Page 48 of The Hookup Situation

“I believe you,” I tell him. “It was just a surprise, but I don’t honestly think you’re doing someone in your condition. If you were, though, it’s fine right? We’re just casual.”

His eyes dim a bit, and he nods. God, this man confuses me. His words say he wants casual, but everything else about him, the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, says something different.

“So, once I get you your tea, I can skedaddle,” I tell him. “Or, I can stay and keep you company, and we can watchDirty Dancing.”

He grins and nods, then takes another bite of soup.

“You know,” I say, looking at him again. “I love all of your jewelry and makeup. Like really love it. But you look good without it, too, just in case no one has ever told you that. You’re really beautiful either way.”

“I am not beautiful right now,” he rasps, then coughs.

“You are to me.” I smile at the slightly stunned look on his face and then stand at the sound of the kettle whistling.

I prepare his tea and bring it over, setting it in front of him on the coffee table.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I sit back and take his feet on my lap while I turn on the movie.

About an hour in both of our phones vibrate, one after the other. We check them at the same time and then look at each other.

“You just get a text from Rory about a party before Thanksgiving break?” I ask him and he nods. “I just got one from Parker.” I love the idea of going to a party with our friends, getting to know his friends a bit better, but Jackson has said before he doesn't want anyone to know about us, so we’d have to pretend to be nothing more than casual acquaintances, and that sounds kind of impossible. How do I go an entire evening around him and not touch him, or look at him the way I know I will?

“We can manage it,” he says, like it’s no big deal and will be a cinch to keep himself away from me all night long, which yeah, that kinda hurts. “We’ll just have to be careful.”

I think about not going so I don’t have to worry about it, but I really want to go. It sounds like fun. I haven’t seen Parker outside of class in a while, and the last time he sent a text, asking the guys if they wanted to hang out, I said no because I was meeting up with Jackson, so I text him back, letting him know I’ll be there.

We keep watching the movie and I forget all about the party when I look at Jackson, asleep on the couch as the credits roll. I’ve never seen him asleep before and he looks peaceful, and maybe even a little fragile, but still beautiful.

I move slowly so as not to wake him, then cover him with the blanket again, before pressing a kiss to his tousled hair.

He’s snoring softly when I leave.

TWELVE

JACKSON

Two days later I’m finally feeling normal again. I have a bit of a lingering cough but I’m mostly myself.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Preston coming over with soup and tea to make sure I was taken care of. I’ve never had anyone take care of me before. Well, I had a few different nannies when I was growing up that would watch over me when I was sick, but they were paid to do it, and I learned pretty quickly not to get close to any of them because they were switched out so often. Having Preston come of his own accord and stay with me, it made those damn butterflies go crazy. And he made me soup. Not the kind in a can, but real homemade soup, and it was amazing.

I haven’t seen him since then because I’ve been too busy recovering, and he’s been busy with school, but we’ve been talking and texting still, and now that I’m better, I’m realizing it’s been almost a week since I touched him, kissed him, fucked him, spanked him, and I’m itching to be with him again.

He says he’s busy until late tonight though, so I’ll have to wait a bit longer still. That’s okay because I’m hanging out with Lucy tonight. I haven’t seen her since she came to congratulate me at the play.

Then on Friday is the party at Rory and Parker’s, which I’m looking forward to because I haven’t seen Rory since the play either. Though I am a bit nervous about being there with Preston. I know I made it sound like it wouldn’t be a problem, but being around him all night and acting like we barely know each other, and like we haven’t been fucking each other’s brains out for the past three weeks, won’t be easy. It wouldn’t have been fair to ask him not to go though, so we’re both going to have to figure it out. I know it’s hard for him to keep us a secret, but I’m just not ready to disclose anything yet. It would make it all too real, and I can’t have ideas of me and him as more than what we are floating around in my head.

I keep telling myself I need to end it, that I’m already in way too deep, and that I should back out before I get hurt, because I know how this ends. Iwillget hurt.

But then I find myself calling or texting, or letting him into my apartment to watch movies and feed me instead. I find myself telling him things about me that no one else knows. Like how I broke my arm when I was eight, teaching myself to ride a bike. I tell him my parents were busy working and I wanted to learn, not that they had been promising me for months they would teach me and never did, so I got tired of waiting and snuck out while they were on the phone. I tell him that I joined the track team but leave out the part where I did it to blow off steam because my home life sucked so much and I needed an outlet other than theater. I tell him I took jazz dancing lessons for five years but don’t say that it was my parents’ way of getting me out of their hair, and I just happened to love it.

This has to end at some point. It will end at some point. I know that. I’m not ignorant enough to think he’d ever want me. No one ever does. And even if he thought he did, a few more weeks or months would go by, and he’d change his mind after finding someone better. So telling anyone what we’re doing doesn’t make sense, and would just make it harder for me to walk away when the time comes.

“Yay, you’re feeling better,” Lucy coos when I show up at her door. She gives me a hug and ushers me inside. We make hot chocolate, and watch an episode ofThe Bachelor. She asks me how the rest of the shows went and tells me how proud of me she is.

When she asks me when I’m heading home for Thanksgiving, I lie and tell her I’m heading out on Saturday.

“Me, too,” she says. “God, I can’t wait to get home.”

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