The Hookup Situation (Colorado Springs University #2)

Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

PRESTON

When I wake the next morning the sun is pouring in the window, my ass is sore, and I have to pee.

It’s not until I open my eyes, though, that I realize Jackson is gone. I know he was here when I fell asleep because my arms were around him. He must have left sometime in the night or early this morning. I guess that answers my question about Thanksgiving, but maybe it’s a good thing because that means his parents want him to be home?

I still don’t fully understand his reasons for keeping us a secret, and I’m realizing more and more how much I want us to be something other than fuck buddies, or friends with benefits, but the last thing I want to do is pressure him into something he’s not ready for, and he seems scared, for whatever reason, to take what we're doing any further, so for now, I’ll wait. Who knows, maybe some time apart for Thanksgiving will be good for us. Except that I’m already missing him, and I was really looking forward to introducing him to my family and spending some time with him in a different environment, including him in all of our traditions.

I sigh and pull the covers back, climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom and a shower. I think Chris is still asleep but I’m pretty sure he’s leaving today too.

I finish showering and dress in jeans and a T-shirt with a volleyball on it that says, “If you want a soft serve go get ice cream.” It’s old, since my parents got it for me a few years ago for Christmas, but I love it.

I eat some cereal and drink some coffee, then head into my room to pack. It doesn’t take long since most of what I need is back home.

I think about texting Jackson to tell him I’m heading out, but decide to get my things in my car first, so I slip on my coat and shoes, grab my suitcase and head for the door.

I see Jackson’s car still in the parking lot, buried under the snow, and assume that means he’s still around somewhere, or that he took an uber to the airport, which would make sense. But I thought he would at least say goodbye.

I sigh as I pop the trunk. I’m reaching for my suitcase when I hear, “Am I too late?”

I turn and see him standing there, holding his own suitcase and looking as sexy as ever in his dark jeans and black peacoat, with fresh make up on, and combat boots on his feet. I can’t help the smile that splits my face, because we all know that stuff about spending time apart being good for us is a load of shit I made up to make myself feel better. He’s here.

I grin. “You’re coming?”

He smiles back. “If I’m still invited.”

“Definitely still invited.” I heave my suitcase into the trunk and he moves closer, lifting his suitcase and setting it inside along with mine.

“I should have said something,” he says, hands shoved in his coat pockets. “Told you what I was doing. I was kind of undecided, I guess. I woke up and decided to go but then I got back home and started thinking maybe I shouldn’t, and I’ve never been at someone else’s house for Thanksgiving before. I mean, I’ve never been invited, and I guess I’m a little nervous.”

I can’t help smiling even wider. He’s kinda cute when he rambles. I don’t think he gets flustered or nervous very often, and if he does he hides it well. Maybe this is a sign he’s getting more comfortable with me. I want to kiss him, but there’s a few other people in the parking lot now and I don’t know how he would feel about it, so I don’t. “I’m really glad you are here,” I tell him. “And my family is only a little bit crazy so hopefully you’ll enjoy yourself.”

He flushes and gives a small chuckle.

“Ready?”

“Ready when you are.”

“You’re okay with my parents probably knowing about us?” I check. “I won’t announce it or anything, and I’ll introduce you as a friend, but…”

He nods. “As long as it doesn’t get back to Rory and Lucy, and I don’t know how it could, we’re fine.”

I grin and we get in the car.

“Wanna turn on some music?” I ask as I pull out of the parking lot and head towards home. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited about bringing someone with me before.

He pulls his phone out and plugs it into the adapter, and pretty soon, smooth jazz music is filling the car. It’s honestly really cool and I find myself enjoying it as I drive.

“So fair warning, my mom is kinda a lot, like in a good way, but she’ll be very chatty and probably asking a lot of questions. It’s her way of showing she cares, but if there’s anything you don’t want to talk about you can tell her, or just tug on your ear or something and I’ll try to save you. She’ll also be insisting you eat like around the clock, so get ready. She’s always baking or cooking something.”

He laughs. “Okay.”

“My dad is quieter. He spends a lot of time in his recliner with Ginger on his lap, reading. Loves board games, though, so that’s one way to get him up. We’ll probably watch a fair amount of Star Trek. It’s kinda our thing when I’m home. We used to do it as a family at least once a week. They still do, but I like to join when I can. You don’t have to join though, if you don’t want to.”

