Jackson had just finished his meeting on the top floor of the hotel in which you decided to frequent, looking for your current boyfriend of three years because you suspected he was dating other women behind your back. You hid yourself behind a magazine you found at the front desk and tried to sneak your way over to a table close enough to hear the conversation. In your hand, you slipped a note on ripped paper to the blonde man that read:
'I'M SPYING. PLAY ALONG PLEASE!'
He looked at you with a smile, of which you didn't acknowledge because you were too busy trying to lean back far enough into the booth to listen to their conversation. And of course you shouldn't have done that.. Because your boyfriend just asked her if she wanted to go upstairs to his room. Caught with the feeling of a rock trailing down your throat and boiling seawater ridding you of your vision, you quivered in getting up from the table and ran for the door, only to trip on the table next to you, landing you pathetically at the feet of where your boyfriend was standing.
Pushing yourself on your palms, you mumbled a sullen apology. A hand reached out to place the strands of hair behind your ear, with a swift thumb to wipe the trickles of tears from your rose-ridden cheeks.
"I'm sorry for that, baby," he said. His blonde hair really made his eyes look soft and full of the feeling when you breathe in the earth after rain. "I don't want to end an argument like that. I love you. Let me help you up." Following along, surprised that he was even following along, you took his hand and brushed off your shirt and fell in line behind him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your date. My baby and I will solve things outside," he apologized for you and everything. A man's pride was something so precious. Taking your hand and using his other one to comb his fingers through his hair, he bowed to the awful company and lead you outside where you could properly breathe.
Squatting down on the sidewalk, you finished crying. He sat next to you, not caring about the dirt and filth of the sidewalk, patting your back as if he'd known you for a couple years. You looked over your shoulder to see him giving you a caring gaze, smiling slightly without showing his teeth.
"Thank you for helping me out back there.."
"It's not a problem. But I have a question," he said. "How long have you two been together?"
"Three years or so.."
"How many times has he talked about his mom?"
You fell into a blank state. It was ..zero? "Zero? Zero times.." your voice trailed off. He nodded a reaffirming nod, looking into the direction of traffic and people crossing the street in a hurry.
"You know they say the way a man treats his mother is the way he'll treat his lover? If he wasn't talking about her to you at all, there's no way he was telling other girls about you," he said. "And if I can be really honest, it's not the first time I've seen him here with other women."
You stopped crying to look at him with awe. For how knowledgeable he seemed or because he was bold enough to tell you something even more hurtful. He returned the look with the smile of a puppy and brushed the dirt off his hands with a clapping motion.
"There will always be a next time! He doesn't deserve you anyway. For now, I think you owe me!" He stood cheerfully and tall, almost prince-like from where you were squatting on the sidewalk. He looked down to offer you his hand once more. "I need to know your name if you're going to be my 'significant other' from now on," he joked.
You'd find out later that his jokes always have truth in them.
Especially that line.
