I tamp down the overwhelming emotion that threatens to take over. So what if he held her hand. It’s no big deal.
But it makes me angry, thinking of him touching her. Worse?
It fucking hurts.
“Did he kiss you?” My voice is raw, and I clear my throat, hating how fucking needy I sound. Like if she admits that they kissed, I’ll fall apart.
Her gaze never straying from mine, she slowly shakes her head.
Relief floods me and I nearly sag. But I keep myself upright. Act like none of this shit is bugging me.
I can’t resist touching her though. My fingers find her chin. Trace her jaw. She closes her eyes and swallows hard, and I’d give anything to kiss her. Reassure her.
Reassure her of what? That I still want her? Pretty sure it’s fairly obvious.
More like I need the reassurance she still wants me.
My hand drops and I back away from her, giving her space. Giving me space. “Do you like him?”
“Who?” She frowns. “Carson? I mean, he’s nice. He really likes me. And he doesn’t mind letting me know that either.”
Ouch. Fucking direct hit.
Ellie, one. Jackson, big fat zero.
“Do you want to be with him?” I brace myself, waiting for her answer.
“Do you want to be with me?” she throws back in my face.
“You answer first,” I say, sounding like a little kid.
“I don’t know.” She pauses. “Maybe.”
A growl leaves me and I thrust my hand into my hair, gripping the back of my head. “What the fuck, Ellie?”
“No. You don’t get to act like this. I should be the one who’s saying ‘what the fuck’.” She reaches out, pushing at my chest, sending me stumbling backward. “What are we doing, Jackson?”
“What do you mean?”
“Me and you. What are we doing?” A ragged exhale leaves her and she shakes her head. “I promised myself I wouldn’t have this conversation with you right now.”
She tries to leave and I grab hold of her arm, stopping her. “We’re having it.”
“I’m working,” she reminds me.
“You started it.”
“I did not!” She’s positively indignant.
“You did,” I say, immediately realizing we’re just going round and round.
“You never answered my question,” she says. “Do you want to be with me?”
I do.
The two words come to me, unbidden. Automatic. That’s what I want to say, but fuck.
Should I say that? She could reject me for that Carson dude and I’ll be left standing here with my heart in my hands, and she’ll shove it back at me a broken, shattered mess.