Jackson climbs out of his car, striding straight toward me. He’s clad in a pair of gray, low hanging sweatpants that show off the waistband of his boxers—classic Calvin Klein—and no shirt.
No. Shirt.
My brain scrambles at his seeing his bare chest.
“El, I’m so sorry. You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” He jogs toward me, reaching out his hand to touch my elbow. His gaze cuts to Donna. “Hey. Thanks for waiting with her.”
“Of course,” Donna says, sounding amused. “See you tomorrow, Ellie.”
She leaves, heading for her car parked near the back.
Jackson frowns at me. “Wait, that isn’t her ride?”
He nods toward Carson’s car.
“No, that’s—”
The driver’s side window slides down, revealing Carson’s face. “Hey, Ellie.”
Jackson’s entire demeanor goes cold. His hand drops from my elbow. “What the fuck?”
“You didn’t respond to my texts and calls,” I tell him, my voice low. “I panicked. I thought you forgot about me.”
“I would never forget you, Ellie,” he says, his tone fierce.
“You did tonight,” I point out.
“I’m here now, aren’t I? Jesus.” He runs both of his hands over his head, his fingers sliding through his hair. In this position, the muscles in his arms bulge and flex, his biceps huge.
Regret slams into me, hard and swift. I should’ve never called Carson. I should’ve called Eli and told him to wake up Jackson. I totally messed up.
“I honestly didn’t think you’d show up,” I whisper, wincing when I hear Carson’s car door slam.
Oh God, I really hope this doesn’t turn into a confrontation.
“Ellie,” Carson says, hurriedly walking over to where Jackson and I are standing. “You okay?”
He glares at Jackson, who glares right back.
Carson has balls. Jackson is clearly taller and bigger, his muscular chest on complete display. Which is a total distraction for me, I have to admit. I keep sneaking glances at him. He’s all rumpled and sexy, like he just rolled out of bed, which he totally did. If I could rewind the last fifteen minutes and change how this has all unfolded, I so would.
But I can’t. I’ve created this big ol’ mess and now I have to clean it up as best I can.
“I’m great. Uh, just a miscommunication.” I smile at Carson before I turn my gaze to Jackson. “He can take me home.”
“The fuck he will,” Jackson growls as he goes to stand behind me, his hands curling around my shoulders. “I’ll drive her home.”
His commanding voice tells me—and Carson—that he’s not going to back down.
I whirl on him, giving him a shove. “Stop being a macho asshole. I’m going home with Carson.”
“Ellie, come on,” he starts, but I shake my head.
“Nope, I’m riding with Carson. You can go home.” I flounce away from Jackson before he can say another word, my entire body shaking. I follow Carson to his car, opening the passenger door and climbing inside. He drives a silver Chevy Malibu. A nice, practical car.
For a nice, practical guy. How fitting.
“That’s the guy from the party, right?” Carson asks, once he’s in the driver’s seat and about to back the car out of the lot. “Is he actually your ex or something?”