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"Okay guys," Mom clapped her hands together as she walked into the living room in her scrubs.

Elliott paused their game while I dropped the book I was reading in my lap, using my thumb to hold my place.

Jackson continued to stare at the tv screen, thumbs resting on the buttons of his controller, like he was waiting for it to unpause on its own.

Even though Mom's scrubs were a little more green than blue, I couldn't help but remember what Jackson said on the roof.

There was always blue everywhere — blue scrubs, blue chairs, blue paintings. Just blue, blue, blue. I hate it.

"I'm leaving for work, but there's a list of dishes on the counter I can make for Thanksgiving that I want y'all to go through. Not everyone is coming this year, so I won't be making as much. Just initial next to the dishes you want."

My heart fell to my stomach.

I forgot one of our cousins was moving, so our aunt and uncle were helping him — along his two sisters.

And even though Mom wasn't making as much food, less people meant less distractions — which meant I'd have to eat more if I didn't want to blow my cover.

"Oh, and Jackson?" Mom said, forcing him to look at her while he sat his controller on the coffee table. "If there's anyone you'd like to invite, feel free."

Jackson pressed his lips into a tight line, looking down before he leaned back into the couch, smiling up at Mom.

"My familia's already here," he said convincingly, then glanced behind Elliott's head between us.

I don't know if he looked away so quickly so no one else would notice, or because he didn't want me to notice what his eyes were really saying.

But the short second they met mine was enough for me to see it. Pain.

My brows twitched downward briefly as I looked at the side of his face, before I forced myself to turn back to Mom. Her eyes were shining as she gave him a soft smile.

"Well," she breathed out, bundling her hair at the nape of her neck with the ponytail holder from her wrist. "The offer still stands. I'm heading out, love you guys."

"Love you," Elliott and I replied simultaneously before she walked out.

"Since when did you become all...mushy?" Elliott asked teasingly when the front door shut, narrowing his eyes at Jackson.

"Shut the fuck up," Jackson shoved him, making Elliott dig his elbow into my arm to catch himself.

I cursed and roughly pushed him off of me, rubbing my upper arm — he jabbed just the right spot that had my whole arm throbbing.

He caught himself right before he bumped into Jackson and huffed.

"Christ, I take it back! Why are both of you so aggressive all the time?" Elliott snapped, shaking his hands in front of him for emphasis before standing up.

"Listen, I will riot if Mother doesn't make her potato casserole, so you two assholes better pick it," he pointed between us accusingly, then marched into the kitchen.

I huffed out a small humorless laugh, making Jackson look over from the other side of the couch again.

"You good?"

Oh yeah, just wondering if I can pull off faking a seizure before Thanksgiving dinner.

I nodded once. "You?"

"Great," he smirked, but I could tell he was lying by the way his eyes flicked to the side, making me frown slightly.

"Good," I nodded again, deciding not to call him out, because I wasn't really sure where we stood after Friday.

We hadn't been alone since we got home that night. Mainly because I was too nervous to figure out how he'd act, so I spent most of yesterday at Kallie's.

But I knew I'd have to face him eventually, so instead of hiding in my room like I wanted to do today, I decided to sit on the couch and read.

My plan was to sit here until he walked through, just to see if he would give me any kind of hint to how he was feeling.

A smile, a glare, not even a glance in my direction — anything to tell me how I'm supposed to act around him.

What I didn't expect was for him and Elliott to plop down on the couch next to me, and play video games all afternoon.

And the more time I spent around Jackson, the less my brain wanted to work correctly.

So since he wasn't ignoring me, I took advantage of Elliott's empty spot and boldly turned, stretching my legs across the couch before returning to my book.

I tried to pretend like I didn't notice I could touch his leg with my feet if I wanted to. But I definitely noticed, and I couldn't even make out the first word on the page.

Then the book was completely forgotten when I felt Jackson's hand rest above my ankle, and I peeked over it to look at him.

His position seemed so casual. Like his hand just so happened to land on my leg while he pulled out his phone and got comfortable.

And he didn't seem bothered to move it.

His eyes lifted from his phone to catch me watching him, and I could've sworn they softened a little when they met mine.

He couldn't see the bottom half of my face, but I smiled anyways.

The corners of his eyes tightened as a smile formed on his face, making mine widen.

I guess what they say about the eyes being windows to the soul is true; I wish I would've realized it sooner.

Now that I'd been paying more attention, I realized Jackson wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as he liked to think.

No matter what he said, his eyes always told the truth.

Those almost obsidian orbs were his personal lie detectors. And now that I knew, they were all I could see — even when they weren't in front of me.

I cleared my throat and glanced behind him, my gaze settling on the curtain.

"Why'd you fix that curtain rod?" I blurted out as I lowered the book in my hands.

He turned to look at it, then back to me with his brow scrunched in confusion. "Because it was crooked?"

"Well yeah, duh," I rolled my eyes. "I've seen how you leave the bathroom in the mornings; I know a crooked curtain didn't bother you."

"You're right," he shrugged, the lines on his forehead smoothing out. "But it bothered you."

He fixed it for me?

We weren't even on speaking terms then.

I'm pretty sure my stomach could win a medal with the somersaults it was doing.

"Why — h-how did you know?" I asked, cringing inwardly.

I almost asked him why he would do that, but I didn't know if I wanted to hear the answer yet — or what I even wanted the answer to be.

"I've seen how you leave the bathroom — like you're scared for people to know it's used," he said, chuckling when I scowled.

"You made that face whenever you looked at it, actually," he continued with an amused smile, so I relaxed my face, and he chuckled again.

