“Gets it from me,” I confirm, and Clancy chuckles warmly.
I turn back to Sammy as he places a hand on his hip, cocks his head to the side, and declares, “What is this? A fucking Jane Austen novel?”
Everyone’s mouths drop open in shock.
“Shit,” Wagner mutters, then glares at me. “See? Youarea bad influence on my kid.”
He storms off, and once he’s out of range, Clancy lets out a quiet chuckle. “Bad influences are often the best.”
“One thousand percent.” I lift my Solo cup filled with lemonade and tap it against Clancy’s beer bottle.
“Well, I’d best be off,” Clancy says abruptly.
“Why’s that?”
He moves out of the way as Jackson steps out onto the patio. He lifts his hand to cover his eyes, needing a minute to adjust to the sports stadium lighting. When he clears his hand from his face and makes eye contact with me, my breath hitches.
He looks…different.
The casual red shirt and scruffy cargo shorts have been replaced by a pale-yellow short-sleeve oxford shirt and slim-fitting dark jeans, finished off with low-profile white Vans. His normally messy hair has been tamed and is being held in place by just enough gel to give it that telltale gleam. I’m so used to seeing him covered in mud and drenched in sweat, and while I very much like that look, clean and dapper Jackson is nothing short of showstopping.
“Hi,” he says when he reaches me.
“Hey. You look great.”
He frowns and smiles at the same time, as if his brain is giving him mixed signals. “Thanks. I… It’s nothing. I got peer pressured by everyone. It’s just some clothes that aren’t caked in dirt.”
“Well, for the record, non-caked-in-dirt clothes suit you.” He blinks at me a few times, so I ask, “Is it weird that I’m here?”
I’ve been wondering, low-key worried, how he’d react to seeing me after our earlier text exchange. Was I pushing the boundaries with the animated cock GIF? Maybe. I don’t see the harm in testing the waters. His lighthearted text back told me he wasn’t biting, and that’s fair enough. I can respect that and rein things in.
But now, seeing Jackson undergo the kind of dramatic glow up usually reserved forDrag Race All Starsseasons, I’m starting to think our text exchange might have planted a seed in his mind.
A seed of interest.
Maybe.
I’m still going to play it safe to not overstep.
“A lot of things about today have been weird,” he says. “But I’m glad you came.”
“Sounds like you need a drink. Can I get you anything?”
“Sure. What are you having?”
“Lemonade.”
“I’ll have the same, thanks.”
I grab a Solo cup and fix Jackson a drink from our cooler. Wagner and Sammy are with Jackson’s sisters and their partners, and Clancy and Pip are laughing about something, so I gesture to the empty picnic blanket laid out on the grass. “Want to sit over there?”
“Uh, sure.”
There are three steps that lead from the back patio to the yard. When we get to them, Jackson frowns.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just these lights are messing with me. Can you hold my drink?”
