Just Ask Ch. 03

I check my phone again, placing my dishes in the return.

What are you doing this afternoon? Beats me. Other than napping and Netflix, I didn't have any plans for today. I am still flushed and confused from Jackson asking for my number not even a minute ago, and I have no idea how to respond. I don't want to seem uncool, but I also don't want to seem aloof. I decide that since honesty worked before, it will probably work again.

My fingers fly over my keyboard. I don't have any plans. I hit send, and make my way out of the caf.

As I pass Jackson's table, we make eye contact. He points to his phone, makes a questioning gesture. I point back to my own and wink at him. As he turns back to his phone, I pass through the caf doors and begin ascending the stairs.

My phone buzzes. It's Jackson. Would you like to make plans with me?

My response is instinctive. I would!

I am up the stairs now, leaving the caf building. I step outdoors and the sunshine is an onslaught; I have to sit at the nearest bench until my vision can recover. The vyvanse I took is making my pupils huge. No wonder the light hurts so bad.

My phone buzzes again. I'll pick you up by your dorm in one hour. Dress to be outside.

My eyes have adjusted enough that I can get off the bench. I start on my next set of stairs and ascend quickly. My heart races at the thought of going on a date with Jackson. Fucking Jackson! Last night I was fucking a slob and I was in full hot mess mode. Today I'm going on a date with a ten. I'm in sweats, I haven't showered or brushed my teeth, and I'm covered in sex marks.

Perhaps it's time I take a new approach to the way I live.

I finish the climb to get to my dorm and I let myself in. My room is right next to the main door, and I practically run to it. I open the door, look around, and immediately come to conclusion that Jackson absolutely cannot see the inside of my room. I fight with the urge to clean it, but ultimately, I decide that I need all the time I can get to make myself semipresentable.

I shuck my clothes and stand in front of my mirror to assess the damage. It is bad, but not as bad as I thought. My neck, chest, and shoulders are covered in bite marks. There are no marks on my wrists, so I probably wasn't restrained. The finger marks on my neck have faded some. My hair is a nest of evil, but that can be fixed with a shower and a straightener. My eyeliner is fucked up and cracked, my face is haggard, and my body is peppered with scratch marks.

"Damn, and this isn't even rock bottom." I tell myself. My reflection appears unconvinced as we turn this way and that, taking in the scope of last night's consequences. "You need to shower, hot stuff. You're a fucking mess." My reflection agrees.

I gather my shower things and wrap a towel around my waist. I close the door to my room behind me and head for the showers, hoping that no one sees me. I'm not ashamed of my body, because I am a dancer and I worked hard for my body; but I am ashamed of the passion marks that decorate it. If any of my neighbors saw this, they would probably not be surprised. I hurry anyway.

I hop in the shower and start the water running. I have it as hot as it will go and let the water wash my soreness away. I just hang my head for a minute, enjoying the feel of the hot water on my aching body. I breathe deeply, and all the anxiety that I feel is focused by the combination of breath and vyvanse. I turn my anxiety into motivation.

I am going to get cleaned up, I tell myself. I am going to go on a fantastic date today, I say. Step one is shampoo.

I clean my hair, my teeth, and my body. I gently massage myself with the shower gel, starting at my pecs and arms and working my way slowly down. I trace the hard muscles of my torso, lean and flexible from years of intense modern dance training. My legs are strong and very well defined, huge dancer thighs and solid calves. I give my feet some love, going over the arches with small circles of pressure. Finally, I feel like I'm ready to get out.

I dry off, tie my long, wet hair back, and then I set myself up at the bathroom mirror. I shave, scrub my face, and poke a dissatisfied finger at my marks. Cold quarters couldn't help me now if they were subzero.

When I get back in my room, I look at the disaster zone and curse myself for not doing laundry more frequently. I pick some weird Asian pants that I look great in, a soft comfy tee, and some sneakers. I couldn't get all of last night's eyeliner off, but what remained looks like fresh-applied, so I leave it. Then I set to work covering up what I can. I am used to covering things like this up, so it doesn't take very long for my practiced hand to conceal most of my marks. I have to use green toner for most of it, but almost every mark is manageable. The choke marks are what they are, and I do my best. Even after I'm finished, they're still faintly present.

It will have to do. I pull my newly clean hair back into a bun, opting for easy.

I have just grabbed my wallet, keys, and phone and am heading out the door when my phone buzzes. I check the text- it just says here. My heart rate speeds up again. It's happening. I'm going out on a date. A real date. With a gorgeous man. With someone my own age. With someone who is interested in me when they are sober.

I can't remember the last time any of this happened to me.

I nab my small backpack on the way out the door. It's got everything from water to weed to emergency medical supplies. Who knows where today will take me?

I lock my door and head out the dorm's front door- excited, a little nervous, and optimistic for the first time in months.

