Page 7 of The Love Playbook

I have to admit, though, being included in her warm bubble was nicer than I expected. And it has me looking forward to more.

CHAPTER FOUR

Autumn

Sitting across from Jackson at a corner table in The Pastry Corner, my favorite bakery and coffee shop in town, I set my pen on top of my red leather notebook embossed with a tree of life on the cover. After escaping my roommates’ intervention or whatever that was, I holed up in my room and wrote out a list of questions that I want to go over with him. I know whatIwant out of this arrangement—a good time and the opportunity to mold a guy into a sex god—but I need to find out exactly what he’s hoping for before I implement my tentative plan of action. Like any good tutor, I need to know what he already knows and is comfortable with before introducing new and maybe challenging ideas.

Jackson shifts nervously in his seat, looking everywhere except at me.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I lean my chin on my hand, a smile tugging at my lips as I examine him. He’s so adorable. I’ve thought so since we got put in a group with Tiffany to act out a scene in our theatre class last semester. His sweet face, not quite fully matured into the hard planes of manhood—will he always have a baby face? Some of his teammates look more like men than boys, though there are still a few who haven’t quite hit that phase yet. Some never really do, or at least not until they’re well past middle age. It’s probably annoying now, but given the general trend toward vanity and everyone wanting to look as young as possible for as long as possible, he might be more okay with it in a decade or two. Or three, depending on how long the baby face lasts.

Despite how young he looks—and how lost and overwhelmed he seems right now—he’s definitely all man with those broad shoulders that could handle even more muscle than he’s currently managed to put on. As a wide receiver, he doesn’t need to be as bulky as Simon, for example, who’s on the offensive line.

Since Ellie started dating a football player last year, I’ve spent a lot more time around the team, and I’ve learned a lot about the game that I never knew I wanted to know. My dad watched sports when I was growing up, but he wasn’t a die-hard fan. And it never interested me, so if he was watching something while I was around, I found something else to do.

My mom has never had an interest in professional sports. She’s more of the yoga type who believes sports and athletics are useful for maintaining the body, but thinks competitive sports are silly.

I have to admit I inherited that attitude to a large degree, but experiencing the dedication and passion of the football players I’ve met has made me change my mind. Just because it’s not something I want to do doesn’t make it silly or unworthy of pursuit by someone else.

And I really can’t deny the positive effects it has on their bodies …

I’m far from the only woman who’s noticed. Which is why it’s so interesting to me that Jackson, who says he isn’t gay or asexual, hasn’t taken advantage of the young women on offer. I mean, some guys aren’t into hookups and casual relationships, I can understand that. But surely some girl would’ve been interested in being his girlfriend? He’s a sweetheart, he’s cute, and he’s smart. Why hasn’t he been snapped up yet?

“It makes me nervous when you look at me for that long,” he murmurs at last, his gaze fixed on his hands straightening the napkin holder and paper tent advertising the bakery’s seasonal specials.

Sitting up tall in my seat, my smile pulls wider. “Sorry. I just find you fascinating.”

He lets out a nervous chuckle and shakes his head. “I promise, I’m not.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to disagree. And you don’t get to tell me what I find fascinating or not. I won’t dictate your thoughts or feelings to you either, okay?”

He raises his hazel eyes to mine at last, surprise on his face. “Um. Okay.” Rubbing his hands on his thighs, he looks around again. “So, uh, you wanted to … talk.”

Trying and failing to bite back my smirk, I look down to hide my expression, pick up my pen, and open my notebook to the marked page. “Yes. I do. You said you want my help, but I need to know exactly what I’m working with. I have an idea, of course, just based on things you’ve said and your behavior in general.” I wave a hand in his direction, indicating his current nervousness. “You’re uncomfortable being here with me. Why is that? I thought we were friends.” I prop my chin on my hand again, waiting for his answer.

He clears his throat a couple of times, glancing at me, the tips of his ears turning pink but not his whole face. Not a full blush. That’s something, at least. He’s not entirely uncomfortable. I can only imagine that the fact we’ve known each other for most of a year is helping with that.

But when he opens his mouth to finally deliver his answer, our order is called.

Stifling a sigh at the interruption, I hold up a finger. “Hold that thought. Let me grab our drinks. Maybe having something in your hand will make it easier on you.” I pat his shoulder on my way to the counter, letting my hand drag down his arm as I move past him.

He stiffens under my touch before relaxing after a second just like he did every time I touched him at the game night the other day. I’m glad they had a home game this weekend, because otherwise I’m not sure how long we would’ve had to wait to have this meeting. As it is, it still took all the way until Sunday before we managed to both have room in our schedules at the same time.

When we were trying to work out a day and time to get together, part of me wondered if he was going to back out, if his protests that he didn’t have time on Friday were genuine or if he was getting cold feet. But when he suggested Sunday afternoon, I felt better about the whole thing.

I know I can be forward when I want to be. Some guys don’t like that. They want the chase, and while I can sometimes enjoy being someone’s prey, I’m not always in the mood to dampen my natural attitude. A lot of guys are perfectly happy to be approached by a pretty girl who just wants to fuck. And while I’m open to it being more than a one time thing, I know I’m not cut out for relationships.

Because relationships never last. My parents are proof enough of that—I thought everything was fine until they sat me down the summer I was fifteen and announced that Dad would be moving out and they’d be getting a divorce.

They said they were doing “conscious uncoupling,” and I don’t know, maybe they did. But Mom especially made it sound like some highly spiritual positive practice. In reality, their divorce was anything but the evolved and spiritual separation of two souls no longer sharing the same path.

They fought over nearly everything. They tried to hide it from me, but I overheard Mom venting to her friends about it often enough that I have some idea of how bad it was.

They were the perfect couple until suddenly one day they weren’t. Now I split my school vacations between them, and the tension is enough to make me not want to spend time at home if I can help it.

So no. I’m not interested in a fairy-tale ending. Because they only happen in fairy tales, and I stopped believing in those a long time ago. This is real life.

However, I am interested in pleasure, and it’s more fun if you have the time and luxury of getting to know another person and what they enjoy and vice versa. I’ve sampled the college buffet plenty, and now I’m looking for a steady diet. For a while, at least.

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