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Getting Jackson’s blessing to take our relationship to the next level.

I rummage through my dresser and pull out a gray sweater and matching sweatpants. As I turn around, clothes in hand, my breath hitches. Jackson has pulled his coffee-stained shirt over his head and has started unbuckling his belt. “Uh, Jackson? What are you doing?”

“Changing. What does it look like?”

“I can see that. But why are you doing it here? The bathroom is down the hall.”

Jackson shrugs, unconcerned. “You’ve already seen me naked once.”

He has a point.“Here. These should fit you.”

“Thanks, man.”

Jackson takes the sweater and sweatpants from me, and I stare at the ceiling as he shimmies out of his jeans. He pulls on the sweatpants and ties the drawstring tight around his trim waist. When he puts on the sweater, I bite back a smile at how it engulfs his body.

We may be close in height, but our frames are vastly different.

Jackson spreads his arms wide and twirls. “How do I look?”

“Like a million bucks.”

And he does. Seeing him in my clothes makes me hope that one day, it’s Elliot in his shoes—wearing my hoodies in the wintertime and my jersey at my games.

“So, this is where the magic happens?”

Wait.Oh God, does he know about the hand jobs? And my porn-star-worthy moans muffled by pillows and sheets?

Panic rises in my throat like bile. I thought Elliot and I were being discreet! But apparently not, if Jackson is making sly comments about “where the magic happens.”

Who could have told him? Elliot? They are friends, after all.Or maybe Drew? His room is next door, and I know he’s trying to worm his way into Jackson’s life.

Cheese on a Ritz cracker.This isnothow I wanted this conversation to start.

Jackson takes one glance at my rapidly reddening face and chuckles. “Relax, Gerard. I’m messing with you.”

Relief floods through me so fast that I nearly collapse. I have to grip the edge of my dresser to keep myself upright.

“Right. I knew that.” I try to be suave, even though my heart pounds against my ribs like a caged bird.

Jackson smirks, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t push the issue. He flops down on my bed, making himself at home among the navy comforter and white pillows. Propping himself up on one elbow, he fixes me with a curious stare. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

I swallow hard. This is it. The moment of truth. Either Jackson and I are about to become best friends or sworn enemies.

I take a deep breath and sit down in my desk chair. It creaks under my weight, and I make a mental note to get that fixed.

“It’s about Elliot. I like him, Jackson. I want to date him, be his boyfriend, and do all that couple-y stuff that I used to make fun of my parents for.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I know it might seem sudden, considering the last time we talked, it was nothing more than a simple crush, but I can’t help how I feel. Elliot is amazing. He’s smart and funny and cute as a button. He makes me laugh, challenges me, and sees me as more than a dumb jock.”

I pause and take a deep breath. Jackson is listening intently to every word I say, but his face says nothing.Man, he has a good poker face.

“When I’m with Elliot, everything feels right. Like, this is where I’m supposed to be. This iswhoI’m supposed to be.”

Jackson stares at me, the silence stretching between us, thick and heavy.

I have no idea how he’s going to respond. Will he punch me?Knee me in the balls? Throw me out the window and watch me kersplat on the deck?

Or, oh God, what if he forbids me from ever seeing Elliot again? I don’t think I could handle that. I’d probably curl up into a ball and cry for days, mourning the loss of something I never truly had.

Jackson sits up, runs a hand through his hair, and exhales a long, slow breath. He studies me, really studies me, and I make a concerted effort not to move a muscle.