Page 23 of The Love Playbook

She blows out a breath, flipping her hair over her shoulder with her free hand, and looking around the room again. At least she hasn’t dropped my hand and crossed her arms and stared me down like my mom and my sister do when I say something that pisses them off.

“Um, yeah. Sometimes. I’m pretty good at remembering where I’ve put stuff. But if it’s something I haven’t used in a while, it can take a bit to locate.”

I scratch my cheek, considering my words. I really don’t want to piss her off. But I also wonder if maybe … “Um, I could, uh, help you? Maybe? If you’re interested.”

She turns her frown on me. “Help me how?”

I gesture at her room again. “I’m good at organizing things. I could help you come up with a way to organize this place. So that you can find your stuff. When you need it.”

After glancing at her room again, her eyebrows tick up, but she still looks distinctly frowny. “Is my disorganized room a problem for you?”

“No, no,” I deny. Probably too quickly to be convincing. “No, it’s fine. It’s just, um. You know. I’ve been thinking that since you’re helping me, it would be nice if I could help you too. So it’s fair. And even. An exchange of favors. But I didn’t know what kind of help you’d want from me. You’re good in school, and we have different majors, so I can’t help you there. I could get you football tickets, but I feel like you don’t care that much about football.”

She chuckles. “Not really.” At least she’s smiling again and not pissed.

“But I’m good at this kind of thing. Organizing. Making the best use of space. I could help with this.”

She turns to me, stepping in close so that her body presses against mine. “Would it make you feel better if I let you help me organize my room?” she murmurs.

Swallowing hard, I nod. “Yeah,” I rasp. “It would.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Autumn

With my chest pressed against Jackson’s torso, I glance around my room again. I’ll admit, it’s not the most tidy space in the world. I’m cluttery. I always have been. I do my best to keep the majority of my clutter confined to my own space and not spilling out into the shared living areas. I think I did a pretty good job of it living with Ellie last year, and considering she didn’t object to living with me again, I’d say that’s confirmation.

The floor is clear at least, which is an improvement over how my room always was growing up. I’ve gotten better at actually putting my dirty clothes in the hamper, though my clean clothes tend to stay in the laundry basket. I shoved both of those in the closet since Jackson was coming over.

But the lack of clear surfaces seems to be something of an issue for Jackson.

That or, like he said, he wants to be able to help me with something, and he sees this as an obvious thing that plays to his strengths. He’s organized and good at organizing things, he says.

Well, why not?

I have no objection to the state of my room or my haphazard methods of collecting and storing things. I get by just fine. But if it makes him feel better to help me, why not let him?

Worst case, I let him organize everything and keep it that way for however long this lasts, and then return to my usual equilibrium afterward. That way everyone leaves satisfied and happy.

“Alright,” I whisper, matching his husky tone and reaching for him.

“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised. So surprised, apparently, that he resists me pulling his face to mine.

“Sure,” I murmur, focused on his mouth. “But your lesson comes first. We’ll figure out the organizing later.”

His eyes zero in on my lips, and he licks his own. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

I can’t help smiling at the distracted quality of his voice. At least I have his attention back on me and not on my room full of clutter. I’d be a terrible sex tutor if I couldn’t keep him focused on me, wouldn’t I?

Pulling his mouth to mine, I’m once again pleasantly surprised by his kiss. No hesitation this time, just his lips parting mine, his tongue swiping across my lower lip, inviting me out to play.

I have to fight the urge to smile, because I don’t want to ruin the kiss, but Ialwayslike to come out and play. Opening for him, I slide my tongue against his, enjoying the way his hands fall to my hips, his fingers tightening.

Oh yes. I’d love to see this shy, reserved boy lose control. Will his inner beast come out eventually? Will he grab me tighter, maybe even leave fingertip bruises on my hips or thighs?

It’s been a while since anyone’s been that aggressive with me. It’s not something I crave, per se, but I don’t mind finding souvenirs like that from a fun night. Or afternoon. Or early morning. Whenever. I’m not picky.

I doubt we’ll get to that point any time soon, but imagining the possibilities is half the fun.

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