Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel (15 page)

9
:29.

I raise my eyes to the gray-white ceiling, studying the crack that runs from the dusty ventilation grate all the way to the bars penning us in. Back and forth, I follow that crack until I can’t stand it anymore and look back down at my watch.

9:30.

Precisely one-and-a-half hours after I was supposed to deliver the final plans to Halford. Plans he would have then signed with his too-expensive ballpoint pen. Plans that would have locked in our contract and ensure the upward trajectory of my career. Of my future.

Fuck.

The thought of locking anything brings me back to my present surroundings. I never imaged what the inside of a jail might look like, but now I know. It’s cleaner than I would have expected. Sterile.

There’s a clang outside our cell, and hope rushes through my veins. I haven’t heard a single noise in last eight hours, other than Skylar’s shoes clacking back and forth across the cell floor for the first two hours as she tried to force me to talk to her, and then the sounds of her ragged breathing when she finally gave up and fell asleep. I look at her now, slumped against the wall, hair strewn across her face, breathing evenly. I haven’t slept a wink, and she’s been passed out since 4am. The base of my skull throbs.

I hear footsteps approaching, and an officer in a crisp navy suit comes into view. He’s different than the guard who locked us in at 2am; that guy has presumably already gone home and gone to sleep in a real bed. I glance down at my watch. 9:34. My eyeballs burn.

“Bail’s been posted. Someone’s here to collect you two.”

The guard’s keys jangle loudly against the metal bars as he inserts one into the lock. I glance back at Skylar. She hasn’t moved an inch.

“You wanna get your friend up?” the officer asks, pointing at Skylar’s immobile form. I reach over and shake her arm.

“Hey.”

Her eyes flutter open and for a second, before she realizes where we are and how we got here, she smiles.

“Hey yourself.”

When, instead of smiling back, I release her arm and turn away, her smile fades. She’s the reason we just spent the last seven hours in jail. The reason I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. The reason my entire architectural future might have just crumbled to the ground. Halford’s not a forgiving man; he thinks too highly of himself to be forgotten.

We follow the guard out of the holding cell, down the hall, and to a small room containing a folding table and two chairs. He tells us to “sit tight” while he goes to get our personal effects, and then leaves the room. Neither of us sits.

“Jackson, please.” Skylar tries to move into my line of vision, but I turn my head away. “I know you’re mad, but—”

“Not here.” I press my lips into a thin line and stare at the wall. It’s the same gray-white color as the cell. “Not now.”

Skylar sighs and pulls out one of the chairs. “Okay.”

The officer returns with our belongings: wallet, keys, and phone for me; purse and flask for her. I avoid watching her secure the flask back under the garter belt and instead press the power button on my phone. No service.

“All right, follow me.” The guard leads us out of the room and down another hall, at the end of which we emerge into the front office of the precinct. A familiar blond man sits in one of the waiting chairs against the far wall. Upon seeing us, he jumps to his feet.

“Jacks.” Cash bounds forward, and the police officer moves out of the way so that he can grab me in a giant bear hug. “Hey man, you okay?”

“No,” I reply through gritted teeth. “But thanks for taking my call.”

“No problem. You know I wasn’t asleep.” He pulls back and gives me a sly grin, but then, seeing my un-amused expression, he drops the act and turns to Skylar.

“And Sky—are you okay?”

“I’m—”

“How much was it?” I cut her off. “Bail. How much?”

“Thirty-five hundred.” Cash rocks back on his heels, jamming his hands into his pockets. “But don’t worry about it.” He lowers his voice, motioning us toward the front door. “I told them we’d hook them up at Altitude if they could keep things kinda hush-hush, so it’s all cool.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, although I’m not sure I actually want to hear the answer.

“Ah, these jokers wanted to book you, do the whole court thing—you know. Like you’re dangerous or something.”

We push through the door, out into the brilliant Atlanta sun. Freedom. This is freedom.

“So,” Cash continues, “I told them, ‘Look. My friend and his girl have some silly delusions of being James Bond. I get that. But they’re not dangerous; they’re not gonna make any trouble for you in the future. So if you let ‘em out early, I’ll personally make sure that the next time any of you come to Altitude or any of our other bars, we’ll take good care of you.’”