* * * * * *

When I step outside, Jackson's black SUV is idling on the shoulder of the road. The tinted window rolls down and reveals Jackson's stunning smile. He's wearing sunglasses, and I can see most of his perfect white teeth.

"Get in," he grins, and I open the door without hesitation.

I look at him as I settle in. He's got black athletic shorts and a blue t-shirt on. I laugh. "Guess we're twins today." I joke.

He looks at my clothes and then at his own. "Shit, I guess so. Great minds, huh?" He flashes another dazzling smile at me. I return it.

"You have a gorgeous smile," he says. I smile bigger and thank him for the compliment. He throws the car into gear and we begin our adventure.

I lean back in the seat, the picture of comfortable. "So," I say, "What's the agenda for today?"

"How does rock hopping sound?" he replies. A small, rocky river runs through campus, and when the weather is nice students flock to it. It's perfect for sunbathing, hiking, wading, and (my favorite)- rock hopping.

"Sounds perfect. I haven't been since last summer."

"Me either," Jackson replies, "I've been itching to go for weeks now, but it's been such a shitty winter that there was no way." This year's winter had been especially harsh- more than three feet of snow, nothing but black ice, and constantly subzero temps.

"It's been so long since we had any sun," I say. "I almost forgot what it looks like."

Jackson laughs at this. "You strike me as more of a night owl anyway."

I laugh too, and I roll my eyes. Considering how he found me last night, I can't do much else. "I can't argue that. I can't even remember the last time I went outside for fun."

He chortles and makes the last turn for the river. The roads in town are winding and narrow, and the view is spectacular. Mountains greet us at every turn, shimmering blue in the distance. On a sunny day like this, when the air is clear and the wind is mellow, being outside and alive is simply a joy. I love every second of it. My feet squirm in anticipation of feeling the rocks and the moss.

Jackson throws the car in park and we step out of the tinted protection of his car into the exhilarating sunshine. I breathe deep and look out at the millpond which feeds the river. The ducks are milling about the pond, hoping for some bread. They are fat and lazy; tourists feed them so often that they don't even fly south for the winter. The asshole geese are also out. I note their general location and resolve to stay far away from them, because they are known to rush pedestrians for the fun of it.

I turn over my shoulder to where Jackson is standing by the driver's side of the vehicle, and I find him staring at me. I flash him a smile.

"Ready?" I ask.

He smiles. "So ready."

We walk down to the river, trying to find the best spot to enter. We duck under sparse, thin trees and hop over boulders of increasing size. The river has always been there, but since the college sprang up the river has been landscaped some to make it easier to enjoy. Hence the convenient boulders. We hop the last boulder on the shoulder of the river and climb our way up to the top of the tallest rock.

We pause for a minute, to look at the river. I feel Jackson approach me from behind, which puts my entire body on immediate alert. He leans into my ear and speaks low.

"There's an awesome man-made overlook about a half hour's hike down the river." he growls. I feel the rush of him standing so close. " I figured we could head there and see where else the day takes us."

I know the exact spot. I smoke there all the time in the summer. "That's my favorite spot on the river," I tell him. I feel him leave from behind me and I remember that I haven't exhaled in a while.

We start climbing down the rock and making our way down the river. He gives me an impish grin. "Is that where you take all your paramours?"

I bark out a laugh. "My paramours? That's a rather specific word."

"I like it. It's dark. Mysterious, even."

"Ah, is that how you think of me? Dark? Mysterious?" I quip. "Perhaps even-" I lean into him, and hear his sharp intake of breath, "exotic?"

We stare at each for a moment, not more than a few inches apart. The energy between us is palpable, thick with tension.

Jackson speaks first. "You make exotic so sexy." Any tension flies out the window and I laugh, so hard that I have to sit down. Jackson joins me, laughing himself.

"I'm sorry," he says, "That was way corny."

"Yeah," I say, "It was. But I think I'll get over it just fine." I'd rather have him over me. Just sitting next to him is lighting up my body like I've never experienced. He makes my chest tight, my head foggy. I am absolutely crazy.

"I need to take my shoes off. I can't do this with the shitty traction." I say.

"I think I'll join you!" he says, and we both remove our shoes. Somehow we manage to fit both pairs in my bag, despite their size. We could probably better use them as canoes.

We finish the rest of rock hopping in relative comfort and ease, though the underlying sexual tension is enough to make me scream. Along the way, we talk and joke, and we get know each other better. He tells me he is double majoring in athletic training and business, and I tell him I'm also double majoring, but in musical theatre and english. He tells me how he used to be involved in the student government association and beta omicron theta, but dropped both because he was having trouble managing his time with his other obligations. I know the feeling well; I tell him that I used to preside over the presidential honors society and the a cappella group.

He tells me about football, of which I understand almost nothing. He is a fullback, and from what I can gather it means he hits people really hard. He stands a few inches taller than me, so he must be at least six-seven. I talk a little about some of the contracts I've held and some of my writing, but neither of us are eager to talk about ourselves.

