And he bought it for me.
His friend.
Jameson Hayes is a fucking asshole.
“You don’t like it,” he says quietly.
I don’t miss the disappointment in his voice. I could throw myself at him, wrap my arms around his neck, and never let go. I could climb him like he’s a goddamn tree and I’m a monkey in need of a banana. I could kiss him like my life depends on it—my heart certainly does—and I could regret never telling him any of this if I don’t say it right now. I could tell him every stupid fucking feeling I’m having and how much this beautiful gold necklace means to me. I could do all of this, but at the end of it, he still wouldn’t be mine. He would still be my friend—assuming I didn’t scare him off—and if he let me do all of this, he wouldn’t be the guy I think he is. He wouldn’t be the man I’ve built up in my head as being strong and courageous and worth every painful moment I spend away from him knowing he’s with her and every trying moment I spend with him knowing he’s not mine.
I let the silence hang between us, as uncomfortable as it is, and focus on breathing steadily so he doesn’t know everything that this stupid beautiful necklace means to me.
He opens his mouth and says, “I didn’t—”
I cut him off because after the long stretch of silence it’s all I can do not to lose my shit over a stupid beautiful necklace from a fucking asshole I think I’m falling in love with.
“A wishbone?” I ask.
“It’s stupid,” he says and reaches for the box. I pull it away from him, cradling it to my chest. “They’re supposed to be symbolic or something. Like you wish on ’em and . . . you wish for something you want.” He’s uncomfortable trying to explain it. I know the symbolism behind a wishbone, but I had to hear his explanation.
He wants me to have what I want.
I have everything I want except for one thing. Him.
“Is Lydia here?” I ask and then shake my head. I don’t want that to be the first thing I say after he gives me such a thoughtful present. “Um, thank you. I mean, thank you. Help me put it on?”
I remove the necklace from the box and hold it up to him. He takes it from me, undoes the clasp, and brings his hands around to the back of my neck. I lower my head to make it easier on him and am so close to his chest that I let myself indulge and rest my forehead against one of his muscled pecs. He secures the clasp but doesn’t step away. Instead, he drags his fingers down my neck, barely touching, and then wraps his arms around me in a solid, strong hug. I bring my arms around him and sink into his chest.
“Happy birthday, Lulu,” he whispers.
“Don’t call me that. I don’t want you calling me that.” I scrunch my eyes closed as tight as I can to keep the tears at bay. Jameson and I don’t spend much time together, but the time we do spend is always a whirlwind of emotions. This constant push and pull is leaving me haggard and is causing some major damage to my soul.
“Too bad,” he says. It’s not quite a whisper, but it carries the same weighty quietness to it.
“No, it’s not fair.” I pull back from him, which proves a challenge because he refuses to let go at first. Jameson’s inability to follow the boundaries he set up by having a girlfriend pisses me off. “You don’t get to be this perfect, funny, kind guy who tells me I’m beautiful and watches me like I’m the only person in the room. You don’t get to give me gifts and touch me and act like it means nothing.”
“Why not?” he asks. His blue-gray eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer. “Why can’t I be the only thing I’m capable of being right now?”
“Because it’s not enough. I’m not enough, or you wouldn’t still be with her.”
“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? With your rich, powerful daddy and your trust fund. You don’t understand my choices, because you’ve never had to make them.”
“So explain it to me, then.” My words come out in a hiss and I fold my arms over my chest.
Jameson’s eyes dart around the large, open space, and his jaw ticks. Reaching out, he takes my elbow and leads me out onto the porch. When we’re a safe distance away from the noise and my party guests, he steps so close to me that I’m disappointed we’re not touching. Anger, pain, frustration—none of it matters because I just want him to want me enough to have me.