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Authors: S. H. Kolee
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grin.
"No one can say
you don't have a healthy ego," I retorted, but I couldn't help smiling.
Jackson's playfulness was charming.
"Scout's honor
that I really just want to have dinner. I promise to cook you an amazing meal.
You can decide when the night ends."
"Well, okay,"
I relented, knowing that it had never been much of a debate. Regardless of my
reservations about going up to Jackson's apartment, I knew that I would
eventually agree. It was hard to resist him.
As we walked inside, I
noted that Jackson's building was a lot nicer than mine was, complete with a
doorman, plush carpeting and an elevator.
"This is a nice
building," I said after Jackson had greeted Sam, the doorman, and we
stepped inside the elevator. I watched Jackson push the button for the
sixteenth floor. "You must really be an amazing trainer."
Jackson smiled without
commenting as the elevator whisked us up silently to his floor. He looked
contemplative as he watched the floor numbers light up and I suddenly felt a
little awkward. Besides being an actor, part-time trainer and non-serial
killer, I didn't know much else about Jackson.
"Claire told me
you guys met in an acting class."
Jackson looked at me
and nodded. "Yeah, it was an awful class taught by some kook who believed
acting like animals helped improve our craft. I spent most of our classes
walking around clucking and flapping my arms."
"At least you know
you'll be a shoo-in for any barnyard animal roles."
Jackson laughed and
grabbed my hand as the elevator arrived on the sixteenth floor and the doors
opened.
Jackson unlocked the
door to his apartment and ushered me in, flicking on the lights and leading me
into the living room. Jackson's apartment made mine look like a shanty. The
living room was as large as my entire apartment with a balcony that led to a
fantastic view. Despite the size, the furnishings were sparse with one long
leather couch and a massive TV mounted on the wall.
"This place is
huge," I said. "And you have an amazing view." I didn't
understand how Jackson could afford such a nice apartment, but I didn't think
he would appreciate me demanding to know the details of his salary. Maybe he
came from money.
"Thanks," he
said, his voice muffled as I heard him rummaging in the kitchen. "Do you
want some wine?"
"I would love
some, thanks."
I walked over to the
sliding glass doors and looked outside, thrilled at all the lights twinkling
against the backdrop of the night sky.
"Here you
go."
I jumped, Jackson's
voice sounding closer than I expected since I hadn't heard him come up behind
me. I turned around and he handed me a wine glass.
"I hope sauvignon
blanc is okay," he said, lightly clinking his glass with mine.
"It's great,"
I said, taking a sip. "But I thought struggling actors were supposed to
drink Bud Light."
Jackson grinned.
"I only serve that when I really want to impress a girl."
I laughed as I took
another sip. I didn't know much about wine but the cool liquid was delicious
and crisp against my tongue.
"So where's this
dinner I keep hearing about?"
"Ah," Jackson
said, raising an eyebrow. "You're in for a treat. On today's menu we'll be
serving chicken marsala with pasta."
I looked at Jackson
skeptically. "You're really going to cook?"
Jackson shook his head
in mock disappointment. "Your doubt in my skills pains me."
"Okay," I
said with a smile. "I believe you. I'm waiting to be amazed."
Jackson frowned.
"Well, you need to be my sous chef."
"Hey, I never said I was going to do any cooking,"
I protested. "I thought you wanted to impress me with your culinary
skills."
Jackson smiled sweetly.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that food tastes better when you cook
together?"
I felt a hollow pang at
Jackson's words. It reminded me of the countless nights Sean and I had cooked
dinner together. I missed the easy intimacy of working together without having
to say a word.
Jackson looked at me
thoughtfully. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I
said mustering a smile. I
"No one can say
you don't have a healthy ego," I retorted, but I couldn't help smiling.
Jackson's playfulness was charming.
"Scout's honor
that I really just want to have dinner. I promise to cook you an amazing meal.
You can decide when the night ends."
"Well, okay,"
I relented, knowing that it had never been much of a debate. Regardless of my
reservations about going up to Jackson's apartment, I knew that I would
eventually agree. It was hard to resist him.
As we walked inside, I
noted that Jackson's building was a lot nicer than mine was, complete with a
doorman, plush carpeting and an elevator.
"This is a nice
building," I said after Jackson had greeted Sam, the doorman, and we
stepped inside the elevator. I watched Jackson push the button for the
sixteenth floor. "You must really be an amazing trainer."
Jackson smiled without
commenting as the elevator whisked us up silently to his floor. He looked
contemplative as he watched the floor numbers light up and I suddenly felt a
little awkward. Besides being an actor, part-time trainer and non-serial
killer, I didn't know much else about Jackson.
"Claire told me
you guys met in an acting class."
Jackson looked at me
and nodded. "Yeah, it was an awful class taught by some kook who believed
acting like animals helped improve our craft. I spent most of our classes
walking around clucking and flapping my arms."
"At least you know
you'll be a shoo-in for any barnyard animal roles."
Jackson laughed and
grabbed my hand as the elevator arrived on the sixteenth floor and the doors
opened.
Jackson unlocked the
door to his apartment and ushered me in, flicking on the lights and leading me
into the living room. Jackson's apartment made mine look like a shanty. The
living room was as large as my entire apartment with a balcony that led to a
fantastic view. Despite the size, the furnishings were sparse with one long
leather couch and a massive TV mounted on the wall.
"This place is
huge," I said. "And you have an amazing view." I didn't
understand how Jackson could afford such a nice apartment, but I didn't think
he would appreciate me demanding to know the details of his salary. Maybe he
came from money.
"Thanks," he
said, his voice muffled as I heard him rummaging in the kitchen. "Do you
want some wine?"
"I would love
some, thanks."
I walked over to the
sliding glass doors and looked outside, thrilled at all the lights twinkling
against the backdrop of the night sky.
"Here you
go."
I jumped, Jackson's
voice sounding closer than I expected since I hadn't heard him come up behind
me. I turned around and he handed me a wine glass.
"I hope sauvignon
blanc is okay," he said, lightly clinking his glass with mine.
"It's great,"
I said, taking a sip. "But I thought struggling actors were supposed to
drink Bud Light."
Jackson grinned.
"I only serve that when I really want to impress a girl."
I laughed as I took
another sip. I didn't know much about wine but the cool liquid was delicious
and crisp against my tongue.
"So where's this
dinner I keep hearing about?"
"Ah," Jackson
said, raising an eyebrow. "You're in for a treat. On today's menu we'll be
serving chicken marsala with pasta."
I looked at Jackson
skeptically. "You're really going to cook?"
Jackson shook his head
in mock disappointment. "Your doubt in my skills pains me."
"Okay," I
said with a smile. "I believe you. I'm waiting to be amazed."
Jackson frowned.
"Well, you need to be my sous chef."
"Hey, I never said I was going to do any cooking,"
I protested. "I thought you wanted to impress me with your culinary
skills."
Jackson smiled sweetly.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that food tastes better when you cook
together?"
I felt a hollow pang at
Jackson's words. It reminded me of the countless nights Sean and I had cooked
dinner together. I missed the easy intimacy of working together without having
to say a word.
Jackson looked at me
thoughtfully. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I
said mustering a smile. I
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