𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐬 | pete davidson

six: the jack veramente

Dahlia didn't know why Jack had called her twice while she was out. He knew where she had went that morning, and it wasn't like it was urgent because he didn't leave her a text.

She was getting a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, like something had happened. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew something was up. It was out of character for Jack to just call her twice and leave nothing: no voicemail, no text, not even a text from his assistant Paul.

After she was dropped off, she thanked the driver and accessed the main gates of her luxury apartment and made it into the lobby.

She loved her quaint little home in Nolita, it was the first thing she bought herself when she first arrived in New York. Although it was super spacious and (of course) well decorated, it felt lonely at times. That's why she preferred to go out whenever she could, so she wouldn't feel like she was amassed by a sea of white cabinets and furniture. She would rather be anywhere but at home during the day and enjoy her living space after a long day's work.

Often times, however, she spent her nights at Jack's.

It started one night, when Dahlia was new to the city, as an invitation to stay the night after they had gone to a party together.

After the elevator reached the very top, Dahlia rushed to her penthouse door and fumbled with her keys the entire way there. Her plan: to switch out of the shoes she initially wore to the party, freshen up a little bit, and head over to where Jack was supposed to be for the day.

She closed the grand double doors shut behind her quickly, getting her coat sleeve snagged on the curved gold handlebar. Fumbling to get her heels off and tossed by the door, she carefully pulled herself free and placed her set of keys down in the flower shaped ceramic bowl on the counter in her foyer.

Her footsteps softly pitter-pattering on her plush carpet as she rushed to get to her bathroom. But she stopped when she reached her living room.

She screamed, clutching her pearl necklace.

"Don't be frightened, baby, it's only me." Jack smirked.

He was sitting on her sectional sofa with his arms stretched out along the back. Jack had a drink in his right hand, Dahlia noticed. 

She sighed in relief, "Jesus, Jack, why? And please don't spill that absinthe on my furniture. I just got that cloud couch moved in."

He chuckled, "That's an odd way of saying you appreciate the couch I bought for you."

"Besides, I thought you loved the colour blue." Jack sneered.

"I--did you bring your own liquor from home? Babe, I have a fridge on my island in the kitchen. Why would you--? I don't even own absinthe." Dahlia exclaimed, pointing to the mini fridge partly empty with a few bottles of unopened wine.

"Exactly. You don't own absinthe. Any absinthe. Not blue, not black, niente."

Dahlia eyeballed him as he took another sip from his pontarlier glass. Jack just scoffed before putting his glass down gently on the coffeetable before him. "Alright." He grunted. The ice cubes sang, hitting each other as the glass settled.

"Jack, why did you call me? I thought you were going in to work on the album for the whole day, what happened to that?" Dahlia sighed as she plopped down next to Jack on the sofa.

"There's a better reason out there than 'I wanted to see my girl'?"

"I--" Dahlia couldn't believe what she just heard. "Your girl?"

Jack gently nodded, his arm finding its way to Dahlia's shoulders. "I think its about time you and I go public, don't you agree?" His arm around her snaked around her hips and pulled Dahlia onto his lap, his other arm still lounging about on one of the couch cushions. She gasped softly in shock, the sheer force of him lifting her up so suddenly had caught her off guard.

"Jack," Dahlia sighed. "I like what we have now. I like that we can just be us without everyone else knowing about what we do. I don't want this to go public. At least, not right now."

Jack groaned, rolling his head back onto the couch for a moment before looking back at her. "Alright. Whatever you want." He pulled her in closer, both of his arms now snaked around Dahlia's hips. "Just don't forget that you're mine..." He growled sensually.

She smiled weakly, cupping Jack's face, resting on each other's foreheads just an inch apart from their lips making full contact.

"Did you see me?" She whispered, her eyes closed shut and her hands still cupping his sharp jawline. "Everyone saw me dancing at the party."

"Yes, darling. I saw." He grinned, rubbing her back with his open palms.

"I'm going to be on Saturday Night Live." She opened her eyes slowly to look into his, their foreheads still resting on the other. "Will you be there for me?"

Jack removed his hands from the small of Dahlia's back to look her in the eyes, his hands now cupping her face too.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

you are now listening to:
hollywood's bleeding, post malone