The conversation flows as easily as the river does, and I find that I am attracted to his personality and intellect just as much as his body. Occasionally, our arms or legs brush when we take the same path through the water and rocks. When one of us mounts a large boulder, we turn back to help the other up. Interacting with him is so natural, and I the more we talk, the less nervous I am. I am constantly smiling a dopey smile, and he is always returning it. He steals glances at me when he thinks I'm not looking, and I have trouble keeping from openly ogling his body. I feel like an idiot.

We finally reach the destination, a cute little mossy plateau overlooking a pool of water under the shade of tall, leafy trees. We set our things down and rest in the moss, enjoying the sunshine filtering down through the leaves. It couldn't be more perfect.

Jackson turns to me, interrupting himself mid-sentence. "I don't mean to freak you out, but I also want to be open with you. I was hoping that we could smoke a bowl while we're here."

I just stare at him. It absolutely just got more perfect.

He stammers on, "I understand if you don't like weed, but it's such a great day and if you don't like it, I won't smoke it around you, but I-" I cut him off with a finger on his lips. His soft, perfect lips. Jackson's throat jumps.

"Jackson," I say, savoring the way his name feels, "I am an unabashed pothead. I would love to light a bowl with you." Relief crossed Jacksons's face, and then it lit up with that entrancing smile again.

"Great," he says, "Because I just got some new shit and I've been dying to try it out."

I laugh. "How about we make a salad?"

He laughs at that. "A salad on the first date? How healthy of you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dimebag. He takes the plant out and holds it underneath my nose. "Smell," he offers.

I inhale deeply. I get a whiff of that familiar dank odor, and then something a bit more... sour?

"Is that sour diesel?" I ask.

He grins. "You're pretty good."

"Years of practice," I say, and dig in my bag to offer some of my shit up to him. I take it out of the glass jar it lives in, unwrap it, and present it to Jackson for inspection. He takes the bud reverently, and holds it up to the light. It is light, sticky, and fluffy.

"Is this... purple?" he asks.

I nod my head. "Purple dream."

Jackson whistles and hands it back to me. I dig out my grinder and my bowl, a brown Sherlock pipe, and I begin to load in. Jackson hands me his nug and I measure out an equal amount of both strains. Jackson watches me pack the bowl, his eyes focused on my fingers. I tamp down the pot and hand him the bowl and lighter.

"This is about to be an intense salad," I say.

"I doubt I'll ever enjoy a salad this much again," he says, and I laugh. He flicks the lighter and takes a hit, then immediately lets it out. I watch the smoke billow around me, tracing it back to that perfect mouth. When I meet his eyes, I see that he's been watching me the whole time. He grins, and my first instinct is to blush; but instead I grin back.

I raise the bowl to my lips, light the salad, and breathe deep. I hand the bowl over to him and close my eyes. I lean back, count in my head, and then I let the hit out slow. I open my eyes to find him focused solely on me.

"You really held that in."

I nod. "I'm all about the experience." Jackson gives me an odd little look and then takes his next hit. This time, he holds it in and lets it out slow. I watch his eyes as the high hits him. It's incredible. He is transported to a different plane with that hit.

"How ya feelin'?" I ask.

He hands me the bowl. "Light," he says, and I laugh. He makes me laugh more than I usually laugh in a day.

I take another hit and hand the bowl back to him. We pass it back and forth, joking about hit technique and observing nature, and we finish the bowl in easy time. When it's done, I empty it out on the ground beside and pack everything back in my bag.

Jackson looks at me, suddenly anxious, smile gone. He grabs my arm, lightly, respectfully. "You aren't leaving, are you?"

I look in his eyes. They are so vulnerable. That's exactly how I feel.

"I wasn't planning on it. I was just putting things up, just in case." Jackson loosens up and his smile returns. His hand doesn't leave my arm, though, and I don't want it to. I decide to take a chance.

I put my hand behind his head and I pull him in to me. I've never been so scared about being so forward before, and I don't want to fuck this one up; but I have to take the chance. I am inches from his face when I pause.

He is staring right at me. His deep, brown eyes reflect my own worry and hesitancy.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask. Jackson doesn't reply. Instead, he leans into me and closes the distance between our lips. They meet slow, soft, and the feel of his perfect lips pressed against mine ignite fireworks in my chest. His kiss sends me over the moon, I'm flying, I'm floating. I feel a thrill take hold of my body, and suddenly I'm in the best mood of my life. I've never been kissed like this before.

We break away and smile. "I've been dreaming about kissing you for years," Jackson confesses.

I am absolutely floored. I'd given up on any chance of experiencing a romance, and here one is dumped in my lap! I certainly wasn't about to let it go.

For once, my mind wasn't foggy or hazy. For once, my tongue wasn't completely tied at the thought of trying to string together a coherent sentence around my dream man. He's been dreaming about kissing me for years? I've been blind. And I'm ready to see what other fantasies he has in store for me.

"Then why did you stop?"