Page 30 of Jack Frosting

Henry was referring to the tiny shorts, which only got me thinking of the jockstrap again.

“Doordash it is. I hadn’t even thought about the weather,” Jack said. “It’s nice and toasty in here.”

Henry took the recliner and Jack and I claimed the couch. I was pleased when Jack didn’t sit on the other end, but in the middle, closer to me. Every time Jack had to choose today, he chose the option that kept him around us. Around me. And I didn’t think it was a coincidence. There had been too many shared glances followed by knowing smiles.

Doordash had delivered a veritable feast of snacks, which currently filled the coffee table. Despite the pancakes, by the time the first game started – the Patriots versus the Bills – I was hungry again. And Henry was always hungry.

My phone vibrated and I ignored it. I was enjoying the moment, until I noticed Jack wave his phone at me. I watched him type something. It was only when my phone vibrated and he stared at me that I realized what was happening.

I pulled out my phone.

Jack: I’m still thinking about last night.

Jack: This is me texting you to check your phone.

Jack: There you go. Was that hard?

Apparently, we had reached the point in whatever-this-was that text flirting became the next step.

Clayton: I don’t know. You tell me if it’s hard.

I glanced over at him. He met my gaze with a smile.

Jack: It’s definitely hard.

Clayton: And all this football to watch...damn.

Jack: When can we use the playroom?

Jack: I’ve always wanted to use a sling.

I certainly wouldn’t be standing up any time soon, and silently thanked whoever invented the fridge inside the couch while grabbing another beer.

Clayton: I can arrange that.

Clayton: I know the owner.

Jack: Will it be miraculously unlocked tonight?

That would be a miracle.

Clayton: Not to bring reality crashing down on us, but…

Clayton: I think the playroom is for when we’re the only ones here.

Jack seemed to think about something; his lips were pursed. I eagerly awaited his response.

Jack: Understood.

We smiled at each other again, then he asked for another beer.

“You guys better slow down,” Henry teased. “It’s only the first game and you’re on your second beer.”

“Keeping track, are we?” I asked.

Henry shrugged. “Just making an observation.”

I got lost in the game. Football was hypnotizing for me. It wasn’t something I could explain, but my father had it on every Sunday growing up. Maybe that was it.