Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
He’s right. We are strangers. But I’m almost certain this is Jackson Cross, and the almost knowing is killing me.
DakkyDuck: Are you going to make me go online and compare your picture with one of Jackson at the beach?
TheRealCreator: Are you sure you can’t conjure those up from memory?
I smile, spreading my hands across my middle. Slow down, Dakota. He’s being evasive. It’s true. But surely he would be evasive if it were Jackson. A scammer might be evasive too though.
He’s right. Those photos of Jackson Cross taken at a private beach, his intense features aimed in an angry glare at the camera… both middle fingers raised, looking savage and muscular and pissed in a somehow magnetic way.
I search for the pictures, put them side-by-side with the photo that Creator sent me.
DakkyDuck: You both have a small scar at the bottom of your stomach.
TheRealCreator: Lots of people have had appendix operations.
DakkyDuck: So, you’re saying you’re NOT him?
Three dots appear, meaning he’s typing a message, then they vanish. I close my eyes, massaging my forehead. I’m letting this go too far. I’m sounding desperate.
DakkyDuck: You’re probably just some clever computer guy. But now I’ve made it obvious that I want you to be Jackson, so you’ll use your clever-computer-guy skills to send me more Photoshopped images.
TheRealCreator: You want me to be Jackson, huh?
I swallow. Tense. Buzzing all over with energy I can’t control.
DakkyDuck: I’m going now.
I stare at the image, at his hard body, at the quickly but well-drawn hands.
TheRealCreator: Fair enough, beautiful. Just know something before you do. I’m not trying to trick you. And I’d never hurt you.
I close my laptop. Too hard. Probably almost break it. But that’s too much too fast. He’d never hurt me—meaning there’s an ever in there somewhere. Which means: he needs to chill. And so do I.
Yeah, good luck, Dakota…
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see Jackson and the image Creator sent me, his hard body, the smirk Jackson Cross aims at photographers sometimes, like there’s a secret hidden in his eyes…
My body grows hot just thinking about his hard body. I roll over, blankets tangling between my legs, clinging to me.
When sleep finally comes, it tosses me into vivid, steamy dreams. Creator is standing over my bed, holding the piece of paper in front of his face, his manhood firmly outlined in his sweatpants, thick and ready. He slowly lowers the paper, revealing Jackson’s face, his piercing green eyes staring down at me in hunger.
“I know you want it to be me,” he growls, leaning down. “I know you’ve dreamed of us together before…”
“I haven’t,” I whimper.
“You can’t lie now, beautiful…”
Suddenly, his hands are all over my body. Gliding up my leg. Pressing down on my core. His breath is hot on my neck, tickling all over my body, teasing me. He palms my breasts and slides between my legs, groaning like he’s been waiting to do this ever since he first laid eyes on me.
“I’ve been waiting longer,” I moan. “I’ve been waiting for years…”
When I wake, I rush into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, hoping to wash away some of the insanity. I haven’t got a crush on Jackson Cross, mainly because I’m thirty years old and don’t get crushes anymore. But if this is Jackson, then yeah, it’s going to get me hot. Fiery hot. Hell-hot.
I’m back on stream, getting ready to watch a press conference that Halcyon only announced this morning.
When the feed fades in, I keep my face a natural mask. Jackson is sitting at a table alone, making the furniture look tiny. He’s clean-shaven, emphasizing that handsome chin dimple and his powerful square jaw.
When he looks at the camera, I feel like he’s looking directly at me.
“Good morning, loyal gamers,” Jackson says. “Firstly, let me start how I always do… by thanking everyone of you for your continued support as Empire’s Fall continues to develop and grow. Now, the tricky part…”
He smiles ruefully and stares right at me.
Chill, chill…
Someone in my chat has to start the negativity.
itsBigBilly: He’s such a wannabe heartthrob.
And I think about banning them. Jackson Cross’s public image has hinted at him wanting the attention he gets. Yet he always looks uncomfortable if an interviewer brings up the hottest man alive stuff.
“I know many of you think I’m just a clever computer guy,” Jackson goes on, and a tingle shimmers over me.
In another window, I bring up the conversation with Creator. That’s what I called him last night! A clever computer guy.
“But now you’ve made it obvious you want something more from the Cove,” he goes on. “So, I’ll use my clever-computer-guy skills to work on this issue day and night. Citizens of the Empire—you have my word.”
My mouth falls open as I compare his words with the messages. There’s no way it’s a coincidence. It’s word-for-word what I wrote last night.