I sink back into my chair, twirling the note between my fingers. “We have talked. He admitted he feels something, too, but he’s got boundaries.”
“What sort of boundaries?”
“Ones designed to keep me out.”
“Did he find out about your micro-penis? Is that what put him off?”
I smile, even though I don’t want to. “Fucker.”
“Did you ask why?” Ollie asks.
“I did. He didn’t elaborate.”
He pauses. “Maybe it’s for the best, man,” he eventually says. “I don’t mean to be a downer, but some things just aren’t meant to be. I didn’t like the way he spoke to you the other day. It reminded me of the way someone else treated you.”
Ollie’s words hit me right in the chest, but I still have this overriding need to differentiate the situation with Jackson from what happened with Luca.
“I can’t let the way one person treated me affect me negatively for the rest of my life.”
“I’m not suggesting that you do,” Ollie counters. “What I’m saying is, learn from it so you don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“I’ll think about it. Thanks for the chat. I’ll let you go.”
“No worries. Talk later.”
My shoulders sag as I end the call.
Maybe Ollie’s right? Maybe I should just give up on this Jackson thing? If I take a step back and objectively assess the situation, it would be my best option. I have enough on my plate with running the sanctuary, staying focused on my sobriety, and supporting Wagner with all of his business-related shit and looking after Sammy.
But there’s something between Jackson and me. And he feels it, too. He’s said it. He’s just protecting himself from it.
Am I clutching at straws, or is this worth pursuing? Sibella did warn me he wouldn’t make it easy. She also told me not to be a pushover.
Which makes me think…
Yesterday’s meeting. Today’s coffee. It’s all starting to make sense. How could I not see what’s happening?
That little fucker is playing a game with me. But what is the game, and what is the goal?
One thing Jackson might not know about me?
I can get real competitive real quick.
I’m going to figure out what the hell Jackson is playing at…and then I’m going to beat him at it.
I step out of my SUV early the next day in a two-button midnight-blue suit and greet the pre-dawn day with a smile. I’m never here before sunrise, so I haven’t experienced this place so quiet and peaceful. I take a moment to soak in the tranquility.
Damp air carries the scent of hay and earth, and as I set off toward my office, the sound of my shoes crunching on dew-soaked gravel breaks the silence. The silhouette of the barn ahead beckons, but I cast my gaze to the dim light coming from Jackson’s cabin. He’s up but still getting ready.
Perfect.
I walk into the main barn and breeze past the stairs that lead to my office. The familiar scent of hay and horse manure instantly hits my nostrils as I tug at the cuffs of my sleeves and roll each one up to just below my elbow.
Jackson may have won the first round with the surprise coffee and note ambush yesterday, but I’m just as capable of throwing him a curveball. I may not have figured out his endgame yet, but I’m more than capable of mixing things up, too.
I haven’t missed the way his lips curl into a sneer whenever he eyes me off in my suits. Is my choice of attire overkill for a horse rescue center? Probably yeah. It might sound strange, but it grounds me. It’s familiar. It’s what I wore when I worked with Mom at the shipping company, and it gives me a sense of being in charge at a time when so many things are happening that are outside of my control. Including Jackson.
EspeciallyJackson.
