longer than usual, trying to see what Jackson might see. My freckles. My deep auburn hair, stained darker from rainwater, and pulled up in a ponytail. I guess I look sort of cute. Fresh-faced, despite how exhausted I am.
 

I remove my clothes and wring them out in the sink, along with my hair. After stuffing the wet clothes into a plastic bag, I pull on a fresh blouse and a pair of jeans. Suddenly energized, I give myself a final once-over before going back out to the living room.
 

I find only Heath, who tells me Jackson is also changing.

"Heard you got locked out," Heath says.

"Speaking of which," I say, shooting Delilah a quick text message. If it weren't typical of her to take forever to return calls and messages, I'd start getting worried.
 

This time, she actually responds.

[Yoga ran late. Be home in ten minutes.]

I reel back my annoyance and shoot Heath a polite smile. "My sister's on her way."

"Is she hot?"

"
Uh
…"

I want my baby sister nowhere near this man with a PHD.

"She's not that crazy girl from 805, is she?"

I raise a brow and he rounds his mouth in surprise.

"Oh. She
is
the crazy girl from 805."

"My sister's not crazy."

He shrugs. "I just know she ran off her last roommates."

It's true my sister wasn't compatible with her original roommates, but I wonder how Heath would know this. Besides, it all worked out. I had a place waiting for my move back into the city and my friend Grace happened to be looking for a place as well.

"She is hot, though," Heath says. "In an off-putting way where you aren't sure if you should fall asleep around her after sex."

"You can stop now."

"Okay." He pats the couch next to him. "Come, sit."

I hesitate for a second at his familiarity, but there's just something about him, an aura impossible to dislike. Like someone you've known your whole life and have come to terms with their obnoxiousness. Like a little brother.

I settle down next to him and we talk, surprisingly candidly, for a bit. About the storm outside. About how he just got laid off work and is now sleeping on his brother's couch. About whether or not my sister is hot. About Jackson being in the middle of his medical residency as a neurosurgeon.
 

And that's when I stop listening to Heath's blabbering. Because, holy fuck. Brain surgeon? Surely, I'm on some hidden camera show.
 

I ignore the alarms blaring inside of my head. Or, rather, my vagina ignores them, because there's a hot, funny, hot, brain surgeon living down the hall from me, who's also hot. And a brain surgeon.

I can't.

My mind disengages from the present conversation as I start mentally planning a wedding ceremony under the Brooklyn bridge with white roses and teal bridesmaid dresses. I'm interrupted when Heath sneezes and groans loudly.
 

"Who the hell gets allergies in the summer?" he asks. "My damn sinuses are killing me."

The door behind me opens.

"Try breathing in some steam," I say, without thinking. "I've got some tea tree oil in my bag."
 

Jackson laughs, and I turn to find him dressed in business casual clothing. A white lab coat hanging over his arm. It's such a stark contrast from the running clothes and I stare for a second too long.

"
Ha
,
ha
. Very funny," he says, humorless. "I take it Heath's been telling you about our mom?"

I look to Heath who furrows his brows in confusion, but before I can answer, Jackson goes on. "She's one of those crazy hippies."

"Crazy hippies?"

"Our mom thinks she can cure anything with a little oil or a little positive thinking. Drives me nuts."

"Tea tree oil works, though," I say.

He must think I'm kidding because he glares at me, playful.

"Don't get him started on that," Heath says. "He gets a hernia every time he hears about holistic stuff."

"It's just ridiculous," Jackson cuts in. "None of it is based on research, might as well call it witchcraft. It's like these paraprofessionals, dealing with situations they have no business getting into..."

I raise an eyebrow at Jackson, my silence daring him to go on.

"…running into complications that could've been easily avoided."

"Jackson is not at all biased," Heath mocks. "He's not exactly looking for reasons to
not
cut people open."

My expression must belie what I'm thinking because Jackson smiles, relaxed, and asks, "You know what I mean, right?" Then pauses before adding, "What's your specialty? I caught sight of pink scrubs when you opened your bag. Are you in obstetrics, pediatrics, or what?"

"I'm a midwife," I say. Jackson's smirk slides from his face. "A holistic midwife, fresh out of the school of witchcraft and wizardry. But, I do prefer the term
witch
to
paraprofessional
. The latter is bad for business, you know what I mean?"

Cue awkward silence.

Heath pulls his lips into his mouth, eyebrows creeping up in surprise. He turns his attention back to the television as if he was never part of this conversation.

Jackson clears his throat, then his lips part in what is sure to be an apology. "Didn't mean to offend you."

"Yeah, I'm sure you didn't," I say. "But lucky for you, my sister is almost here, so I'll just go ahead and cut this lovely bonding moment short and meet her outside."

I get to my feet, finding satisfaction in the way he hesitates. He studies my face like he's trying to figure out how to take back what he said. Too late. He's just admitted to thinking what I do with my life is a joke. That's more than a little hard to swallow. The alarms in my head are now not so silent. I've been here before and it didn't bode well.

The wedding is totally off.
 

Heath continues to pretend he's invisible on the couch, but I manage to catch his eye long enough to wave goodbye. I grab my bag and Jackson is quiet as he escorts me to the door. Before I walk out, he says, "Hey, it was great meeting you."

"Yeah," I say, matter-of-fact. "I bet it was."

"Why don't we go out sometime so you can explain your witchcraft to me?"
 

"Can't go on dates while the moon is full," I say with a regretful smile. "I'm too exhausted from practicing witchcraft all night. But maybe after the equinox."

His brows furrow at the word. He attempts to resist a smirk but fails. My lips turn up, too, because I can't help it. Because he's so painfully, ovary-twitchingly handsome, I want to punch his face.
 

I want to punch his sexy face for ruining our marriage before the wedding.
 

His tone is suddenly serious when he says, "Damn. I dropped the ball with you, didn't I?"
 

"Oh yeah, dude. Big time."

CHAPTER TWO

Jackson

THE FLOWERS SORT OF look like her. They're pretty in a simple, effortless way, giving off quiet waves of unapologetic wildness. I pick them up at the farmers market while out on my morning run. I'm hoping they say,
I like you.
I'm hoping they also say,
sleep with me
.
 

But most of all, I'm really hoping they say,
I'm sorry.

The woman dropped into the middle of my morning, as unexpected as the thunderstorm that rolled through, with her quick wit and sparkling caramel eyes. Things had been going so well up until I went ahead and stuck my foot so far down my throat I couldn't find the words to make light of the situation. And she'd been so visually put off I was sure she was more stung than she'd let on.