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Jackson wipes his palms on his jeans, his sweaty, clammy palms. Fuck. He’s Jackson Whittemore, he does not get sweaty palms. Except when two of his best friends, who he’s slowly been falling in love with over the past year and who have indicating to be interested in him the same way, ask him to come over and watch a movie, apparently.
‘It’s just a movie,’ he whispers to himself, repeating what Lydia had said when she invited him.
Fuck that, they all know it’s not just a movie. It’s a trial date, an almost date.
He checks his hair with the camera on his phone, schools his expression into something approximating unaffected coolness, and knocks on Lydia’s door. The time it takes for Lydia to open up is almost enough for his palms to get sweaty again.
‘Hey,’ Lydia greets him with a blinding smile, stepping aside to let him into the apartment.
Cuddly is not usually the first word that comes to mind with Lydia, but looking like this, no heels, hair in a loose braid, and wearing a fluffy sweater, it’s the only thing Jackson can think. He has his arms around her, squeezing her body against his, before he realizes it.
‘You smell nice,’ Lydia says when she briefly buries her face in his chest.
‘Thank you.’
They separate and Jackson quickly toes of his boots and shrugs of his jacket so he can join Jordan on the couch, the nerves that had been running rampant through his mind only seconds before completely gone.
‘What are we watching?’ Jackson asks as he drops himself on Jordan’s right.
‘Not sure. It’s Lydia’s turn to pick.’
‘So The Notebook?’ Jackson teases, just as Lydia sits down on Jordan’s other side.
Lydia squints at him, then says, ‘No, actually. We’re watching The Princess Bride. That way, there’s something for everyone. I get the romance, Jordan gets comedy, and you get a handsome hero.’
‘You mean action. I get action,’ Jackson corrects.
‘Not on a first date, sweetheart,’ Lydia grins before turning to the television and pressing play.
Jackson feels the heat rise to his cheeks. ‘Thought it was just a movie,’ he mumbles, more to himself than the others.
Jordan throws an arm over his shoulder and squeezes in consolation. ‘You walked right into that one.’
‘I didn’t have chance,’ Jackson agrees.
He expects Jordan to remove his arm, but it stays where it is, even when Jackson leans forward to grab the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table. The warm, reassuring weight across his shoulders gives Jackson a rising need to lean against Jordan’s side. By the time Westley leaves to make his fortune, Jackson decides to stop fighting it. He closes the distance between him and Jordan, so their sides are pressed together and he can relax his head on Jordan’s shoulder.
‘You smell nice,’ Jordan says.
‘He really does,’ Lydia agrees absently, focused on the movie.
‘Thanks,’ Jackson says, then quickly stuffs popcorn in his mouth to hide how wide his smile is.