I now understand what it means to “have one’s blood boil”—I feel like I’m about to have a stroke. He leveraged our business to get Skylar and me out of jail? I’ve just opened my mouth to respond when my phone starts to jerk in my pocket. Whipping it out, I watch as hundreds of notifications pour in, including a long stream of texts from Lucy.

Where are you?

I’m leaving the office in five. Text me if you need anything.

Leaving now. See you there?

Here. Where are you?

First missed call. Lucy.

Second missed call. Lucy.

We have to start soon, but you have the plans. Will try to stall.

Traffic? Family death? What should I say?

Third missed call. Lucy.

I’m going to reschedule the meeting. You should call Halford. He’s pretty upset.

Fourth missed call. Lucy.

Are you okay? Please respond.

And then a text from Halford. Two words.

Call me.

I hold my phone for a minute, staring silently at the screen. I have no idea what to do, how to manage this. I can’t talk to Halford right now. What would I say? “Hi. Sorry I missed our meeting. No, I’m fine, I was just stuck in jail. Why? Oh nothing too serious; this girl and I just broke into a bank.”

No, Halford will have to wait. Lucy, on the other hand, deserves a response. I press the text icon and shoot her a quick note.

Sorry, had an emergency. Thanks for holding down the fort. Will call soon.

“Everything cool?” Cash asks, halting at the curb.

“No.” I lock the screen and slip the phone into my pocket. “But I’ll deal with it later.”

“It’ll be okay, man. Worse comes to worse, you can come work with me at The Library.” He claps me on the shoulder and then turns to Skylar. “Taught this man everything he knows.”

Skylar attempts to smile, but the expression falls flat, and she tries to cover it with a weak laugh.

“Well,” says Cash, “I’m gonna go find the car. You two, kiss and make up or something. It feels like the arctic tundra out here.”

With that, he saunters away, leaving Skylar and me alone beneath the blazing southern sun. Tentatively, she takes a step forward.

“I know you’re not ready to forgive me—”

“Ready to forgive you?” I burst out. “Forgiveness isn’t even in this equation, Skylar. Do you understand what you did? You single-handedly ruined my entire future. I have an arrest on my record now. An
arrest
. For trespassing, intoxication,
and
vandalism. Now maybe there aren’t any consequences for you—hell, maybe you’ve been arrested before—but I have a professional reputation to maintain. I actually care what people think, because they’re the ones who dictate the future of my career.”

“Jackson,” she tries again, “I didn’t mean for us to get arrested—”

“Of course you didn’t.” I pause to take a breath, staring hard at the sidewalk. If I let this escalate, I’ll probably say something I don’t mean. However, if I don’t say anything, she’ll think everything is fine. And everything is
not
fine. “The fact of the matter is that if we’d stayed at home—instead of sneaking around like fucking spies—we wouldn’t have
gotten
arrested.”

“Oh yeah? You wanted to stay at home did you?” Now the color is rising in her cheeks. “On all five of our last ‘dates,’ the most we ever did was swing by Altitude. Otherwise, we sat around in your house watching bad television while you worked. Every single night, Jackson.”

“Well, in case you didn’t hear me the twenty times I told you last night, the reason I wanted to stay in was because I have one of the most important meetings of my life this morning.” I wipe sweat from my forehead and stare at my watch pointedly. “
Had
one of the most important meetings. Thanks to you, I missed it. Do you know how that looks, Skylar? Do you understand the meaning of the word consequence?”

“I know the consequences of sitting around, eating bad Chinese food, and wasting your life away,” she spits out. “I know the consequences of that.”

I am stunned. It takes me a moment to recover, and when I do, all of the self-restraint I had been exercising is gone.

“I’m sorry, but if you hated it so much, maybe you should have gone out with someone else who doesn’t have so many inconvenient professional obligations.”

“Maybe I should have.” The moment the words leave her mouth, she looks like she wants to take them back. But it’s too late.

“Jackson.”

She reaches for my arm again, but I yank away.

“All I meant is that your professional obligations always seem to come first. Your sister said I was the best thing that ever happened to you—all because I made you take a
break
from all that work. You haven’t taken a break in weeks.”

Shelby said . . . . My head is starting to throb.

