“Alright,” Jason said. His voice had gone quiet, stripped of the usual performance. “You want blunt.”
I nodded. My throat had sealed shut.
He ran a hand through his hair, then dropped it. “I think about you. A lot. More than I should, probably. More than makes sense for someone who’s supposed to be learning pivot tables.”
My knees locked.
“I think about you when I’m running plays,” he continued. “When I’m in practice. When I should be focused on literally anything else.” He gestured vaguely between us. “And then you’re here, and I can’t stop looking at you, and I don’t know what to do with that because you’re so…” He stopped, jaw working. “You’re smart, and you’re mean in this way that’s actually funny, and you showed up at my house when you didn’t have to.”
My lungs had forgotten how breathing worked.
“And I kissed you,” Jason said, quieter now. “I kissed you, and then I panicked because I didn’t know if you wanted that, and I made it worse by calling it a mistake when it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.”
The air between us felt too thin. I wanted to sit down. There was nowhere to sit.
“I don’t do this,” he said, motioning at himself, at me, at the space that had become unbearable. “I don’tget nervous. I don’t stumble. But you make me stupid, Bennet.”
My hands tightened around the towel until my knuckles went white.
“I like you,” Jason said, flat and certain. “I want you. And I don’t know what you want, but I needed to say it because pretending it’s not happening is making me insane.”
Silence.
The locker room hummed with the distant sound of showers running. Someone’s locker slammed two rows over.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Jason watched me, still standing there in his underwear like this was the most casual thing ever. But the tension around his eyes told me the truth. He was anything but casual.
“Say something,” he said.
I tried. My brain had turned into static.
He took a step closer. Not crowding. Just closer. “Bennet.”
“I…” The word cracked. I swallowed and tried again. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
His brow furrowed. “With what?”
“With you. Like this. Saying things like that.” My voice came out unsteady, too raw. “People don’t just…”
“I do,” he interrupted gently. “I just did.”
I stared at him. At the honesty in his face, the lack of calculation. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’tangling. He’d just laid himself open and was standing there waiting.
“You confuse me,” I said, because it was the only true thing I could get out. People didn’t say things like this to me. Sure, they may have done speeches and gestures toward each other, but I wasn’t anyone’s romantic target. I just wasn’t.
His mouth curved, small and almost sad. “Yeah. You said that before.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” He hesitated, then added, “Do you want me to take it back?”
“No.” The answer came too fast. “No, don’t.”
Something shifted in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or hope.
I looked down at the space between us. At the few inches of tile that felt impossible to cross. “I don’t know how to do this,” I said.