I think about all the nights I’ve spent lying awake, staring at my ceiling, trying to convince myself that this is just a simple attraction. Hormones. Two people caught up in a convenient lie that got a little too convincing.
But simple attraction doesn’t feel like this. Attraction doesn’t make your chest ache when they walk into a room. Attractiondoesn’t make you want to tell them every stupid thought that crosses your mind to see how they’ll react.
Gerard is saying something about complementary color theory, his voice a distant buzz beneath the music. Nathan looks like he’s contemplating throwing himself into a display of two-by-fours. Kyle and Oliver are debating the merits of different power drills. And Jackson—good ole Jackson is right there, close enough to touch, and I’ve never felt so far away from anyone in my life.
The last words of the song hang in the air, invisible and impossible.
Only you.
Jackson Monroe has changed everything. The way I think about relationships, about the future, about what I want my life to look like. Before Jacky, I was content with hookups and surface-level connections, keeping everyone at arm’s length so they couldn’t get close enough to hurt me.
But now I want Sunday mornings, inside jokes, and someone to come home to. I want fights that end in apologies, lazy afternoons, and all the boring, beautiful mundanity of a real relationship.
I want it all. With him.
The song fades, but the damage is done. I’m standing in the middle of Home Depot, surrounded by my teammates and the guy I love, and I’m absolutely fucking terrified.
Because I can’t lose him. Not the way I lost my dad. Not by reaching for something real and having it slip through my fingers like water.
We load everything into our carts, Nathan still halfway to passing out at any moment, while Gerard continues his one-man show about color theory and skin undertones. The familiar chaos of my teammates helps ground me, even as every moleculein my body vibrates at a higher frequency whenever Jackson stands this close to me.
At checkout, we realize we’ve bought enough supplies to build an entirely new deck, not just fix the existing one.
“Go big or go home,” Oliver shrugs, swiping his credit card.
We make our way to the parking lot, everyone grabbing bags and lumber. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the asphalt, and I find myself walking slower than necessary, not ready for Jackson to leave yet.
“Need help loading this stuff?” he asks.
“If you’ve got time.”
We work in a comfortable rhythm, tossing bags of screws and cans of sealant into the bed of my shitty pickup truck.
“You know, at first, I thought Sarah could be the Ice Queen,” Jackson says, watching Nathan’s latest meltdown about thong sizing. “But after the two of them had that little back and forth, it’d be pretty psychotic to fight with yourself online.”
“Exactly my thoughts.” I lean against the truck, studying Nathan’s face. “The timeline fits, and Nathan clearly has strong feelings about Gerard’s ass.”
“Don’t we all,” Jackson says, then immediately looks horrified. “I mean?—”
“Relax.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “Gerard’s assisobjectively impressive.”
“Does it really matter who she is, though?” Jackson asks. “She’s some thirsty person lusting after beefy men. And let’s be real, Berkeley Shore has always been a little off.”
He’s got a point. This is the same school that once held a “Sexy Vegetable” contest, which was shut down after someone’s eggplant costume was deemed too anatomically accurate.
“Hey, Drew? Can I tell you something?”
I turn to face Jackson, and the expression on his face makes me wonder if someone in his family died or something. “Everything okay, man?”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about Saturday. About us. And I—” He takes a deep breath, and I know with sudden, terrifying clarity what’s coming. “I need you to know that this isn’t fake for me anymore. I don’t think it ever was. I have feelings for you, Drew. Real ones.”
This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for and dreading in equal measure. He’s standing there, vulnerable and perfect, offering me everything I want.
And…I can’t do it.
“Feelings?” I force out a laugh that sounds hollow even to my ears. “You mean friendly feelings? Because same, buddy. You’re basically my bestest friend in the whole world at this point.”
His eyes dim like someone flicked a switch, his smile tightening at the corners until it’s just a line drawn across his face. His shoulders rise a fraction of an inch, and he takes a small step back that might as well be a mile. “Right. Friendly feelings.”
