Page 37 of The Love Playbook

No, I have my friends for those things, even if they do sometimes give me funny looks when I go on for too long about my more metaphysical interests. I haven’t heard any of them complain about the results of my rituals and manifestations though, what with their healthy long-term relationships and successful boyfriends and ability to stay focused on their homework so they can cram as many hours into a semester as possible. I’m sure they’d think I’m taking too much credit for those things, and maybe I am. But I’ve seen the difference my magic makes, and I know things wouldn’t be nearly as smooth without extra help.

Dani hasn’t necessarily benefited from those things as much. But she’s a bit of a dark horse. Ellie and Piper’s desires are both plain to see to anyone with eyeballs. Dani holds her cards close to her chest. She reminds me of Jackson in that regard. I wonder if I’ll eventually be able to crack her open the same way I have him.

Well, not exactly in thesameway. I’m pretty sure she’s not into girls. And while I do find women attractive, I’ve experimented enough to know that I’m more sexually interested in guys.

But now that Dani is around more, I want to know what makes her tick and how I can help her achieve her goals.

That’s my favorite hobby, after all. Helping people. That’s why I’m a psychology major. That’s why I read tarot for other people too. To give them guidance and help them make decisions that align with their values and desires.

But for tonight, no one is in need of my help. We’re here to have fun, play some video games, and relax.

So what if Jackson will be there? So what if he came in my mouth and I came on his tongue just yesterday? I’ve been around plenty of guys after we’ve both achieved orgasms with each other and it hasn’t been awkward.

But for some reason, this seems like it has the potential to become that way.

I just need to get a handle on myself, rein in my feelings, and be my normal self.

Dani leads the way through the front door, and I bring up the rear. Eli greets us as usual. Jackson usually hangs back by the food as everyone arrives, doing his best impression of a wallflower. He tends to circulate more as things get underway, joining in the play after most people have had a turn.

But tonight is different. Tonight Jackson’s on the couch, deeply engrossed in the game of the night. I have no idea what’s on the schedule for tonight because I only play some of the time—typically when I’m specifically invited to play with someone. I really come for the social interaction, and last year it was to monitor my friends’ progress with their relationships. Of course now the only relationship I have to monitor is my own.

I’m not really sure how I feel about that. I should probably schedule some time to meditate and sit with my feelings. Especially since just thinking about doing that makes me internally shy away from it. A sure sign that I need to do exactly that. Avoiding my feelings won’t make them go away, and instead will just make them explode in my face at the worst moment possible. I’ve been down that road enough to have learned that lesson the hard way more than once.

For now, though, I’ll just grab a snack and take advantage of the opportunity to observe Jackson without him being aware of it.

He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning toward the screen, his thumbs and fingers working hard on the controller in his hand as he plays whatever game. I haven’t even glanced at the screen to figure it out, more interested in watching him. His brows are lowered, furrowed in concentration, his mouth in a firm line.

Honestly, seeing him like this makes him even more adorable, all focused and intense. Is that what he looks like on the football field? I’d bet so. Maybe I will end up going to a game …

Just one. He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t need to go to all his home games or anything. But maybe the next one. I can keep Dani and Piper company. Or they can keep me company, since obviously they’d go with or without me. And maybe they’ll fill me in when I get totally lost about what’s going on and why.

Or maybe I won’t care because I’ll be so engrossed in watching Jackson, like I am now.

Everyone around him is watching the screen, shouting encouragement and instructions that he seems to be tuning out entirely.

A cry goes up from everyone around him that has me glancing at the screen. Apparently they’re playing some kind of racing game, and Jackson won.

He stands, a wide grin stretching across his face, and he raises his arms in victory. Then he turns, his eyes meeting mine, brimming with triumph and confidence.

And suddenly I have no idea why I thought playing it cool was the way to go. I don’t want to play it cool with Jackson. What’s the point in that? Our time together is already limited by classes and football and life. Why limit it more?

My grin matches his, and I’m not sure if he can pick up on what I’ve just decided or he was already on that wavelength, but when he sees me, he picks his way through the bodies separating us, his eyes never leaving mine.

His chest is heaving like he just ran wind sprints when he gets to me. He stares down into my face, his body only inches away. So close to touching me. So, so close. But holding himself back.

Why is he holding himself back?

“Hey.” The word is almost lost in the whoosh of his breath, the triumphant grin turning softer, more intimate. “You came.”

“Of course I came. Why wouldn’t I?”

He glances away, looks around at everyone—none of whom seem to be paying any attention to us if that’s what he’s worried about—then shrugs. “I dunno. We barely texted today, and I just wasn’t sure …” His hand comes up and squeezes the back of his neck, a tell that he’s getting nervous or discombobulated.

The last thing I want right now is a nervous or discombobulated Jackson. This slightly winded, confident version of him is something I haven’t really seen before, and I want to hang onto it for as long as possible. Sure, bashful Jackson makes me want to squeeze him and hug him and keep him in my pocket. Assuming I could wear something with a man-sized pocket. Or shrink Jackson down to fit in a normal sized one.

But confident, triumphant Jackson is sexy as fuck.

Laying a hand on his chest, I revel in the hard muscle hiding beneath the soft cotton of his shirt and the fact that I get to touch him like this without it being weird, without it making him recoil and shy away. That he sucks in a deep breath and drops his hand back to his side and leans into my touch now. If I’d done this to him a few weeks ago, he would’ve blushed to his ears and stammered an excuse to get away from me.

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