Chapter 2
The next morning, I stumbled into the office with two heavy dark circles dragging down my face.
As I passed the pantry, something made me stop in my tracks. Jackson was inside, his back to me, making coffee.
My heart leapt up into my throat. I watched as he expertly brewed himself a cup of black coffee. Then, without even pausing, he reached into the mini-fridge, pulled out the ice tray, and tapped out a single, perfectly square ice cube, dropping it into his coffee.
The whole sequence played out exactly like my dream.
It was like a bomb exploded in my head. My thoughts were spinning, too loud to process.
My scalp tingled, and my skin broke out in a cold sweat.
It wasn't my imagination. Everything was happening exactly like it did in my dream.
So when Jackson asked me about my dream, he wasn't being curious. He knew. That meant we really shared the same dream?
The thought made my blood run cold. And yet, there was a strange, impossible thrill creeping up beneath it. I didn't know if I should be terrified or intrigued.
As I stood there, in shock, Jackson turned around with his coffee and spotted me. His brow furrowed. "Need something?" His voice was cool, impersonal.
My heart slammed against my ribs, but I decided to take the leap of faith.
I plastered on what I hoped looked like a casual smile. "Mr. Zeller, you seem kind of tired today. And your complexion looks a little..." I paused deliberately, watching his face. "Rough night?"
His gaze sharpened in an instant, his fingers tightening around the coffee cup.
And then, just like before, the tips of his ears flushed a faint, unmistakable pink.
But his reply was like a whip. "Mind your own business."
He brushed past me, his tall frame stirring the air as he walked away, leaving behind a faint scent of roasted coffee.
I stood there, stunned, as I watched him disappear down the hallway. Something was definitely off, despite his scolding.
Jackson's reaction was as guilty as it got. No way was this just a coincidence. The more he tried to act indifferent, the more it proved I was right. Shared dreams? This was wilder than winning the lottery. How was this even happening to me?
But knowing didn't change the fact that Jackson clearly wanted nothing to do with me. His frosty attitude kept me firmly at arm's length.
I was in way over my head. No way I was poking the bear again. These shared dreams—they were like Pandora's box. Tempting, but scary. Who knew what the consequences awaiting me were?
That afternoon, I brought a stack of documents to Jackson's office for his signature. He was bent over a report, brows slightly drawn, his right index finger tapping against the desk.
It was exactly like he'd done that morning when he scolded me.
That little habit was like a key, throwing the doors of memory wide open.
In my dream, when I had him pressed to the wall, flushed and breathless, he'd tapped it too, like he didn't know what else to do with himself.
He signed, handed the papers back, and looked up, his eyes briefly resting on my face. It was fleeting, but it grazed my heart like a feather. At that moment, I wasn't so sure anymore.
What was that look in his eyes? Disgust? Or... something else? What did Jackson really think about this insane connection between us?
That night, I dreamed of him again, and this time, it was so explicit that I almost died.
His kisses were light as air, skimming every sensitive inch of me, pulling soft moans from my lips. When his mouth moved lower, down my stomach, I arched helplessly, protesting breathlessly.
And yet, to my surprise, his voice brushed against my ear like velvet, calling me over and over again. "Mackenzie..."
His voice was warm, deep, and magnetic, like it reached into my soul and left it trembling.
In real life, he barked my name like a warning. But in my dreams, that tender, lingering "Mackenzie" was absolutely intoxicating.