"Sometimes trust blinds us so much that we can't see the truth"
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After being dragged to some boring dinner meeting, Scarlet meets Jackson Vanderbilt. From leaving dinner early to being kicked out her apartment, Jackson was by Scarlet's side. What...
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I stand there dumbly blinking. Honestly, I refuse to believe my eyes. Christopher Blackwell, my senior year psychology teacher, my teacher-mentor, and my almost first love. If he was my first love, believe me, I would have never let him go, but we decided early, and that whatever we were doing wasn't safe - or legal.
Taking a deep breath, I finally spoke, "Mr. Blackwell, it's so great to see you." Now I wasn't lying, it was great to see him, but it also wasn't. Hell, look at him, he's about Jackson's height - maybe an inch shorter, he's got blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes. Just being near him brings back memories of senior year.
"Christopher," He corrects, "and it's always great to see you." His dimples light up as he smiles. Why does he have to be so damn good looking.
I welcome him in and walk him to the kitchen where my mother and Jackson are. Jackson puts in a confused look as he sees Christopher walking with me.
"Christopher! I'm so glad you decided to have dinner with us," my mother greets, she loves to play hostess - if you couldn't tell.
Jackson walks over to us and puts his arm around my waist. I gently jump at his touch, which was firm and possessive. I should have known Jackson would get somewhat jealous. I'm almost a hundred percent sure Jackson knows that Christopher is the teacher I mentioned earlier. Christopher's eyebrows gently raise. It was almost as if this couldn't get anymore awkward - but it did. My mother's phone rang, and she excused herself, leaving me sandwiched between Jackson and Christopher.
I sighed, "Jackson, this is Mr. Blackwell, my high school psychology teacher, and Mr. Blackwell, this is Jackson, my boss and my boyfriend." I slow down as both "boss" and "boyfriend" leave my mouth.
Jackson put his hand out to shake Christopher's. It was so weird seeing my two worlds collide.
"Christopher," Christopher corrects again, "Scarlet, even back in my classroom, I told you to call me Christopher." That was true, he told everyone to call him by his first name since he was fresh out of college, and he thought being called Mr. Blackwell made him sound 'too old.' Although other kids had taken him up on the offer, I had stuck with Mr. Blackwell.
Jackson's face gently firms, "It a good thing she didn't call you by your first name. Professionalism is a thing. A student and teacher should always be professional." That wasn't quite nice.
"That's rich coming from someone who's dating their employee," Christopher jabs. I forgot that Christopher is a hothead too. Fucking hell, they're so alike - I guess I have a type.
Before Jackson can say anything else, my mother's footsteps walk towards us. I don't think I've ever been so happy about hearing my mother's footsteps. All three of us turn to her and smile like cheeky little children.
"You guys can go sit while I set the table," my mother smiles as she points to the formal dining room.
"Oh, I'll help," I smile as I quickly walk away from being in the middle of Jackson and Christopher.
"I'll help too!" Jackson and Christopher say at the same time. My mother laughs and the three of us give awkward laughs.
"You kids are so great," my mother smiles.
Kids? Uh- my mother is clearly oblivious of the two men in here. One almost fücked his student, and one is fücking his assistant.
"Christopher, you can help my by setting the plates, cups, etc, while Jackson and Scarlet put the dishes into my serving bowls," My mother orders, and leads Christopher to the dining room.
Jackson and I are left alone. Instead of talking, I immediately start putting the chicken, stir fry, and biscuits into the serving dishes my mother laid out. Jackson steps close to me and whisper, "did you see how he was talking to me?"
I don't say anything, it's both of their faults.
"Don't ignore me," Jackson whispers again.
I set down the chicken and look up at Jackson, "What do you want me to say? The both of you just lunged at each other!"
Jackson's expression hardens, "I don't like to share."
"No one said you had to, I'm with you not Christopher," I explain.
"Just the thought of you being near him makes me angry," Jackson admits.
I sigh, "It's in the past." To avoid any further conversation, I pick the bowls up and export them to the table, where my mother and Christopher were sitting at. Our formal dining room seats eight people, three on the longer sides and one on each of the smaller sides. My mother sat at the smaller end and Christopher sat at the longer end - leaving two seats next to him.
Obviously, Jackson won't sit next to him which means I have to. I sit down next to Christopher and his scent hits me. The only way that I can describe his scent is... clean and musky. Just as the scent hits my nose another scent becomes involved - citrus and sandalwood - Jackson sits right beside me. Once again, I'm sandwiched between them.
