Rumor Has It I'm Dating the Football Captain

Chapter 166: Chapter 166: Just Us Tonight

The glass doors of the law firm slid shut behind Zoya. She let out a breath she felt like she had been holding since her morning deposition. Her feet ached in her heels. Her brain felt like static.

She pulled her phone from her purse. Three unread messages from Jackson. She hesitated with her thumb over the screen. For once, she did not want to look at another schedule, another venue brochure, or another vendor question. She just wanted to see him.

She opened the thread.

Jackson: Are you still at the office?

Zoya: Just left.

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Jackson: Good. Don’t make plans.

Zoya stared at the screen. A tired smile pulled at her mouth.

Zoya: That’s ominous.

Jackson: Trust me.

She walked down the stone steps. A familiar black sedan idled at the curb. Jackson rolled the passenger window down. He was not wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone.

Zoya climbed into the passenger seat and dropped her bag by her feet.

”Where are we going?” Zoya asked.

”Somewhere,” Jackson replied. He merged into the evening traffic.

”That is not an answer.”

”It is the only one you are getting tonight.”

She gave him a suspicious look. But she was still smiling.

Twenty minutes later, Jackson parked the car. Zoya looked out the window. They were not at a five-star restaurant. They were not at a potential wedding venue. They were parked outside a small, neon-lit late-night diner they used to frequent during law school.

No corporate clients. No wedding planners. Just vinyl booths and the smell of cheap coffee.

They walked inside and slid into a booth near the back.

Zoya looked across the laminated table. ”You brought me here?”

”You said you missed having time with me,” Jackson said casually.

She looked at him. ”I said that to Audrey.”

”Audrey talks.”

Zoya laughed out loud. ”She is terrible.”

”She is your friend,” Jackson corrected.

”Exactly.”

A waitress dropped off two glasses of water and menus. The moment she walked away, Jackson reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone and placed it face down on the center of the table.

Zoya noticed the deliberate movement. ”What are you doing?”

”No work,” Jackson instructed.

She looked down at her own purse. She felt the phantom vibration of incoming emails.

Jackson raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Zoya sighed, pulled her phone out, and placed it face down next to his.

”One hour,” Zoya negotiated.

”Two,” Jackson countered.

”One and a half.”

”Deal.”

They ordered burgers and fries. And for the first time in over a month, they did not talk about the wedding. They did not discuss catering options or seating charts. They did not debate the merits of a live band versus a DJ.

They talked about food, ridiculous clients, people they had run into on the street, and everything that had nothing to do with work.

Jackson leaned forward and told a story about spilling coffee all over a junior partner’s shoes during a morning brief.

”I tried to dab the shoe with a napkin,” Jackson explained, taking a bite of a fry. ”Which only smeared it. He just stood there, staring at his Italian leather, contemplating my murder.”

”Did he fire you?” Zoya asked.

”He sent me a dry cleaning bill for eighty dollars. I paid it in cash just to avoid the paper trail.”

Zoya countered with a story about a ridiculous client who tried to sue his neighbor over a stolen lawn gnome.

”He wanted me to file an injunction,” Zoya said.

”Against a gnome?” Jackson asked.

”Against the neighbor who he suspected of harboring the gnome. He brought photos of the empty grass patch as evidence.”

Jackson laughed. ”Did you take the case?”

”I told him my retainer was higher than the gnome’s ransom.”

They laughed. The tight, stressed lines around Zoya’s mouth faded. It was exactly what she told Audrey she wanted. Just time with him.

But as the plates were cleared away, the exhaustion of her week caught up to her. Zoya went quiet. She rested her elbow on the table and rubbed two fingers against her temple.

Jackson studied her face across the table.

”You are exhausted,” Jackson noted.

”I am fine,” Zoya said automatically.

”You are rubbing your temple.”

She stopped her hand and dropped it to the table. ”You notice too much.”

”Occupational hazard.”

She offered a soft smile.

Jackson reached across the table and took her hand. His thumb moved slowly over her knuckles.. He did not give a dramatic speech.

”You don’t have to be fine every minute,” Jackson said.

Zoya looked down at their connected hands. She squeezed his fingers.

”I don’t want our entire engagement to become wedding planning,” Zoya admitted. The truth felt good to say out loud.

Jackson looked at her steadily. ”Neither do I.”

”I want to actually enjoy being engaged to you.”

He nodded. ”Then we will make time.”

Zoya raised an eyebrow. ”You say that like our calendars aren’t already trying to kill us.”

”Then we will make them,” Jackson replied.

She smiled at his stubborn tone. ”Bossy.”

”You like bossy.”

”Sometimes.”

”Good.”

After dinner, they walked outside.

The street was quiet, the air cool against her skin. Jackson took her hand.

Zoya leaned against his arm as they walked toward the car. She did not think about her deposition. She did not think about the florist. She just listened to the sound of their footsteps on the pavement.

Jackson stopped beside the car and opened the passenger door for her.

”Better?” he asked.

Zoya looked up at him. ”Much.”

”Good.”

She reached up and kissed him. It was simple, warm, and real. When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against his chin.

”Thank you,” Zoya whispered.

Jackson smiled in the dim street light. ”Anytime.”

Later that night, after driving her back to her apartment, Zoya sat on the edge of the bed in her pajamas. She opened her laptop and pulled up her digital calendar.

Rows of color-coded blocks stared back at her. Wedding meetings filled several days. Court dates filled the rest.

She looked at the dense grid of obligations. Then she clicked on a blank square on Thursday evening. She created a new recurring entry.

DATE NIGHT.

No work. No wedding planning. No meetings. Just Jackson.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up.

Jackson: What did you schedule?

She smiled, looking across the room toward the bathroom door where he was brushing his teeth. He must have gotten the shared calendar notification on his watch.

Zoya: Nothing you need to know about.

A moment later, the typing bubble appeared.

Jackson: Should I wear a suit?

She laughed quietly in the empty bedroom.

Zoya: Definitely not.

Jackson: Jeans?

Zoya: Better.

She put her phone down, still smiling, and closed her laptop.