Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 226

Chapter 226

Mariah

Jackson’s mouth was warm.

Too warm.

The kind of warm that made my brain forget how to form full sentences, like every thought I’d had before this moment was suddenly irrelevant.

Outside, the wind was throwing snow at the windows like it had a personal vendetta. The streetlights made the storm glow white and frantic, and every few seconds a gust would slam into the house hard enough to make the glass shiver.

Inside, everything felt small in the best way.

The living room lamp cast a soft circle of light over the couch. The heater clicked and hummed like it was working overtime. Somewhere deeper in the house, pipes made those old–house groans like they were complaining about being awake.

And right here, right now–Jackson Lombardi’s hands were on my waist like he’d decided that was where they belonged.

We’d kissed before.

A lot, actually.

But this… this was different.

This wasn’t a stolen second in a hallway, or leaning over a booth at Benny’s where everyone could stare and whisper and pretend they weren’t watching.

This was quiet.

This was the whole night stretching out in front of us.

Just us.

Jackson pulled me closer, his palm flattening against my lower back, and my body responded so fast I hated myself a little for it. Like my brain was standing there holding a clipboard and my instincts knocked it out of my hands and tossed it into the blizzard.

I kissed him back anyway.

Because it felt good.

Because I wanted to.

Because I was tired of acting like wanting was something I needed to apologize for.

His lips slowed, like he was reading me, and that made my chest squeeze. The thing about Jackson was he always paid attention–even when he acted like he didn’t know what feelings were.

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When I finally pulled back, my breathing wasn’t steady. My lips tingled. My cheeks were hot.

Jackson’s eyes were darker than usual, hair a little messy from taking his hoodie off too fast, and his mouth was pink like he’d been thinking about kissing me all day and finally got to do something about it.

He blinked once. “You okay?”

I stared at him.

Then I let out a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical. “Yes. No. Maybe.”

His mouth twitched. “That’s helpful.”

I huffed and pressed my palms to his chest like I needed distance, but my hands betrayed me by loving how solid he felt underneath them.

“This is weird,” I said.

Jackson’s eyebrows lifted. “Weird?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “Not bad weird. Just… weird.”

He leaned back a little, still close enough that his knee bumped mine. “We’ve been together for months, Mariah.”

“I know,” I said, voice too high. “That’s not what I mean.”

He waited, patient. Annoyingly patient.

I exhaled and dragged a hand through my hair, trying to get my thoughts to stop sprinting in different directions.

“It’s weird because this is the first time we’ve actually been… alone.”

His gaze sharpened like he finally understood what I was trying to say.

“Like, really alone,” I added, because if I didn’t keep talking I might chicken out. “Not Benny’s with half the school around. Not the parking lot. Not your sister five feet away rolling her eyes.”

Jackson’s lips twitched like he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t.

“And now,” I said, gesturing vaguely at the entire house, “it’s a blizzard. Your mom’s stuck at the hospital. Jessa’s stuck at the Carters.”

My voice dropped.

“And it’s just us.”

Jackson’s expression shifted–serious, quiet, something almost cautious.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just us.”

The air felt heavier after that.

Not uncomfortable.

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Just… charged.

Because I wasn’t stupid. I knew what alone meant. I knew what a whole night could turn into. I knew what teenage hormones did when you gave them a couch, privacy, and weather dramatic enough to be its own soundtrack.

And Jackson wasn’t pushing. Not even a little.

But the possibility sat there anyway, like a third person on the edge of the coffee table.

I swallowed.

Jackson’s hand slid up my arm, slow and grounding, his thumb brushing my skin like he was telling me without words: I’m here. I’m listening.

“You okay?” he asked again, quieter this time.

I nodded too fast. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe me. His face did that thing–subtle, but I’d learned it–where he got still and focused like he was reading a defense on the field.

“Mariah,” he said, gentle but firm, “talk to me.”

My throat tightened. God, I hated that he was good at that.

I sat back on the couch, dragging my legs up so I could tuck them under me. It made me feel smaller, safer. Stupid, but true.

Jackson stayed close, turning slightly toward me, forearm resting along the back of the couch. Not crowding me. Just… there.

“It’s just…” I started, then stopped.

Because the truth felt too vulnerable to say out loud.

I wasn’t afraid of Jackson hurting me. If anything, I trusted him more than I trusted most people at Ridgeville.

What scared me was the part where wanting him might change things.

Because wanting someone was dangerous. It made you soft. It made you stupid. It made you care if they cared back.

And I cared.

I finally forced the words out. “I don’t know if I’m ready for… everything.”

Jackson went still.

Not in a bad way.

In a listening way.

“Everything,” he repeated, soft.

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My cheeks burned. “You know what I mean.”

