I laugh as I pick a pepper off my slice, “Trust me he’s going to be the best one there. I’m a seasoned pro at this now. One year, a fifty-seven year old retired news anchor won, but he had the best Charleston.”
“What’s a Charleston again? The slow one?”
“No, this one,” I say, shaking my hands in a poor imitation of the moves.
“What was that?” he laughs.
“That’s what they do! It’s a lot of hand shaking and leg pumping. Watch.” I tug the remote off the table and pull up a compilation of the best dances. “Prepare to be educated.”
It’s gone midnight by the time we’ve got through nearly every season of Strictly showing all of my favorites and I have to stifle a yawn behind my hand.
His eyes crinkle. “You should go to bed, Rosie.”
“No no, I’m sorry, I’m just not used to being up this late. This pregnancy is not for the uncaffeinated.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Jackson says, fishing his phone out of his pocket and stifling a yawn of his own.
“You can uh—you can stay if you like,” I offer lamely. I wring my hands together as I glance around the room awkwardly.
Jackson’s fingers freeze on his phone.
Oh my god, did that sound like a proposition? It did. It sounds like I just asked to sleep with him.
“I mean the sofa’s not too bad and I have a spare blanket and everything,” I stumble out.
Jackson stands up gently taking my hand and halting my fidgeting. “I need to get back, I’ve got an early morning training session.”
“Oh, okay,” I say awkwardly. Of course he doesn’t want to spend the night on my sofa. It’s practically half the size of him.
“Can we have dinner or something this week maybe?”
“Uh, I’m working late all week,” I spin awkwardly in place and start sorting through our leftovers, stacking pizza boxes and wrappers.
“Saturday then?” He follows me into the kitchen. “I’ve got to watch the next episode. Got to support my boy.”
I place the plates on the counter, “Uh—” The man wants to come and watch Strictly with me. I should say no, I should reaffirm some boundaries although it’s clear I’ve already lost control of my senses.I have spare blankets and everything. Ugh!
But the thought of not spending another Saturday night alone…
“Sure.” The word falls from my lips before I can stop them.
Jackson grins. “It’s a date.” He slides his jacket off the kitchen chair.
“It’s not a date.” I follow him around the kitchen as he steps into his boots and turns to the door.
“Sure it is, pretty girl.”
“It’s not a date.” I insist one more time.
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob before shooting me a wink, “See you, Saturday.”
10
JACKSON
“Jackson Harper,”my mother scolds over the phone. “You may be thirty two years old but I still know when you’re keeping something from me.”
I should have known as soon as I told my sister that my mother would come calling soon enough. In my trailer in between scenes, I can’t escape my mothers critical brow she levels at me through the phone.
