Page 41 of The Love Playbook

Huffing out a laugh, I drop back onto the bed and throw my arms over my head. “That was amazing, Jackson. For a second, I thought you might hold me down and make me keep coming over and over.”

A wicked grin on his face, he crawls over me. “Oh yeah? Maybe we should try that sometime.”

I let out a groan that’s a mix of dismay and delight at the prospect. Some part of me has fantasized about something like that—being tied down or held down and made to orgasm over and over despite my protests—but I’ve never found anyone to play like that with. It’s not a fantasy I bring up regularly. It’s one that requires a large amount of trust before I’d ever consider it, and with my one and two-off encounters of late, that’s not exactly been an option. But with Jackson …

“Maybe.” I roll onto my side to face him, hitching my leg over his hip. Not so close we’re in any danger of playing Just the Tip, but enough so that I get some skin to skin contact.

He lets out a rumbly sound of contentment in his chest, pulling me close and rolling onto his back so that my head rests on his chest. I smooth a hand over his pec, basking in the togetherness.

“I didn’t plan this,” he murmurs, kissing my hair. “Just for the record.”

I grin into his skin. “Me either. In fact, I spent the morning thinking it was probably best that we wouldn’t be able to get together again until next Wednesday.”

The sound he makes in response is less contented than before, more a grunt of disagreement. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Uh oh. It seems like that was the wrong thing to say, because Jackson’s tensing under me, no longer relaxed and sated like he was just a second ago.

Propping my chin on my hand on his chest, I look up at his face, noting the way he hasn’t taken his arm from around me. In fact, his hand seems to be pressing more firmly into my back as though he intends to keep me in place.

“Well,” I start slowly, watching him with a wary eye. Suddenly this encounter feels more like navigating a minefield. “It just seems like the best way to prevent us from catching feelings.”

“Catching feelings,” he repeats in a flat voice.

Part of me wants to sit up so I can see him better, but I’m still very conscious of his hand on my back.

“Yeah. I mean, I know we’ve gone on a couple of dates. But those were just practice. This whole thing is just practice. Having a weekly session makes it more like … training. Right? You have scheduled sessions with a personal trainer or a coach, don’t you? So this is like that.”

He grunts again, his gaze on the ceiling, his jaw clenching.

“Jackson?” I ask tentatively.

Grunting again, he removes his hand from my back and slowly rolls away from me, forcing me to sit up like I wanted to a moment ago. But now it feels … wrong.

“I’m not trying to upset you—” I start, but he shakes his head, cutting off my pseudo apology.

“You’re not. Don’t worry. I get it.” He reaches for his underwear and glances at me as he steps into them. “You’re right. This is just practice.” Straightening, he runs a hand through his hair and down the back to his neck, giving it a squeeze while he clenches his jaw some more. Shaking his head again, he picks up his shorts. “So. Next Wednesday, then. And in that spirit, we probably shouldn’t have any more game night interludes.”

He looks at me as he buttons and zips his shorts. After pulling on his shirt and straightening his clothes, he looks remarkably unfucked considering what we’ve been up to.

I look him up and down, my mouth open, a protest on the tip of my tongue. But what am I protesting? And why? He’s agreeing with me. That’s good, right?

Except it doesn’t seem good. His attitude about it certainly doesn’t seem good. He seems … hurt. Or upset. A little caught off guard.

Closing my mouth, I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

He returns my nod with a jerk of his chin. “I’ll head back out. Give you a few minutes to get dressed and stuff. You know where the bathroom is if you need it.”

And with that, he slips out, leaving me feeling wrong footed and exposed. Slowly I pull my clothes back on, reviewing everything that just happened and wondering where and how things went wrong.

We were happy and sated and enjoying each other and abruptly that ended. Because I said that what we’re doing is practice so Jackson’s ready for the real thing.

And that … hurt him.

Standing in his room with my hands on my hips, I stare unseeing in the direction of the now-rumpled bed and chew on my bottom lip.

It seems like it might be too late to stop Jackson from catching feelings. He wouldn’t be hurt if he hadn’t already crossed into that territory.

Was I not clear enough in the beginning? I thought I was pretty specific about the parameters of what I was offering. But maybe I should’ve been more clear about my feelings staying out of it.

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