Briar

Asher’s words have played on a loop in my head for the past couple of days.

“You and I were never just friends.”

Understatement of the century.

Our little agreement has me giddy, though I know better than to think it means anything other than Asher being territorial. Little does he know, I’ve already distanced myself from Jackson. It didn’t feel right, and I didn’t want to string him along. It hasn’t stopped him from texting me, though. His behavior has become slightly erratic, accusing me of being a tease for not responding to him one second, and then apologizing in the next breath. I chalk it up to him not being able to handle rejection. Guys like him never can. Pathetic.

But, after Ash’s cryptic comment about a list, I’ve wondered if there was something more sinister going on. So, against my better judgment, when he asked if he could come over to talk, I said yes. My brother and Adrian are both here—sleeping off hangovers, but they’re here—should anything go wrong. I doubt it will. I don’t think Jackson is dangerous, but I guess you never know.

I step out of the pool to get dressed before Jackson comes over. I’m bending over, grabbing my towel off the patio chair when I see him come waltzing through the sliding glass door.

“You’re early,” I say, not even having to check the time to know he’s at least forty-five minutes early. Not only that, but he let himself in. Jackson’s eyes zero in on my chest, and I look down to see that my top has slid over a little, exposing the two purple spots Asher left as souvenirs. My face burns with embarrassment as I wrap the towel around me.

“I’m going to get dressed. Stay here,” I instruct, and he nods, taking a seat on one of the cushioned lounge chairs. I run inside to throw on some skinny yoga pants and a plain white tee before meeting Jackson back outside. He’s wearing crisp, dark jeans and a baby blue polo shirt, his usual attire, but something in his eyes is off. His easy smile is gone, and he appears to be on edge.

“How are you, Jackson?” Small talk is the worst, but I don’t know what else to say. I want to ask him about the list, whatever it is, but I decide to ease into it.

“Same old, same old,” he says, bouncing his knee. “I wish you’d talk to me, though.”

I sigh, not wanting to go there right now.

“Jackson …” I start, but the words fail me. He stares, waiting for an explanation that I can’t give him. Nothing happened. At all. I just don’t feel that way about him. I tried to make myself want him, but it turns out the heart is a stubborn, fussy bitch. And mine has only ever wanted Asher.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I admit.

“Just tell me the truth. I thought things were going well, and then it was like you just…lost interest.” His eyebrows pull together, as if he’s genuinely never been rejected before and can’t begin to make sense of it.

“I just think we’d make better friends.”

“It’s because of him, isn’t it?” he accuses, his eyes turning hard, and I know he’s referring to Asher. I consider telling him the truth, but I can’t risk other people finding out about us. And I don’t trust Jackson.

“No,” I say, taking a seat on the chair next to him. “But I do need to ask you something.”

“Anything,” he says casually, but his eyes scan me for clues. He knows I know something, but he doesn’t know what. I’m starting to realize that there might be more lurking beneath that pretty-boy charade.

“Am I on a list?”

His knee ceases its bouncing, and his eyes widen. “What list?”

I can tell he’s being deliberately obtuse, and that Asher and my brother were right to be concerned.

“Don’t play dumb.” I sigh. “Am I on a list?” I ask again. I stand, crossing my arms, and Jackson follows suit.

“It’s not what you think,” he says, taking a step toward me.

“No,” I say, turning to walk back into my house. “That’s all I needed to know.” I feel sick. I don’t know what the list entails, but I don’t have to be a genius to know that it’s not good. That it most likely has something to do with why he pursued me, and that he betrayed my trust. That’s enough for me, without having the gritty details.

“Briar, stop,” he demands, but I keep walking. When I open the sliding door, Dash is sitting at the breakfast bar, while Adrian fries some eggs. My brother’s blond hair sticks up in every direction, and he looks half-asleep, but when he sees that I’m upset with Jackson on my heels, he snaps to attention. Adrian drops the spatula, and they both flank me in an instant.

“What’s going on?” my brother barks.

“Nothing. He was just leaving.”

Jackson swallows nervously, looking among the three of us, probably trying to gauge how close he is to catching a fist to the face. Ultimately, he decides to test his luck.

“There is a list, and that’s why I was interested in you at the beginning,” he admits, holding up his hands in surrender when both Adrian and my brother advance on him. “But, I never added your name. I swear to fucking God, Briar. Why do you think I kept pursuing you? If it was only about the stupid list, I would have bailed after…” he trails off, thinking better of finishing that sentence in front of my brother.

Dash’s nostrils flare, and Adrian huffs out a humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face.

“You have three seconds to leave before my foot meets your ass.” This comes from Adrian.

“Briar,” Jackson tries again, jaw clenched in frustration, but I shake my head in response. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know if it changes how I feel, even if he is telling the truth.

Adrian arches a brow, and that’s all it takes for Jackson to realize he isn’t going to win this one. Then, he’s out the door, leaving me with two pairs of expectant eyes focused on me.

“What?”

“Start talking.”

Why are all the men in my life so damn pushy?