Jackson bounds out of the door, his face spread in a genial grin. “Hey, you must be Brynn. I'm Jackson, one of Nate's oldest friends.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say as we shake hands. I notice Nate lagging behind, standing just outside the door and looking reluctant to put another foot toward the pool.
“Come on, man, let's get in. I've been dreaming about this pool for days.”
“We shouldn’t bother her, she likes to be alone,” Nate says reluctantly. Jackson pulls off his shirt, and I look down at my interlaced fingers in my lap. He's got a great body. Maybe not as good as Nate's, but whose is? Jackson kicks off his flip-flops and jumps in, his splash narrowly missing me. Nate slowly walks toward the chair furthest from me, and takes off his shirt. I watch his back muscles tense as he lifts it off his head.
“Nate and I grew up playing lacrosse together,” Jackson says, swimming to the edge of the pool and leaning his elbows onto the deck in front of me.
“Hm? Oh,” I reply, as Nate dives in the deep end.
“So you guys go to school together?”
“Yup. UVA—I mean, of course you knew that.”
“Which sorority are you in?” he asks, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.
“I'm not. It's expensive, and I'm already pretty busy with work. Um, where do you go?”
Nate pops up next to Jackson. They make quite a pair, Nate with his dark eyes and Jackson with his light blonde locks.
“You wanna get some food now?” Nate asks.
“Dude we just got here. Besides, you're not supposed to eat for thirty minutes after you swim.”
“Before,” Nate and I both chime in. We glance at each other as he continues. “You're not supposed to eat for thirty minutes before. Why wouldn't it be OK to eat after you swim?”
“I dunno,” Jackson replies, flashing me a blindingly white smile. “Just thought that was the rule.” I find myself smiling back at him. He has a boyish charm that's infectious.
“I’m pretty sure that’s a myth adults made up so they’d have time to eat their own lunch without the kids swimming unsupervised.” I smile.
“Ah that makes more sense. You grow up around here?” he asks me.
“Yeah, on the Eastern shore.”
“Oh, sweet. My family has a vacation house there. I love going out there. Sailing in the bay and everything. You go sailing a lot?”
“Um, not really,” I reply. Nate kicks off the wall and begins to swim back and forth behind Jackson. I guess he's decided not to take it easy on his injured shoulder.
“We should go some time. Maybe not with him,” he replies, nodding behind him. “Too competitive.”
“He is, isn't he?” It feels nice to be able to talk about Nate with someone who knows him. And who will gossip. “Was he always like that?”
“Oh man, always. We're like, ten years old, playing lacrosse on our school team, and coach was constantly having to pull him back during practice 'cause he was always going full out, full contact.”
He and I laugh together. I notice Nate pause in his stroke, but I can't imagine he can hear us.
“Do you still play lacrosse?”
“Naw, I don't really have the discipline to keep up with it. I was good in high school, but you have to be great to cut it in college. What sport do you play?”
“Oh, none.”
“Really? You look like you're so in shape.”
“Oh, thanks,” I reply, managing to only blush a bit. From anyone else it would have seemed like a ham-fisted compliment, but Jackson has such a natural, easygoing way about him.
“You going to this party in Georgetown tonight?” he asks, dunking his head briefly underneath the water, then shaking off his hair like a dog.
“What party?”
“Oh, I figured Nate told you.”
“Told her what?” Nate asks, appearing next to him.
“'Bout Chris's party,” Jackson replies nonchalantly. Nate's jaw muscles twitch.
“Hadn't mentioned it,” he replies shortly.
“Well, you should come,” Jackson says, turning back to me.
“She's not going to know anyone, and I think it's just gonna be a small thing,” Nate says.
“Dude, Chris said to invite anyone. They've got the whole townhouse. It's gonna be great.”
“I just—” Nate begins, as I bite my lip. Here I thought we were maybe getting along better, despite the awkwardness, and now he's going out of his way to exclude me.
“If you're worried about being a third wheel, just invite Dana or someone,” Jackson says, though even when he's arguing, he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. “So, what do you think?” he asks me.