6:32 AM
For the second time, I wake in Jackson's arms. For the thousandth time, I know it's where I belong. My body shapes to every inch of his, our breathing in unison. His heartbeat is the perfect melody to lull me into a state of complete and total bliss. His arm is draped over me and although I wish I could stay here forever, I need to get up and face the day. I wrap my fingers around his wrist and set his arm gently to the side before gliding out from underneath the covers.
I make my way to the bathroom, this time, armed with my toothbrush. I brush my teeth and swoosh mouthwash around to rid myself of unavoidable morning breath. I splash some water on my face, and pat my skin dry with a fluffy white towel. I can't help it. I lean forward to inspect my reflection.
Last night I became a different person.
I look the same save for one small difference.
My eyes.
The depths of my eyes are somehow altered. Changed to something bright, vibrant, alive.
Jackson startles me, shirtless in his sweats as he leans against the door jamb. "Have you finally noticed how beautiful you are?"
I smile. "Something like that."
"Good," he says. "Bout time."
I spin and lean with the small of my back against the counter. "I meant to ask you what happened with Xavier last night but then...well... you know."
"I do know," he says biting back a smile, "I was here."
"So, what happened?"
"Didn't the man tell you himself? He told me he was headed to your place to smooth the rough waters."
"He told me his side. What's yours?"
The smile breaks and he reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants to remove his cell phone. "We're like two peas in a pod now, Angel. No worries."
"That's a lie if I ever heard one."
He holds up his pointer finger. "I knew you'd say that but rest assured. I'm prepared. I have proof."
"You do, do you?"
"I do."
His finger glides across the surface of his phone, selecting something before turning it to face me.
"We took a selfie," he proclaims proudly. "See."
I grab the phone from his hand and bring the screen to my face.
Sure enough, Xavier and Jax are standing side by side, each with a coffee in their hands. If I didn't know better, I'd say they've been friends for years.
"This is falsified," I state, handing the phone back to him.
Jax squints. "How do you figure?"
"Xavier was better, but not quite over the idea of us," I say. "He will behave himself but I still don't think he likes it and I don't think in this lifetime or the next he's going to be in the habit of bromance selfies with you."
He pockets the cell phone. "Alright fair enough. Point is, Xavier came to terms with the realization that I have no intention of going anywhere. I'd fight for you, Angel, if I had to. I told Xavier that I loved you. He doesn't like it much, but he loves you enough to put his own feelings aside."
"What feelings?"
A solid knot squeezes my stomach. Since our fight, I can't seem to let go of Xavier's reply when I asked him if he was jealous. 'What if I told you I was?'
"The fact that he'd probably be a pretty happy dude if I just walked off the face of the earth," Jackson replies. "Xavier Morgan has had you all to himself for the last 20 years. It's time to share now and I don't think he likes it much."
"I'm not a thing. I'm not an object for you to pass around, Jackson."
"Rephrase," Jax says quickly. "Xavier has had the indisputable joy of being one of the closest people to you for the last 20 years."
"Better," I say.
Jackson extends his hand. "C'mon. Let's get breakfast."
I place my hand in his and allow him to lead me down the hallway toward the kitchen. The digital display on the stove reads 6:45. "Shit," I say. "I have to go."
"What, now?"
"Yes," I say, "now."
"Why?"
"There's this thing called school. I have a course on imperial, transnational and postcolonial literature. Professor Reynolds is brutal."
"Transnational and postcolonial," he echoes. "Say that again. I like it when you talk nerdy to me."
I stand on the tips of my toes and lean in close to him, grabbing his bottom lip with my teeth. "Transnational." I kiss him. "Postcolonial."
Jackson rolls his eyes skyward. "Maybe we should change Angel to Einstein." He heads to the fridge, grabs a carton of orange juice and pours two glasses before setting one in front of me. "Skip."
"I can't."
"Can't or are unwilling?"
"Both. Reynolds is a dictator. It's horrible."
His arms slides across the granite counter top of the island and settles on top of mine. "Spend the day with me. Stage a rebellion on Reynolds and his brutality."
"I just spent the night with you."
"And we both know how that turned out," he says, grinning. "Stay."
"I can't. I'm on a scholarship here. I can't screw it up, Jax."
He pauses for a moment before exhaling. "Right. Forgot. You're both beautiful and brilliant. What about tonight?"
"Can't."
His brows knit together. "What? Why not?"
"I can't. I'm going to a reading at the library with Xavier."
His eyes cast downward and he gives a heavy, defeated sigh. "Now who has to learn to share?"
I glare.
"The indisputable joy of your company."
I smile.
"Look. I promised X I'd go to the reading and I can't miss class but I'll come back here later, I promise."
"I'll take it," he says. "Come by between the end of your classes and going out with X. I figure we will both need a recharge by then. You aren't going to have any fun with your best friend if you can't stop puking your guts out."
"You have such a charming way with words, Jackson Sunday."
He polishes off the orange juice remaining in his glass. "It's a gift but you're the English major. My lady of linguistics, my maven of modern word, my English loving Einstein."
I laugh and finish my juice before standing on the tips of my toes to kiss him. "You're charming, Jax."
His arms wrap around my lower back and he pulls me closer. "Are you sure I can't convince you to stay? I'm real charming about other things too."
"No," I say. "You can't. Charming or not."
His arms release me. "Go Angel. Go and enlighten your already incredible mind then. I'll be waiting."
*****
I have barely enough time to make it to the dorm, shower for about two minutes and gather my stuff before I'm officially late. I sprint like mad down the hallway when I am stopped dead. I collide into something with such force, my book bag slides across the floor, pens and books spill out everywhere.
"Watch where you're—" a familiar voice says then stops. Xavier is standing before me, features pinched in irritation until he realizes who he ran into. His face immediately softens. "Where's the fire?"
"I'm late. For Reynold's class."
Xavier is no stranger to Reynold's iron fist. Guy has a real reputation on campus. Xavier bends down and picks up my books while I gather my pens before he places both back inside the bag. He looks at me, holding my bag hostage. "You okay?"
"Perfectly fine," I say, "but late."
He hands me my bag. "You look different, Mouse. Are you sure you're okay?"
Wait. What? "I'm fine. How do you figure I look any different?"
He takes a step back, his eyes scanning me from my head to my toes. "I can't exactly pinpoint it, but there's something."
"Can you consider solving the mystery later? I really can't be late."
"We still on for tonight?"
"Yes," I say. "Definitely."
Xavier smiles. "Good."
"Okay, I'll uh, see you then."
I make it to class with approximately 45 seconds to spare. Reynolds is writing something on the monstrous whiteboard, his back to the door, thank God, when I come in. I move as stealthily as possible to where Madeline Mason is seated, waving her hand frantically. I slide into the chair beside her—mostly because there is nowhere else to sit. "I saved you a seat," she says.
"Why?"
She shrugs. "Girl, I want to keep you close. Learn your secrets."
"I don't have many secrets." Just one whopper about my future husband and how he time travelled here from the future.
"I don't believe you."
I wouldn't either.
"So don't," I say. "But it's true."
"Well see about that," she says.
"I'm afraid you're about to be epically disappointed."
"Not possible," Madeline replies. "You're a mystery, Lola. A tough code to crack, but I like you. There's something unique about you."
I pull out my iPad plus a coil bound notebook and a pen. "That's nice of you to say," I tell her, "but I'm afraid there's not much of a story. I'm predictable."
I was. Until a couple of weeks ago.
Now, I'm so caught up in the present, in Jackson, there is no telling where the future will go.