Before Sunday

Seven

1:13 AM

The air outside is so crisp, it bites at my skin and gives me immediate regrets about leaving the confines of Jackson's cozy beach house. I should have stayed on his couch, wrapped in a blanket, drinking cocoa and listening to his outrageous stories. I'll be honest; Jackson is pretty easy on the eyes and now that I know he's not the total psycho I had him pegged for, he's growing on me. The boy possess a unique charm; the kind of magnetism many people wish to have but few will ever find. And his stories intrigue me so, despite my apprehensions, I can't help myself.

I snake my arms around myself to stop the chill from seeping straight through the flimsy knit of my sweater but it's no use. I may as well be standing here in a tank top and shorts. I walk fast, a direct result of both the cold and the fact that the beach is so close to the outskirts of the city, there aren't any streetlights for at least half a mile. I'm doing my best not to frighten myself by drumming up images fueled by one too many horror flicks.

My best, it seems, is no good. My brain conjures up scenarios of things that go bump in the night, and my heart races as I wait for the non-existent boogeyman to come snatch me. My palms are sticky with sweat and I entertain the idea of turning around and heading back to Jax's place, maybe even calling Xavier to come and pick me up. As the illogical panic starts to set in, something snaps underfoot. Only problem is, it's not under my foot.

Oh. My. God.

I find my breath and start a quick jog when his voice comes from behind. "I know it's common practice for the male to figuratively chase the female but are you going to make me literally do it too?"

I've never been so happy to hear someone's voice in my entire life. I turn, projecting my voice into the darkness. "Jackson?"

His footsteps shuffle closer. "Ah come on now, Angel, you didn't seriously think I'd let you venture off into the dead of night by yourself, did you?"

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." Lies. All lies. I am scared of the dark and too stubborn to admit it.

"I'm not suggesting that you aren't or that you can't. Merely doing the only thing fit for a gentleman to do is all. I want to walk you to your door," he pauses, "that is, if you'll let me of course."

Since I practically flew into his arms when he spoke, I have my doubts that he'll buy my hesitation, but even so, I pretend to think about it to try and save face. I slow my pace so Jackson can catch up and when he reaches me, his hand gathers mine, our fingers intertwining and I can breathe again. The irrational train of thinking hasn't yet derailed and I'm able to recover.

"Thanks for coming after me," I say quietly.

"I'd rather die an agonizing death than ever risk anything happening to you," he says with a shrug. "Had to follow. There was never any question."

We finish our walk in silence. It should be awkward, like first date awkward but it isn't. It's a comfortable sort of quiet that's easy to fall into. I feel a wall begin to crumble as we head to the dorm, but when we're two streets away, common sense kicks in and brick by brick, that wall rebuilds. What am I thinking? I can't throw myself at this stranger, charming as he may be. I appreciate the fact that he's gorgeous, I appreciate the fact that he's enough of a gentleman to walk me home, hell, I even appreciate his ludicrous fairytales, but I can't jump in feet first. That's impetuous and no doubt, I'd regret it.

When get to the building, Jackson shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles a devastating smile­—the kind the reaches all the way to his gentle eyes. He leans forward and brushes his lips to my cheek. "Good night," he says softly, "if you're going to dream, dream of me."