“I would love to,” he says. “Your family sounds pretty amazing. Thank you for inviting me. I was kinda dreading going home.”

His admission makes my chest ache. “You’re not close to your parents, I take it.”

He shakes his head and looks out the window. I won’t be getting more than that, I guess.

“Ginger is your dog, I assume,” he says, looking back at me. “Unless your dad sits on his chair with another lady in his lap.”

I laugh. “No, she’s the dog.”

“What kind?”

“Miniature Labradoodle.”

“She sounds really sweet.”

“She is. Not very active anymore, like she was when she was younger, but still just as sweet. Honestly, I feel like she was the perfect dog. She didn’t have accidents unless she was sick, she loved playing with toys, and she was friendly with everyone. Like, some dogs get attached to one person or whatever, but she wasn’t like that. She loved all of us the same and it was really nice. The only time she was a stubborn turd, was when we’d let her outside to go to the bathroom and she’d just sit there in the sun like she was getting a tan instead of coming inside when we called her. She’d just look at us like “yeah, nah, I’m good,” and then keep doing her thing.”

He laughs. “You’ve had her since she was a puppy?”

“Yeah, I think I was seven or eight maybe when we got her. She was a ball of energy then, man, it was crazy. She’d get the zoomies, especially if my dad got her worked up and she’d tear around the house so fast. There were a few times where she’d actually take our feet out from under us.”

He laughs again. “Oh, wow, she sounds like fun.”

“I miss the young her, but I’m glad we have her no matter what. It’s gonna be hard when she passes, though.”

“What about your brother, Paris? What’s he like, other than being the family genius?”

“Well, you’ll find out. He’s his own person, and doesn’t have any filter, let's just put it that way. I think you’ll like him.”

He raises an eyebrow at me and I chuckle.

We drive in silence for a while longer, and when I look over at him I see he’s dozed off, his head resting against the window. I have a feeling there’s so much more going on with him than he lets on. There’s something nagging him, eating him up inside, and I wish he would let me in, tell me what it is that makes those frown lines appear on his face or those beautiful sapphire eyes dim, especially when I mention his parents. I wish I knew why he was so closed off to talking about them, or why the idea of his friends knowing about us scares him so much. There’s something going on that’s making him feel like he has to keep his distance, like he’s afraid to be more, have more, and I hate it. I hate seeing him struggling, hurting. Because when I look at him I see someone who is beautiful, and talented, and utterly unique. I see someone I don’t ever want to stop getting to know. I see someone who is good, and who deserves to be happy.

I see a man, I’m realizing, I’m falling in love with.

JACKSON

I wake to a hand on my arm, and a gentle voice in my ear. “Hey, Tinkerbell, we’re almost there.” I groan and slowly open my eyes. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep. And great, I’m drooling. How sexy is that?

I wipe my mouth off on the sleeve of my coat and look out the window as we drive down a winding dirt road with gorgeous houses sparsely scattered about, all different but all appealing in their own way. When Preston slows down I don’t realize why right away until I see the hidden driveway, and he turns onto it. It’s surrounded by trees on all sides and at the top sits a beautiful light blue cottage style home nestled amidst even more trees that are covered in snow. It looks like something out of a painting.

“This is gorgeous,” I say, unable to stop staring. “You live here?” My house, or my parents’ house, is fancy and insanely expensive, all updated and modern, but it doesn’t have an ounce of charm. This home is perfection, with the bay windows and white shutters, and the stunning wrap-around porch with a swing and two rocking chairs decorating it.

The excited cries when the front door opens tell me it probably has a lot to do with the people living in it. They’ve made their house a home, and I get to be a part of it, for a little while anyway. I swallow as my chest tightens, and take a breath.

“Yep,” he grins. “Come on.”

The second he’s out the door he’s being mauled by a small slender woman with gray hair and vivid blue eyes. She’s beaming and tears fill her eyes as she hugs him. There’s a man coming down the front steps with a blanket that he drapes over her as he smiles fondly and shakes his head. I can tell by looking at him that he’s Preston’s father. They have the same jaw line, the same nose and the same smile. He has his mother’s eyes though.

“You’ll catch pneumonia running out here without a coat,” he says, and she ‘tsks at him, though there’s a twinkle in her eyes as she pulls away from Preston and clutches the blanket to herself.

His dad looks at me and holds his hand out. “Phillip Wright. You can call me Phil. Nice to meet you.”

