He did tell me he might be late, but, I swear, if I see one more construction worker come around this corner who is not Jackson, I might rip down all the caution tape and go in there and drag him out. I hate to admit it to myself, but I’ve been looking forward to seeing him all week, and while “grabbing a bite” wasn’t quite what I had in mind for our Thursday night date, I do understand being busy at work and needing to lie low for a little while. Jackson said that this Norcross Mall project has been hitting some snags, which is why they called him back in. I don’t really get how anything that still looks like a plot of dirt with some random concrete pillars and wooden beams can already be “snagging,” but I don’t really care. I just want to see Jackson. After another ten minutes of leaning against a partially constructed wall and watching short Hispanic men wander past, I compromise with myself and pull out my phone. Get your ass out here, I type, or I’m taking myself to dinner.
What do You think about Jackson: A Sexy Bastard Novel?