“The best thing that ever happened to me? Skylar, Cash just jeopardized our
business
to get you and me out of jail. In what universe does that make you good for me?” The pain inside my head has turned into a battering ram. “I’ve worked way too hard for everything I’ve created Skylar. And I’ll be damned if I let you waltz in and destroy it all.”

Part of me knows I’m going too far, entering the realm of things you can’t unsay. But I can’t stop. She needs to understand what she’s done.

“We obviously have different values. You value thrill rides. And I value reality.” I lick my lips. “And people with different values aren’t meant to be together.”

She blinks once, twice, and then wraps her arms tightly around herself.

“What are you saying, Jackson?”

The little voice in my head cries out:
stop
. But the words are out there, now. There’s no turning back.

“I want to stop this train before it completely derails, Skylar. Whatever we had is finished. If it ever actually began.”

My vision focuses, and I can see her stony eyes and stiff body in acute detail. A part of me yearns to close the space between us, wrap her in my arms, hold her until the muscles in her body loosen and she’s smiling again. Instead, I put my hands in my pockets, raise my head, and look out across the parking lot, where a car is finally moving. A red Corvette. Cash’s car.

When I look back, the square of sidewalk where Skylar had been standing is empty. Across the parking lot, I glimpse her blond hair vanish behind the great black hulk of an SUV.

A moment later, Cash pulls up to the curb and rolls down the passenger window.

“Where’s Sky?” he asks.

I shield my eyes and find her again: a smaller version of herself, fleeing past the last row of cars. She doesn’t look back. I lower my hand.

“Gone,” I tell him, opening the car door. “Skylar’s gone.”

A
nother night
, another date.

Same old Altitude. Same old Jackson.

The crackling energy of an early Saturday evening crowd swirls around me, but I feel as though I’m watching it from outside my own body. Slouching further down into the booth’s cushions, I nurse my neon-red drink. Maybe, if I can get enough of a buzz going, this date won’t seem so bad. It has to be better than the others, although that’s what I thought last time. And the time before. And the time before that.

“You back again, bro?” Cash slides into the booth and nods at my drink. “Must be the Oblivion, huh? Just can’t get enough?”

Oblivion is Cash’s newest alcoholic concoction: white rum, rye whiskey, brandy, grenadine, lemon juice. It’s the color of cherry Kool-Aid and probably one of the booziest drinks I’ve ever consumed. This is my second one tonight.

“Oblivion is preferable, given the circumstances,” I reply, taking another sip.

Cash narrows his eyes at me. “Jokes aside, what are you doing moping around here again? Are you seriously meeting another one of your ‘dates’?” He makes air quotes, which annoy me but are probably deserved. Nothing I’ve been doing recently has qualified as an actual date—at least not for a professional guy who’s nearly thirty. Yet I don’t want to hear this from Cash. He’s the last one qualified to offer dating advice.

“So what if I am?”

“Jacks.” Cash gives me a meaningful look. “Altitude is great and all, but this is the bail spot. You’re not supposed to bail before the girl even shows.”

Since my arrest, I’ve tried everything I can think of to get Skylar out of my head. Mostly, that’s involved copious amounts of alcohol, but also some legitimate attempts to reignite my dating life. I updated my online profile, added a more recent headshot, and made a goal to chat up any woman who messaged me.

But then I had to actually
go out
with these women. The first one broke her heel and insisted we spend the rest of the night shoe shopping. The next one cried when I told her that, seeing how we’d only just met each other, I wasn’t interested in also meeting her poodle Flixy. After that, I started just meeting the women at Altitude. That way, as soon as the date goes south—which it inevitably will—I can call in reinforcements and bail.

“I’m all in support of the bachelor life,” Cash tells me, rubbing his chin, “but I don’t know if you’re going about this quite right. Are you taking any of these chicks home at the end of the night?”

“No.” The thought of touching another woman right now turns my stomach. Plus, even if I could manage it, it wouldn’t be fair to her, because all I’d be thinking about is Skylar: Skylar’s hair, Skylar’s smell, Skylar’s moans when she comes . . . .

“Well maybe that’s the problem. You’ve got too much testosterone swirling around in there, making you all moody and broody. Nothing a little time in the sack can’t fix.”

