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“Oh, I know. His mood was better last night, though, and your bee emojis explain a lot.”
Somehow the idea that I made him smile last night makes me feel better. “I can’t keep giving everything to someone who won’t do the same.”
Jameson nods, picking at the corner of his syllabus. “Yeah, you can’t.” He gets it. He and Callie are both champions of the emotionally unavailable.
“This didn’t really help.”
“I know.” He chuckles, the sound low and honest. “I suck at this shit. Emotional support isn’t my main skill. If you wanna talk about being the goat at pitching, I’m your guy.” He flexes his arm, and I laugh.
“I’ll remember that. So… how’s it going with Callie?” I nudge him.
He groans, slumping back so far I think he’ll slide out of his chair. “You tell me. We don’t talk. She never talks to me and last I heard she’s talking to Sawyer.”
“Yeah.” I chew my lip, thinking about how we’re both stuck in the same weird limbo.
He shrugs, raising his hand in surrender. “There you go. At least you didn’t send Callie sixty messages about bees.”
I shoot him a look. “Yet.”
He grins. “Please do. She’d love that. Make sure you ask if bees have knees.”
Dr. Yu passes around a box of latex gloves for the “hands-on tissue lab,” and the whole row groans. Jameson snaps his glove with a dramatic flair. “Yo, you wanna get some pizza after this? I’m starving. If I have to look at one more spleen cross-section, I might actually die.”
“Yeah, I do.” I don’t even have to think about it. And not having to feels damn good.
For once, I’m not wondering what Jaxon would say if I’m eating pizza with his friend. Or if he’ll text me later. For once, I’m doing what I need for myself, and it feels good.
As we head out, Jameson nudges me. “So. Pineapple on pizza or nah?”
I grin. “I love pineapple on pizza.”
“Knew I liked you for a reason.” He laughs loud enough that Dr. Yu gives us a look. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t care.
We endup at Big Mario’s, tucked off University Way, where the tables wobble and the windows are always fogged with the smell of melting cheese and garlic knots. Jameson orders a greasy slice bigger than his face, plus pepperoni knots, because apparently he’s “carb-loading for emotional support.”
I pick at a margherita slice, tracing condensation on my water glass as Jameson scrolls his phone, pausing every few seconds to show me a meme or a video of a cat falling off a counter.
“How’s Mookie?” I ask as he dips a knot in marinara.
“Mmm. He’s good. Jax hates him.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. “Why?”
Jameson grins, mouth full. “Because Mookie sleeps on his pillow. Like, directly on his head. Last week Jax woke up with a mouthful of fur and threatened to put Mookie up for adoption.”
“Sounds like him. His sister had a dog once, and Jaxon took it to the pound and left it there when she went on a date.”
Jameson sighs, like Jaxon’s already tried that with Mookie. “He even bought a special vacuum for cat hair.”
“Of course he did.”
Jameson shakes his head. “His OCD gives me anxiety. If I leave my clothes on the floor, he picks them up and puts them away. I dropped a sock once and he stared at it, trying to telepathically will me to move it.”
“He cleaned my room once. I took a nap after practice in high school and woke up to him color-coding my closet.”
Jameson hangs his head, laughing. “Of course he did. Bro can cook, though.”
“I know!” I gasp, instantly missing Jaxon’s fried rice. “And it’s good shit, too.”