Ruthless In A Suit(62)

“Exactly,” I say. “We couldn’t. Two out of three would always be punished. And my mother had no control. She’s not a strong person anyway, but no one could stand up to Edward Croft. He was just way too formidable. So she left.”

“She divorced him?”

“No,” I say. “Father would never allow that. Bad for the image, he said. Are you ready for the most ironic part? Looking like the good family man was one of his keys to success. He drilled into us the importance of choosing the right partner.”

“If you don’t mind my saying,” Emily says, “it doesn’t sound like your father was exactly the definition of family man.”

“I said looking like a good family man was key,” I say. “When you tell your three sons whoever builds the tallest, strongest Lego building will be his favorite child for the evening, you pretty much lose out on any father-of-the-year award.”

“I’m so sorry, Jackson,” Emily says, resting her hand on my thigh.

“Don’t be,” I say. “Honestly. It’s all in the past.”

“But your brothers,” she says.

This is definitely going on too long than I’d ever want talk of my family to go.

“Let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening. What do you have planned for us next?”

It turns out that what’s next is a place somehow smaller than the pizza joint. It’s a tiny club that is dark and crammed by the time we arrive. There’s a jazz band blowing it up on stage, and although I’m not a huge fan, the energy is pretty cool.

Emily says something as I hand her the drink I just got at the bar.

“What?” I say.

“I said,” she says, her voice almost a yell in the noisy club, “they play different kinds of music on the weekends. Sometimes funk, blues, even country. I wasn’t sure what kind…”

“This is perfect,” I say back.

I find a space along the wall that I lean back against and hold Emily in front of me. After another drink I’ve got her pressed up against the wall and am doing everything in my power to not get arrested for lewd conduct in public while still feeling every inch of her. By the time I suggest we head out, my lips are bruised and Emily has destroyed my hair.

“Can we go to my place?” she asks as step outside.

“But there are still rooms at my house you haven’t found yet,” I say. “We can go exploring.”

“We always go to your place,” she says. “You haven’t seen inside mine yet. Come on, Jackson. Come see where I live.”

I do want to know everything about Emily that I can possibly learn, even if I’m not thrilled about spending the night in a studio apartment in Allston. But for Emily, I’d spend the night at the bus station.





Emily





I’m nervous for him to see my place. It’s nothing to be ashamed of—I’m one person, I don’t need a lot of space. And the neighborhood is good, mostly BU students. Jackson is so used to opulence and grandeur, so I’m not sure how he’ll react, but he is going to meet my family tomorrow so he should see where I live.

I guide him around to the back of the house where the entrance is. As I put the key in the lock, he nuzzles my neck, his hands around my waist. How is it that I can never satiate my appetite with him?

“Here we are,” I say, opening the door and turning on the lights. I have a small kitchen to the left, and straight ahead is my living room/bedroom combo, a couch and TV on the right and my bed on the left.

Jackson looks around, sticks his head in the kitchen, looks at the desk by the door where I do my work and sometimes each meals.

“It’s…charming,” he says.

“It’s small, I know,” I say, because that’s what he means.

“Don’t you go stir crazy in here?”

“I try not to spend long stretches of time here,” I say. “I go out to study a lot.” The way his eyes drift over everything, I’m starting to feel self-conscious about my place. “We can go to your place if you’d rather.”

He looks at me. “No. I want to stay. I want to be here with you.” Which melts my heart a little. “Are these your siblings?” he asks, pointing to a photo hanging crooked on my wall. Jackson levels it.

“Yeah,” I say, stepping closer. “That was a few years ago. Before Dax went to school the three of us decided to go to Six Flags. Sometimes hanging out with them is more fun than hanging out with my closest friends. We laughed so much that day.”

“Looks like a good day,” he says. “And these are your parents?”

“Yep,” I say at the other photo he points to.