Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 179

Chapter 179

Mariah

My phone lights up just as I’m toeing off my sneakers, one heel catching on the rug and nearly taking me out.

Jackson.

I smile before I even answer, because apparently I’ve reached that stage of liking someone where their name alone can shift my entire mood.

“Hey, quarterback,” I say, flopping back onto my bed.

There’s a pause on the other end, then a breathy laugh. “You always do that.”

“And you always answer,” I counter. “So I’m not seeing the problem.”

He exhales – not annoyed, just tired in that end–of–day way. “You enjoying this?”

–

“Depends,” I say lightly. “What am I enjoying?”

“The fact that half the football team apparently thinks I’ve been body–snatched.”

I snort. “Oh. That. Completely. I might start a scrapbook.”

“Chris told me I’m ‘softer now,“” Jackson mutters. “Whatever the hell that means.”

“It means you smiled at lunch instead of looking like you were plotting murder,” I say. “Character development.”

“Unacceptable,” he deadpans.

I grin, rolling onto my side. “Relax. I was there. I heard you.”

He goes quiet for a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” I say gently. “I know you said it. Out loud.”

Another breath. Slower this time.

“I didn’t plan to,” he admits. “It just felt stupid not to anymore.”

My chest warms at that – not fireworks, not butterflies — just that steady, grounding feeling.

“It wasn’t stupid,” I tell him. “It was honest.”

–

“Good,” he says. “Because once it was out there, there was no taking it back.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

That earns a soft huff of a laugh.

“The guys are relentless,” he goes on. “They think it’s hilarious that I’m… taken.”

“Taken?” I tease. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

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“See?” he groans. “This is exactly why they think I’m different.”

“You are different,” I say without thinking. “You’re happier.”

The silence that follows is heavier – not uncomfortable, just loaded.

“That might be your fault,” he says finally.

“I’ll accept full responsibility.”

Another chuckle, then his voice shifts – lower, more careful.

“Mariah… can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“When do we stop pretending this is casual?”

I sit up, spine straightening.

“Pretending how?”

“That we’re just… hanging out,” he says. “Everyone knows. Jessa knows. Noah knows. The team knows. Hell, my mom would probably know if she paid attention.”

I smile softly. “You’re not wrong.”

“I don’t want to feel like I’m sneaking anymore,” he admits. “But I also don’t want to screw this up.”

“You’re not betraying anyone by being with me,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. “But sometimes it feels like I am. You’re her best friend. She’s my sister.”

“And she’s the one who told me to stop sneaking,” I remind him. “She wants this.”

“That still messes with my head.”

“That’s because you’re a guy,” I say gently. “You think protecting someone means denying yourself something good. Women think protecting someone means making sure everyone’s okay.”

He lets out a quiet laugh. “That’s… annoyingly accurate.”

I stretch out on my bed, staring at the ceiling fan. “So what are you really asking me, Jackson?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate.

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“So no,” I laugh. “I’m in pajamas. My hair is in a bun that screams ‘do not perceive me.“”

“…Okay,” he concedes. “Fair.”

Then, quieter, “How about this weekend?”

I soften. “Homecoming weekend?”

“Yeah,” he says. “After the dance. We’re already going together anyway.”

My heart gives a small, steady thump. “That… actually sounds perfect.”

“Good,” he says again over our shoulders.”

“I’d like that,” I admit.

like he’s grounding himself in it. “Because I want a date where we don’t have to look

We talk a little longer about logistics, about who’s driving whom, about how Jessa is going to absolutely lose

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her mind when she finds out we’ve upgraded to post–dance plans.

When we finally hang up, I stay where I am, phone resting against my chest.

Sneaking around had been fun.

The thrill. The secrecy. The tension.

But this?

This feels solid.

And for once, solid feels better than dramatic.

Especially when it’s chosen

—

not hidden.

And definitely when it’s real.

D

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