Page 61 of Don't Let Me Go
“I’m pretty sure I warned you,” I force myself to answer.
“Yeah,” he concedes. “You did.”
Jackson strips down to his underwear, and it takes all my strength not to stare at that stupid body of his that I want to cover in honey and then lick clean with my tongue. I consider grabbing my clothes and changing in Duy’s bathroom. But that would practically be announcing to Jackson that I can’t trust myself to be alone with him. Which, to be clear,I can’t. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“So, um?.?.?.?you got any plans this afternoon?” he asks, mercifully slipping on his cargo shorts so I’m no longer tempted to stare at the all too prominent bulge in his underwear.
“Nope,” I squeak, zipping up my jeans.
“Do you maybe want to come over and?.?.?.?hang out?”
My heart stops. I don’t know why this question feels so loaded, but it sucks the air out of the room. It’s as if, instead of inviting me over to watch a movie or play video games, he’s inviting me over for something else. Something?.?.?.?more.
But that’s absurd, right?
The very fact that I think more is even an option is proof of how out of touch I am with reality and how out of control my feelings have gotten. I need to go home. Iamgoing home. Right now.
But then I catch a glimpse of Jackson’s abs before they disappear under his shirt, and all that comes out of my mouth is “Sure, I’d love to.”
Jackson’s aunt isn’t home when we get there. Apparently she’s hitting up the farmers’ market over in Winter Park, which means we have the entire house to ourselves. This fact alone is enough to bring on a full-blown panic attack. But when it looks like Jackson is about to lead us to his bedroom, I swear I feel my heart stop.
Thankfully, he seems to reconsider, and instead he deposits me on the living-room sofa before heading to the kitchen to fetch us some water.
“Are you hungry?” he asks when he returns and hands me my glass. “Do you want to order something for lunch?”
“I’m good. Just dehydrated.”
“For real,” Jackson chuckles as he plops down beside me. “I think I sweated off twenty pounds today.”
Then he polishes off his glass of water in one long, seamless chug that leaves me thirstier than ever. I can scarcely bear to look at him. I’m about ten seconds away from throwing myself into his arms.
But then?.?.?.?maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world?
I know I’ve been trying (albeit very ineffectively) to put some emotional and physical distance between us, but that’s because I’ve been operating under the assumption that Jackson likes me only as a friend. But if he likes me as something more—and based on some of the looks he was giving me during our photo shoot, I can’t help thinking he does—then maybe it’s okay if something more happens.
But what if more happens, and Jackson doesn’t like it? What if I’m just an experiment to him? An itch that he onlythinkshe wants toscratch but that he’ll actually regret if he does? He wouldn’t be the first curious person to make that mistake.
What if he freaks out afterward? Or ends up hating me? What if I hate him?
“Are you okay?” Jackson asks, the concern in his voice pulling me back to the present. “You seem kind of distracted.”
I sip my water so I have an excuse not to look at his face. “I’m fine. I was just wondering if we should invite the others over.”
“Oh.” Maybe it’s my imagination, but does Jackson sound disappointed?
“I think Duy said they were going to a movie this afternoon,” he adds. “With that Caleb guy.”
“Oh, right.” Duy did tell us that.
“But if you want to invite Audrey and Tala over, that’s cool.”
“I’ll just see what they’re up to,” I say, quickly pulling my phone out of my pocket. I need a buffer. Or a chaperone. Someone to keep me from making a fool of myself.
I open my texts, but before I can start typing, I notice I have a message waiting for me.
ALEX:Hey again. Guessing you didn’t write back because you’re still angry with me. I don’t blame you. But I’d still like the chance to apologize. To be clear, you don’t have to accept my apology. You can spit in my face and tell me to fuck off when I’m done. But I’d really appreciate the opportunity to give you the apology you deserve. Is there any chance we can meet up?
“Jesus Christ,” I groan as I toss my phone aside in disgust.