I shake his hand. “Jackson Bardot. Nice to meet you, too.”

His mom steps towards me then. “Oh, Jackson. Come here, love.” She says it like she’s known me for years as she wraps me in her arms, and I almost cry at how wonderful it feels. She smells like peppermint and chocolate, and I soak it in. I can’t remember the last time my parents hugged me. “We’re so glad you could come,” she says, pulling back and looking me over. “Goodness, nothing but skin and bones on you. We need to feed you both.” She looks at Preston. “You’re not eating enough, are you?”

“I’m eating just fine, Mom,” he answers.

I look at Preston and he smirks in a way that says, “Told you so.”

“Where’s Paris?” Preston asks.

“Paris is getting the dog because no one else could be bothered to do it,” a somewhat feminine voice calls out, and I look towards the door to see an absolutely gorgeous boy coming towards us, hips swaying. He’s about the same height as Rory with large blue eyes, high cheekbones, full lips, a slender nose, and luscious golden waves framing his flawless face. He’s wearing snow boots over pink tights and has on a plaid skater skirt and a long-sleeved black top. Around his neck is a silver necklace with a giant heart on it.

“The sass is strong in this one,” Phil mutters and we laugh.

“I heard that,” Paris says, his arms full of a brown fur ball that I’m assuming is Ginger. “No one else cares about you do they?” he asks her in that voice people use when they’re talking to a pet.

Phil rolls his eyes.

Ginger is already on the alert, no doubt smelling someone new on her turf, her ears perking up. Instead of barking or snarling at me though, her tail is wagging.

“Well, hello,” Paris trills when he reaches us. He looks me over. “You are scrumptious aren’t you?”

I smirk. “And you’re a flirt.”

He grins and holds his small hand out. “I’m Paris.”

“Jackson,” I tell him, taking it. I kiss his hand and he fans his face. Preston snickers.

“Well, Jackson, Ginger seems to approve of you,” he says as the dog in his arms yips and wags her tail even harder. “So I suppose I do too.”

I let her sniff my hand and she yips again and licks it.

“All right, let’s get inside before we turn into human popsicles,” Phil says, and grabs my suitcase out of the trunk. I tell him I can get it. He’s older and the man had cancer. I don’t need him hauling my suitcase around. But he insists, and Preston puts his hand on my shoulder, letting me know I should let him help me, so I do.

We make our way inside, and the house is just as charming on the inside as the outside. It’s very rustic and country and it gives me all the warm and cozy vibes. The dining room is adjacent to the kitchen and has a large floor to ceiling window and a table large enough for at least eight people. The kitchen itself has a double oven, an island covered in recipe books and pots and pans, a window looking out onto the front yard, and apple wallpaper all around. Further inside is the living area and there’s a wood burning stove in the corner, a china cabinet resting against one wall with gorgeous blue and white porcelain dishes in it, and a large built in bookshelf lines another wall. There’s two sofas and a large recliner, as well as a beautiful wooden rocking chair. Across from them is a large screen TV.

“Why don’t we let you guys get settled,” Pam says as Paris makes his way to the living room and sets Ginger back on her dog bed by the wood burning stove. She curls up and closes her eyes. “Jackson, I have you in Preston’s room with him. I hope that’s okay. It has a queen bed. Clean sheets and everything.”

“That sounds perfect,” I tell her. “Thank you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Preston says, giving her a kiss on the cheek that has her grinning. “We’ll be back down in a bit.”

I take my suitcase from where it’s sitting by the front door and follow Preston through the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. It opens up onto an office area with a large oak desk and behind it a bay window. On the left is a door leading to what I’m assuming is Paris’s room, and I grin when I see all the frills and lace inside. The little diva loves pink and black. I spot nail polish lining the top of his dresser as we pass by on the way to what I assume is Preston’s room. There’s a bathroom in between the two rooms and across from the desk setup. I’m loving everything about this house. It makes me want to curl up with a book or watch a classic Christmas movie. It’s just slow and peaceful, and I can’t remember a time when I felt more relaxed.

“You must have shared a room with Phoenix,” I say as we enter the room on the right, and I see the shelves lined with trophies, medallions, and awards and pictures of Preston and who I’m assuming is Phoenix. There’s a queen size bed in the center of the room with nightstands on each side and the dresser sits across from it. To the left of the bed is a walk-in closet and to the right is a large window that looks out over the roof.

