Page 57 of The Hookup Situation

“Miniature Labradoodle.”

“She sounds really sweet.”

“She is. Not very active anymore, like she was when she was younger, but still just as sweet. Honestly, I feel like she was the perfect dog. She didn’t have accidents unless she was sick, she loved playing with toys, and she was friendly with everyone. Like, some dogs get attached to one person or whatever, but she wasn’t like that. She loved all of us the same and it was really nice. The only time she was a stubborn turd, was when we’d let her outside to go to the bathroom and she’d just sit there in the sun like she was getting a tan instead of coming inside when wecalled her. She’d just look at us like “yeah, nah, I’m good,” and then keep doing her thing.”

He laughs. “You’ve had her since she was a puppy?”

“Yeah, I think I was seven or eight maybe when we got her. She was a ball of energy then, man, it was crazy. She’d get the zoomies, especially if my dad got her worked up and she’d tear around the house so fast. There were a few times where she’d actually take our feet out from under us.”

He laughs again. “Oh, wow, she sounds like fun.”

“I miss the young her, but I’m glad we have her no matter what. It’s gonna be hard when she passes, though.”

“What about your brother, Paris? What’s he like, other than being the family genius?”

“Well, you’ll find out. He’s his own person, and doesn’t have any filter, let's just put it that way. I think you’ll like him.”

He raises an eyebrow at me and I chuckle.

We drive in silence for a while longer, and when I look over at him I see he’s dozed off, his head resting against the window. I have a feeling there’s so much more going on with him than he lets on. There’s something nagging him, eating him up inside, and I wish he would let me in, tell me what it is that makes those frown lines appear on his face or those beautiful sapphire eyes dim, especially when I mention his parents. I wish I knew why he was so closed off to talking about them, or why the idea of his friends knowing about us scares him so much. There’s something going on that’s making him feel like he has to keep his distance, like he’s afraid to be more, have more, and I hate it. I hate seeing him struggling, hurting. Because when I look at him I see someone who is beautiful, and talented, and utterly unique. I see someone I don’t ever want to stop getting to know. I see someone who is good, and who deserves to be happy.

I see a man, I’m realizing, I’m falling in love with.

JACKSON

I wake to a hand on my arm, and a gentle voice in my ear. “Hey, Tinkerbell, we’re almost there.” I groan and slowly open my eyes. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep. And great, I’m drooling. How sexy is that?

I wipe my mouth off on the sleeve of my coat and look out the window as we drive down a winding dirt road with gorgeous houses sparsely scattered about, all different but all appealing in their own way. When Preston slows down I don’t realize why right away until I see the hidden driveway, and he turns onto it. It’s surrounded by trees on all sides and at the top sits a beautiful light blue cottage style home nestled amidst even more trees that are covered in snow. It looks like something out of a painting.

“This is gorgeous,” I say, unable to stop staring. “You live here?” My house, or my parents’ house, is fancy and insanely expensive, all updated and modern, but it doesn’t have an ounce of charm. This home is perfection, with the bay windows and white shutters, and the stunning wrap-around porch with a swing and two rocking chairs decorating it.

The excited cries when the front door opens tell me it probably has a lot to do with the people living in it. They’ve made their house a home, and I get to be a part of it, for a little while anyway. I swallow as my chest tightens, and take a breath.

“Yep,” he grins. “Come on.”

The second he’s out the door he’s being mauled by a small slender woman with gray hair and vivid blue eyes. She’s beaming and tears fill her eyes as she hugs him. There’s a man comingdown the front steps with a blanket that he drapes over her as he smiles fondly and shakes his head. I can tell by looking at him that he’s Preston’s father. They have the same jaw line, the same nose and the same smile. He has his mother’s eyes though.

“You’ll catch pneumonia running out here without a coat,” he says, and she ‘tsks at him, though there’s a twinkle in her eyes as she pulls away from Preston and clutches the blanket to herself.

His dad looks at me and holds his hand out. “Phillip Wright. You can call me Phil. Nice to meet you.”

I shake his hand. “Jackson Bardot. Nice to meet you, too.”

His mom steps towards me then. “Oh, Jackson. Come here, love.” She says it like she’s known me for years as she wraps me in her arms, and I almost cry at how wonderful it feels. She smells like peppermint and chocolate, and I soak it in. I can’t remember the last time my parents hugged me. “We’re so glad you could come,” she says, pulling back and looking me over. “Goodness, nothing but skin and bones on you. We need to feed you both.” She looks at Preston. “You’re not eating enough, are you?”

“I’m eating just fine, Mom,” he answers.

I look at Preston and he smirks in a way that says, “Told you so.”

“Where’s Paris?” Preston asks.

“Paris is getting the dog because no one else could be bothered to do it,” a somewhat feminine voice calls out, and I look towards the door to see an absolutely gorgeous boy coming towards us, hips swaying. He’s about the same height as Rory with large blue eyes, high cheekbones, full lips, a slender nose, and luscious golden waves framing his flawless face. He’s wearing snow boots over pink tights and has on a plaid skater skirt and a long-sleeved black top. Around his neck is a silver necklace with a giant heart on it.

“The sass is strong in this one,” Phil mutters and we laugh.

“I heard that,” Paris says, his arms full of a brown fur ball that I’m assuming is Ginger. “No one else cares about you do they?” he asks her in that voice people use when they’re talking to a pet.

Phil rolls his eyes.

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