“Cash?”

“What.”

“Shut up.”

Cash stands, holding up his hands in surrender. “All right, man. All right. You’ve just seemed depressed lately, ever since everything with Sky—”

“Don’t say her name.”

Because I can’t bear to hear it. I can barely think of her without feeling my stomach drop straight to my feet—and yet I think about her all the time. I miss her. That’s the horrible truth. I miss someone who is bad for me. It’s sick.

“Fine. We’re just worried about you and want to help. But if you prefer your Oblivion there—” Cash motions to my half-empty glass “—you go right on ahead.”

Silently, I cheers him and take another sip. Cash shakes his head and walks off.

Great. Now, on top of everything, I’m starting to piss off my friends. Get a grip, Jackson. You’re fine. Everything is fine. You escaped without a criminal record. You crawled back to Halford, and he miraculously gave you another chance. The Norcross Mall project is back on track, your sister is finally dating a decent guy, and your friends just want you to be happy. That’s all you have to do now: be happy.

“Jackson!”

I look up to find Shelby and Knox looming over me. Jesus, can’t a guy be left to drink in peace?

Shelby puts a hand on her hip and cocks her head. “What are you doing over here all by yourself?”

“I’m meditating.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you.” Just like Cash, she doesn’t wait for an invitation—she just plops down across from me and waves Knox away. “I’ll find you later, babe. Jackson and I are gonna have a little brother-sister powwow.”

“Shelby, listen, I’m really not—”

“No, you listen.” Kissing Knox and then pushing him away, Shelby turns to me, and I’m suddenly reminded of why she’s so successful. As a PR rep for the Atlanta Falcons, my little sister has to boss around big egotistical NFL players. Therefore, when she wants to, this girl can get
intense
.

“I’ve had enough of your pity party. We all have had enough.”

“Jesus, Shelby. Way to use some tact.”

“You don’t need tact; you need the truth. We’ve all been tiptoeing around you ever since you and Skylar broke up—”

“We were never together, Shelby.”

“Jackson!” She bangs a hand on the table. “Stop it. We both know that’s not true. Sure, maybe you guys never put labels on it, but you
were
together. You were dating. There were feelings.”

I look at my hands, trying to stuff those very feelings back down where they belong. Sure, there were feelings—which is exactly why I had to end things. Because I was the only one feeling something. I was simply one more adventure to her. One more “experience.” God, just thinking about it makes me want to hit something. Instead, I take another swallow of my drink.

“Jackson, look at me.”

I allow myself to meet her concerned gaze.

“I know you care for her. And, no matter what she said, she cares for you too.”

I shake my head, not trusting myself to say anything. If Skylar cared, being with me would have been enough. But it was never enough.

“She was good for you, Jackson. You were better with her. Happier.”

I can feel my throat starting to close, and it makes me angry. Why should I suffer? Skylar got
me
arrested. She cared so little for my life, my future, that she endangered everything that matters to me—and I was stupid enough to let her do it.

Lifting my glass, I down the rest of my Oblivion, praying for it to work its magic. Then, I stand.

“Thanks, Shelby. Thanks for the truth.”

“Don’t get mad, Jackson.” She leaps up and grabs my arm. “We just want you to be happy!”

“I’m not mad.” I shake her off and step out from the booth. “But you need to stop focusing on my happiness. You think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t.”

I turn away from her.

“I’m going to get some air.”

Out back, I lean against the brick wall and fold my hands over my head. Now I know why people smoke: I’d do anything right now to distract myself. Instead I’m stuck here empty-handed, having a fucking breakdown over a girl I never officially dated. And all of this, half an hour before I’m supposed to meet Mandy, the masseuse from Buckhead who likes country music and the color purple.

Sighing, I close my eyes. Fine, Shelby. You’re right. I was in love with Skylar. Am in love. But as happy as I felt when we were together, it could never work, because everything I do is geared toward the future, and she can’t even imagine a future. We were doomed from the start.

Yet even with my eyes closed, all I can see is Skylar: her white blond hair, her perfect porcelain skin. The curl of her lip. Her slim waist. Her smooth thighs.

Fuck.

I open my eyes.

What am I going to do?