Jackson’s POV
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The pounding of my feet on the treadmill filled the silence of my apartment. Fast. Relentless. Punishing. My legs were a blur beneath me, muscles aching, lungs burning—but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
Sweat dripped from my temples down my bare chest, stinging my eyes. I locked my gaze on a scuff mark on the far wall like it held the answers. My pulse hammered in sync with the beat of my thoughts.
I’ve f****d it up. We hadn’t even started—and I’d already destroyed whatever it could’ve been. What do women want anymore? If you play it casual, you’re emotionally unavailable. If you care, you’re intense. If you give them your time, your heart, your damn soul—they say it’s too complicated. What the hell is ‘too complicated’ about something that felt s
