At least I was able to put my head down and concentrate on work instead of gabbing with the rest of them and I eventually earned enough to rent a small flat in South London, which, while complete with moldy walls and a dodgy landlord, has enough room for my whole desk. Taking work home is a lot more appealing than listening to the guys make jokes at my expense or talk loudly about the latest Starseeker movie.
Anya had a hard time in the US when she first went out there, so we spent most of the time on video calls or planning visits around our work schedules. One weekend that was particularly lonely, I ended up at Anya’s mum’s house by myself for the whole weekend where we watched French New Wave films and drank red wine. It’s been nice having Anya home whilst she’s been planning the wedding, and the West London townhouse she and Danny bought has been a nice reprieve from my lumpy mattress, but I’m already dreading the six month honeymoon she’s about to embark on.
I startle when one of Jackson’s electric fingers taps my knee in a silent question. My silky dress has slipped off my lap, revealing my bare leg, exposing it to the chilled air. His hand rests alongside the inside of my thigh, not touching but close enough that if I so much as twitched, his knuckles would graze my skin.
“Oh.” What did he ask me again? “Yeah, London.” Shaking off the thought of his big hand clasping around my sensitive thigh, I take a last swig of my wine and make a move to rise. “I’m going to get another.”
His palm is feather light on my knee, stopping my movement and getting caught in the burgundy material as both of my heeled feet hit the floor.
It’s almost lewd the way the dress pools around his wrist, his large palm wrapped around the delicate skin on the back of my knee. I swear his finger gently strokes before he withdraws his hand, lifting it to gesture to a passing waiter. “Hey bro, any of that good champagne left?”
The waiter nods and scurries off, returning with a chilled bottle and two glasses before I’ve managed to lever myself out of the chair. I don’t think my legs are working anymore.
“I’ve never been to London,” Jackson says as he pours us both a glass of champagne. “Dan’s offered me a visit but I haven’t taken him up on it yet.”
“You’ve never worked at one of the studios?” I ask, letting the bubbles sparkle on my tongue and attempting to compose myself. At this point, I should probably switch from alcohol to an ice cold shower.
The side of his mouth ticks up. That might be the first time I’ve even alluded to the fact that I know what his job is. That I knowwhohe is, other than my best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend.
“Maybe one day. Maybe you could be my tour guide. Show me the hot spots.”
I scoff. “Not likely.” The only hot spot I know is the one on my phone that connects my laptop to the internet.
“C’mon, we’d have a great time.” I roll my eyes. “You could show me all the fun tourist traps and introduce me to the Queen.”
“I would never go to a tourist trap on purpose, way too many tourists.”
“Where they are likely to be.”
“And the Queen’s dead, where have you been?”
He waves me off as he reaches for his glass. “We’ll go look at her coffin or something.”
I laugh despite myself. “The only thing you can think to do in London is look at the Queen’s headstone?”
He tilts his head with a grin, “What else could we do?”
His tone is almost…flirty? I bite down on the thought. No, Jackson Harper isnotflirting with me. At least, not seriously anyway.
I blow out a breath and gesture with my now nearly empty glass. “I don’t know, we could go to a museum or Richmond Park at sunset or get a drink in the oldest pub in England.”
His grin widens, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners and my fingers twitch to trace the lines. “Sounds like a date, pretty girl.”
I feel my face turn red. “I didn’t—I don’t mean…” I go to adjust my glasses but awkwardly fiddle with my earring instead.
I hear his low laugh behind my closed eyes. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.”
I snap my head up, narrowing my eyes. He’s laughing at me and the feeling burns in my chest. Suddenly uncomfortable, I stand, draining the rest of my drink. “I have to go.”
“Hey.” His tanned hand encircles my wrist pulling me to a halt as those infernal sparks trail across my skin. “What did I do?”
I tug my wrist free. “Nothing. I think Anya needs me.” I feel like a teenager again, desperately trying to be cool with the guy I’m into but ending up mortified instead.
Jackson stands and turns his head to the dance floor where Anya and Danny are now trying to race to see who can catch the other’s tonsils first.
He turns back with a raised eyebrow. His neck-length hair sways with the movement, the glossy strands shining in the light from the candle sconces above us.
“Are you sure about that, pretty girl?”