“Yeah,” he says, a small smile on his face. “I did. There used to be more stuff out, but Mom and Dad put most of it away after he passed. Switched the beds out, too. Used to be two twins.” He chuckles. “We were really little when we moved in here, and I was sure there were monsters outside the window at night, and so he took the spot by the window so he could protect me. It never changed, until he was gone.”

Jesus. I’m gonna cry. Before I can think about it, I find myself reaching over and squeezing his hand. He gives mine a squeeze back. “Is this him?” I point to a photo on the dresser of a young man who looks strikingly similar to Preston, slightly darker hair but the same swimmer’s build and dashing smile, wearing a basketball jersey and kneeling with the basketball in his hands.

“Yeah, that was the same year he died,” Preston tells me, his voice solemn.

“The holidays must be really hard without him.”

“The hardest,” he admits, and my hand rests on his back as we both stare at the photo. Then, together we turn so our foreheads are resting together, and my hand is still on his back, our eyes closed.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he tells me, his warm breath ghosting over my face.

“Me, too,” I reply, and then kiss him. He smiles.

“Time for lunch, buttheads!” we hear, and laugh as Pam chides Paris for “being rude.”

“Coming!” Preston shouts back, and we head down the stairs.

“How is everything?” Pam asks as she bustles around in the kitchen and Paris sets the table. Phil is in his chair just like Preston said he would be, and Ginger is snoring by the fire. It’s perfect.

“It’s great, Mom,” Preston assures her.

“It should be. We cleaned the entire fucking house from top to bottom fifteen times for your highness’s arrival,” Paris remarks, and Pam smacks his arm.

“Language,” she chides.

“Paris, you know your mother likes our guests to feel welcome,” Phil says as he moves into the dining room. He plants a kiss on Pam’s cheek and we sit down, me next to Preston. Paris grins and gives Preston the finger while sticking his tongue out, and if their parents notice they don’t say anything. Preston returns the gesture and I can’t help snickering at their antics.

There’s bowls of soup in front of us and it smells amazing. It reminds me of when Preston brought me soup when I was sick and those butterflies are taking flight again.

Along with the soup we each have a small plate of salad that looks equally as enticing.

“Dig in,” Pam says, and we eat.

“Wait for it,” Preston whispers in my ear.

“So, Jackson, tell us about yourself,” Pam says, and Preston nudges me with his foot under the table. “What are you majoring in?”

I tell them about my major and my minor, what I hope to do after I graduate, and where I’m from. They ask me about California because they’ve never been and I take the opportunity to gripe about the freezing cold weather in Colorado, but add that it’s beautiful enough it makes up for most of it.

When she asks about my parents, I keep it simple. Tell them what they do and leave it at that. “Well, we’re sorry you couldn’t see them this year, but we’re glad you could spend the holiday with us.”

She asks me about my theater experience. I mention some of the plays I’ve been in in the past, including Anne of Green Gables , which has her putting her hand to her chest and saying how much she adores the movie, and what part did I play, and oh goodness I must have been an adorable Gilbert Blythe. Her smile is wide when I tell her about playing Gaston in Beauty and the Beast.

“Oh, you would just be amazing in that role, I can tell,” she says.

“Pam, honey, let the boy eat before his food gets cold,” Phil chimes in, and I’m grateful because I am starving, though I really don’t mind answering her questions. It’s honestly really nice to have someone be curious about me and the things I love. Someone who’s a parental figure, I mean. She’s shown more interest in me in half an hour than my parents have in twenty one years, and I’m soaking it up. I’ve noticed that Phil is just as engrossed in my answers but tends to sit back and watch it all play out, which is fine. Their dynamic makes me smile.

When I’ve had a few minutes to eat, Pam starts up again, and I can’t help chuckling as Phil shakes his head fondly at his wife.

“Okay, my turn,” Paris pipes up, setting a hand on his mother’s arm once I’ve finished telling her about my love of jazz music and the dance lessons I took when I was younger. “This question is far more important than the rest.” He looks at me. “Do you do your own makeup, and can you show me how? Because I love your eyeshadow. In return I can do your nails. I’m really good at it.” He holds his hands up, showcasing the pink fingernails that I missed until now. They really are stunning. They look professional.

“I’m fine with that,” I tell him, and he beams.

“Yay!”

“I don’t want pink, though.”

