Being Yours
She gripped the porch’s support beam to steady herself.
‘No, Rachel, indifferent wouldn’t describe how I feel about you.’
‘How do you feel about me?’ she asked, then wished she could bite off her tongue.
He shook his head, his jaw clenching as he looked away. ‘Hell if I know.’
On his way out of his small, barren kitchen, Jackson picked up the manila folder labeled ‘Confidential: Insurance Reports.’ With a cold can of beer in one hand and the thick file in the other, he stretched out on his leather sofa. Jimmy Buffet’s graveled voice broke through the stereo speakers, the familiar words and melody filling Jackson’s townhouse, making it seem not quite so empty. He’d never bothered decorating h
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