His jaw flexed once, and for a second I thought I’d ruined it. Thought I’d disappointed him. Thought I’d made him regret inviting me over, even though he didn’t even say the words “come over,” he’d just looked at me in the parking lot and it had felt like a question.

But then he nodded.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Just that.

Okay.

No pressure. No sulking. No fragile male ego acting wounded.

It hit me so hard my eyes stung.

“You’re not mad?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Jackson looked genuinely confused. “Mad?”

“Yes,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded. “Like… I don’t know. Guys are guys.‘

His expression tightened at that, not at me—at the idea. Like he hated that I’d ever had to believe that.

“Mariah,” he said quietly. “I’m not Daniel.”

The name landed like a punch.

Because of course I’d thought of Daniel. Not because Jackson was like him, but because Daniel was the example Ridgeville liked to hand out when you talked about boys and entitlement.

Jackson wasn’t Daniel.

Jackson was the guy who had spent his whole life carrying responsibility like it was part of his skeleton. The guy who worried about his sister even when she acted like she didn’t need him. The guy who pretended he didn’t have feelings, but actually had too many.

“I know,” I whispered.

Jackson’s hand moved to my cheek, warm and steady. “I like being with you,” he said. “That’s not going anywhere.”

My throat tightened.

“You say that now,” I muttered, because vulnerability made me want to bite.

His eyes narrowed. “No. I mean it.”

He didn’t say it dramatically. He didn’t make it into some grand speech.

He just said it like it was a fact. Like he believed himself.

Silence settled again.

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Outside, the wind kept throwing snow at the house like it was trying to break in. Somewhere in the kitchen, the refrigerator clicked on, humming softly.

I stared at Jackson’s hand on my cheek and realized something that made my stomach flip.

This was the first time I’d ever been alone with a guy like this.

Not in a group. Not at a party. Not in a car with the possibility of someone tapping on the window.

Alone.

All night.

And even with nerves buzzing under my skin, I felt… safe.

I let out a breath and tried to lighten it, because that was my default when feelings got too close.

He tasted like winter air and mint gum and something that made my brain go soft.

I rolled my eyes. “I always think too hard.”

“Yeah,” he said, casual, “We’ve got food. We can make something”

We ended up in the kitchen, and by “we,” I mean jackson did most of it because he was weirdly competata making food for a teenage boy,

“Jackson-”

“I’m not pushing,” he said quickly. “I just… I want to understand. I don’t want you feeling weird about it.”

My throat tightened.

“Okay,” I said, softer. “It’s not that I don’t want you.”

His eyes flickered, something hot and surprised flashing there.

“It’s that…” I searched for the words. “I’ve never done this before. Not really. I mean, I’ve kissed. I’m not a nun.”

Jackson snorted.

“But sex?” I continued, cheeks heating. “That’s… bigger. It changes things. And I like what we have. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Jackson’s expression softened so much it almost hurt to look at.

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he said.

“You don’t know that,” I muttered.

He stepped closer, hands sliding to my hips, grounding me again. “I do know. Because it’s not a test. It’s not a deadline. It’s not something you owe me.”

I swallowed, eyes stinging again because apparently I was emotional today and I hated that.

“You make it sound simple,” I whispered.

“It is simple,” he said. “Not easy. But simple.”

Then he leaned down and kissed me–slow, gentle, like he was proving his point.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“I like you,” he said quietly. “A lot.”

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My chest squeezed.

I tried to make a joke. “Yeah? You like me enough to let me steal your hoodie without complaining?”

Jackson smirked. “No.”

I laughed, and the tension loosened again.

The pizza beeped when it was done, saving me from having to deal with feelings for longer than I could handle without making a joke.

We ate on the couch, legs tangled, laughing at a stupid comedy movie neither of us was really paying attention

1. to.

At some point, I realized my head was on his shoulder, and his fingers were absentmindedly tracing circles on

my arm.

It felt… domestic.

Like a preview of something I wasn’t sure I deserved.

The storm kept raging outside, but inside the house it was warm.

Safe.

And when Jackson kissed me again–soft, lingering–I didn’t feel pressure.

I felt wanted.

And that was enough for tonight.

Later, when the movie ended and the screen went dark, Jackson looked down at me and said, “You can sleep in my bed.”

I blinked. “Jackson.”

He held up a hand quickly. “Not like that. I’ll take the couch.”

I stared at him. “You’re giving me your bed?”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “Yeah.”

My heart did that stupid flip again.

“And you’ll take the couch?” I repeated.

He smirked. “I’m a gentleman.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a quarterback.”

“Same thing,” he said.

I laughed softly, then leaned in and kissed him one more time–slow and grateful.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

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Jackson’s hand cupped my cheek. “Anytime.”

And when I finally went upstairs to his room, the storm still howled outside–but for the first time, the quiet felt like a gift instead of a threat.

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