He grins. “No worries, gorgeous. I’m sure we can find something that will work for you. Maybe you can convince Preston to do it, too.”

Preston coughs. “Uh, I’m good.”

Paris bats his eyes at his big brother and then turns it up a notch with a pout, his eyes getting bigger.

Preston groans. I grin and nudge him under the table.

He tosses his head back. “Fine.”

Paris squeals and dashes off.

“You boys go ahead,” Phil tells us. “I’ll help Pam in the kitchen.”

I feel a little rude, leaving my dishes there for them to pick up, but Preston ushers me away from the table and I follow.

We gather in Paris’s room. He has a white bedspread with a pink tulle canopy over it, that’s attached to the ceiling. On the canopy are fairy lights, and pink tulle curtains decorate his windows as well. There’s a white dressing table in one corner with makeup scattered across it and even more nail polish than what’s on his dresser. There’s more fairy lights blinking all along the edge of the dressing table. A giant pink bean bag chair sits in another corner and there’s stuffed animals surrounding it. On the walls are black and white photos of shoes, lips, and of course, Paris. It’s honestly one of the coolest rooms I’ve ever seen and he beams when I tell him.

After he shows me his eyeshadow and primer, I tell him to select something in a matte or satin finish, and he goes for two different shades of pink and a white, all that have a light shimmer. I tell him which brushes to use and where to put each shade, as well as how to look down into a mirror so he can better see what he’s doing, and to use circular motions instead of swipes, all while he sits at his dressing table.

When he’s finished he squeals in delight and hugs me.

“You’re my new favorite person,” he tells me.

I let him do my nails after that. And while it takes a while, they look incredible when he’s finished, with a black base and orange and red flames on top.

“Told you I was good,” he says, and then gestures for Preston to take my place. He groans but does so, and we flip through our phones trying to find something we think will work for him.

“How about this?” I say, and show it to him.

“Do you have volleyball decals?” Preston asks his brother, who smirks at him.

“Please, big bro, I have decals for everything.”

So Preston agrees and Paris paints his nails a bright blue color, and decorates the ring finger on each hand with volleyballs. It honestly looks super cool when he’s finished, and Paris is beaming even more at how impressed Preston is with it.

“Boys!” We hear Phil calling from downstairs. “Time for Star Trek!”

“Ooh, yes,” Paris cheers and we make our way downstairs. Pam immediately wants to see Paris’s eyeshadow and our nails and she “oohs” and “awws” over all of it, saying how pretty and talented her boys are.

Phil is equally impressed and pats Paris’s leg from his spot in his chair. “You’re getting better and better at that, bud. Proud of you.”

Paris plonks himself down on one of the sofas next to Pam and Preston and I take the other couch. I would sit closer to him but we’re technically just friends here, so I resist and we leave space in the middle. He tosses me a blanket and I curl up under it as the show starts. I’m not a huge fan of Star Trek, but I’ve seen some episodes, and I honestly don’t care what we do while I’m here because I’m just happy to be a part of it, whatever it is.

As soon as I’ve got the blanket on my lap, Ginger rises from her dog bed by the fire and slowly makes her way over to me. She runs into the coffee table once but other than that she manages. When she reaches me she sits at my feet with her tail wagging, panting. I reach down and pet her and she stands, moving closer.

“She wants to sit on your lap,” Preston tells me. “You don’t have to let her though.” He reaches down to scratch her back.

“Oh, yeah, that’s fine,” I say, surprised. “How do I… do I pick her up, or?”

“I can do that part,” Preston says, and scoops her furry little body into his hands, setting her down on my lap, where she sniffs my face, her tail wagging even more, and then licks my chin.

“Ginger, no,” Pam scolds, but I laugh as Ginger turns in a circle and lies down on top of me. I start to pet her, and find how soft she is and how relaxing it feels to have her there with me, snoring peacefully. I’ve never had a dog sleep on my lap before.

I do have to move her when the show is over though, so I can pee.

“There’s somewhere I want to take you tomorrow,” Preston says as we lie in bed that night, facing each other. “In the morning though, we’re going sledding, so get ready, California boy.”

I laugh. “Can’t wait.”

“Can I kiss you goodnight?”

I nod and he moves a bit closer, resting his hand on my cheek, before he presses his lips to mine. The kiss is soft and tender, and it makes goosebumps erupt all over my skin.

“Goodnight, Tinkerbell,” he whispers against my lips, before we drift to sleep.