“do you want to run for mayor? this would look great on posters. it’s OUR hellhole! has a nice ring to it,” the blond muses teasingly, thinking it’s strangely refreshing, getting to talk to someone who doesn’t hate this town. if he’s being honest with himself, the whole going nomad thing just doesn’t feel right… this place is his home. this club is his father’s legacy. would it be easier to run away? sure, but life isn’t always about what’s easier. “guess there’s some truth to that.” hypnotized by the mere sight of her smile, he finds it impossible to look away or not to return it, the corners of his own lips turning upwards. “jackson. mhm. and you say you have nothin’ in common with my mother, huh?” they’re the only two people in the world who just casually call him by his full name, not that he’s complaining, though. it sounds kind of sweet when she says it. “you’re just givin’ me ideas now. frostin’ and coffee together? that doesn’t sound bad at all.” jesus christ, and then he falls for the oldest of all tricks… pale blue eyes studying the way her plump lips curl around her finger, his thoughts involuntarily heading in a direction that’s far from sophisticated. “you just don’t know how to appreciate good coffee. something’s clearly wrong with your tastebuds,” he quips, trying to quickly redirect his wandering mind. germs were the last thing on it. “good luck with that, i’m a very patient man.” a laugh escapes him. they both know that he’s the opposite of a patient man.
the good-natured humor evaporates eventually, leaving behind the kind of atmosphere that’s so thick, you could cut it with a knife. jackson isn’t the type to back down or change his viewpoints under pressure, and to make things worse, sloane seems to be just as stubborn and passionate as he is. neither willing to lighten the mood. “i’m not really out there pretendin’ he’s some fuckin’ saint, alright?” not budging even when she tries to push him, there’s frustration brewing deep inside his chest, too. that feeling of being powerless, of there being no good choice. “i question his decisions as much as i can but i gotta be smart ‘bout it, sloane. he wants me gone. i can feel it, see it in the way he looks at me. i ain’t gonna be the reason more blood gets spilled in this clubhouse.” if his old man was alive, everything would be different. but his old man’s six feet under. and jackson doesn’t want to prematurely join him, doesn’t want to bury any of his brothers either. glacier hues staring at her as her words about not wanting to leave echo in the space between them. it hits closer to home than he is willing to admit. people leave, especially the ones he cares about, that’s one thing about life that he’s learned the hard way. sloane can’t possibly be the only exception. she is going to leave, sooner or later. but hearing her insist that she won’t… it makes him want to believe her. something in his expression softens. the silence stretches for a heartbeat too long, exposing just how taken aback he truly is by that confession. he’ll believe it when he sees it, he tells himself and still his heart skips a beat. “things will get heated if i stay. you might want to reconsider,” he says quietly, lowering his gaze because holding hers is making him feel too vulnerable, as though she could see right into his soul. “that’s what i want to avoid. i don’t want to shed any more blood but i feel like wherever i turn, whatever choice i make, someone’s goin’ to get hurt.” but that’s the difference between him and clay. he’s not a heartless monster who doesn’t care about people. “thank you,” he mouths, as if speaking up could make whatever he feels for her real. ring-clad fingers reaching silently for her own, giving them a squeeze, pulling her closer. “i always have you in my corner, huh?” why? why? why? he can’t understand why she’d want to be there, but she is…
“now that’s a big, fat lie right there,” the blond points out, his solemn features slowly but surely lighting up because it really is easier than dwelling on the other things she’s just said. well, he hopes she hasn’t heard him sing, wouldn’t wish that form of torture on his worst enemies. he’s about as musically talented as a dying cat. “right, would hate to be one of those girls. the stairs can be tricky.” why would she be jealous of anyone? it’s all in his head, isn’t it? he just so desperately craves that deeper kind of connection with another soul, someone to understand him, that he’s adding meaning to words that carry no such weight. she’s joking. clearly. and the way she’s looking at him… she’s a flirt but so is he. he, out of all people, should know better. it’s all a performance. his heart so naive for wishing, hoping… he just doesn’t want her to know what she can do to him. he can’t fall in love again, and with a woman who’s a walking mystery, too. “i’m a pretty sweet guy, sloane. i mean, just look at my daily sugar intake.” scrunching his nose as her fingertip lands on it, he’s scared of all the things she’s making him feel. this feels like high school all over again. “actually, now that i’m thinkin’ about it, after the last stunt i pulled,” disappearing for the weekend and marrying wendy at a roadside chapel in las vegas, “hopefully, my mother won’t be pushin’ for that.” following her gaze, he smiles at the thought of his son and playfully brags, “a fighter and a charmer. the kid’s a teller through and through.”