Then he briefly squeezed my calf, and suddenly my heart was running for a medal too.

My fingers mindlessly played with the corner of the pages of my book, while I gave him a small smile.

He slowly returned it, and his thumb lightly grazed the fabric of my sweatpants.

I was self conscious about a lot of things, but I'd never thought twice about the clothes I wore — until now.

Granted, Jackson was in sweatpants too, but he looked comfortable and...let's just say he wasn't anywhere near looking like a slob, like I did.

With my oversized hoodie and old sweatpants — that I had to pull the drawstring as tight as possible to keep on — I probably looked like a sack of potatoes.

"Alright. So Mom didn't even put the potato casserole on the list," Elliott said as he walked out of the kitchen, and Jackson quickly yanked his hand from my leg, coughing into it while he looked down at his phone.

I pulled my knees up and adjusted my book to look like I was reading — the last thing I wanted was for Elliott to know what was going on, when I didn't even know.

"But don't worry guys, I added it," he continued proudly when he stopped in front of the couch.

"Oh, thank God," I feigned a sigh of relief and put a hand to my chest. "You just saved Thanksgiving, bro."

"As a matter of fact, I did," Elliott said proudly, resting his fists on his hips. "Everyone knows casserole is the foundation of Thanksgiving."

"I thought it was the turkey and dressing," I wondered out loud, scrunching my nose.

"I thought it was the Pilgrims," Jackson said, mimicking my tone.

A moment of silence passed, then I bursted out laughing. Jackson slowly began chuckling with me, while Elliott looked between us strangely.

He glanced down at my legs in his spot before looking at me, then to Jackson.

"Sorry," I cleared my throat and sat up. "My back was starting to hurt."

Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started typing.

"I'm going to take a quick shower anyways," he said offhandedly. "Kallie's about to come by to bring my check."

I leaned up and put my book on the coffee table, picking up my phone. No messages.

"She told you and not me?" I asked with a small frown.

This is no different than her texting any other guy.

She doesn't tell me every time she goes to a guy's house. Most times, but not every time.

But she always tells me when she's coming to my house.

"Well it's not your check, is it?" He shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Point taken. But still.

"And you're taking a shower because she's bringing your check?" I said slowly, mirroring his expression.

"No, I'm taking a shower because I wanna take a shower. What's with you?" He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Nothing," I shook my head, giving him an innocent smile. "Be careful."

"I'll try my best," he gave me a sarcastic thumbs up, then looked at Jackson one last time before going toward the stairs.

"Your best friend is gonna steal my best friend, isn't she?" Jackson asked, looking at the stairs after Elliott disappeared.

I pursed my lips as I turned toward them too. "Your best friend stole my best friend first."

"I kind of told her to go for it though, so I guess I can't really be upset," I frowned, turning to Jackson again.

He mimicked my movements, sitting on his leg as he faced me. "What do we do now?"

We?

"Um," I nervously tucked my hair behind my ear. "I guess we sit back and hope they don't push us to the side."

Well that didn't come out depressing at all.

"Or I'll have to find someone else to hangout with. I don't know, maybe I could learn to like country music," I continued with a nonchalant shrug, and he scoffed.

I was so caught up thinking about him saying we, I just started rambling. I didn't expect a sarcastic remark I would say to Kallie to come out so easily around him.

I definitely didn't expect to get a reaction from it.

"How long have you known Noah?" I asked curiously, and Jackson narrowed his eyes at me.

"And the other guys," I added, nodding my head to the side.

"I've known Sam for about two years. Noah started comin' around a couple months ago," he said, his eyes focused on the couch between us. Then they flicked up to me and he raised a brow. "So, long enough to know girls are just numbers to him."

There's no way he actually thinks I'm interested in Noah.

"Ew," I mumbled, scrunching my nose.

Does he not remember my speech that he completely fucking brushed off Friday night?

"Jesse said you're over there a lot," I said as I adjusted, resting my arm across the back of the couch. "How did you not know them?"

He sighed through his nose, settling into the couch and casually tossing his arm across the back of it too.

I glanced at the foot of space between our hands — it seemed so far.

His hand touching me felt nice; I wanted to feel it again.

"The thing about Sam's place is..." he paused, trying to find the right words.

I couldn't help but notice how he failed to mention Darius — he seemed to have become he who shall not be named.

"Everyone just comes and goes as they please. Sam can get along with anyone, so all types of people hangout there," he adjusted himself, the motion making his hand inch closer to mine.

Was that on purpose?

"It's kinda cool. Everybody's so different, but Sam just has a way of makin' it work."

There was a hint of a smile on Jackson's face, until he realized he was getting off track and frowned, clearing his throat.

No, keep rambling, please. I could listen to it forever.

"But yeah," he continued with a shrug. "I've been around 'em — talked to 'em from time to time, but we never introduced ourselves. It woulda been weird to ask their names now; someone was bound to say 'em at some point."

"I guess you're right," I laughed, and he smiled.

Then the door opened, and we simultaneously pulled our hands back.

Kallie strutted in, making my rapid heartbeat slow. She had a white envelope between her lips as she adjusted the messy bun on top of her head.

She pulled the envelope from her lips when she was done, a manicured finger rubbing at the greasy chapstick left on it. She gave up after a second, probably realizing she was just smearing it, and her hazel eyes flicked over to us.

I watched her with my lips pressed in a tight line as she looked over to the tv, the picture dim from lack of use, then back to our position on the couch.

A knowing smile formed on her face.

Shit.

"Hey guys," she dragged out in a singsong voice. "Am I interrupting?"

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