I freaking love it.
When I come out of my room, Jameson is letting my mom know what’s going on. She doesn’t question his judgment, seeming to trust him implicitly with my care, which gives me the warm and fuzzies from head to toe. My stomach does belly flops every time I see his beautiful gray-blue eyes, and I have to catch my breath when his skin touches mine. There’s this desperate desire to be with him that fades, even if just barely, with his moods. It’s like I’m trying to protect my heart—keep it encapsulated and safe—and when he withdraws, I force myself to ignore the hurt. When he comes back around, it’s like a blazing sun that lights up my entire world, and it’s so bright and so overpowering that I can barely breathe. This can’t be normal.
We leave my parents’ condo with his hand at the small of my back. We hail a cab, and when we slide in, he pulls me into his side so I’m in the middle seat. I offer to pay when we get out, but the look he gives me is stern. It’s somewhere between “don’t you dare” and “I’ll fucking paddle you if you try it.” And honest to goodness, I want to try it just to get paddled by Jameson Hayes. But since that actually happening is a—sadly—remote possibility, I don’t push it and let him pay.
“When you’re with me, I pay unless it’s something we agreed you can pay for in advance,” he says as we step onto the sidewalk. I try to brush it off because it sounds ridiculous, but he stops us where we are and takes my face in his hands. He’s so gentle and so strong as he tilts my head up to look at him. “I mean it, Mel. I don’t have your daddy’s money, but I have my own, and I won’t have you buying me things with money you didn’t earn.”
“This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?” I ask. I almost say with us at the end, but manage to bite my tongue. I don’t want to suggest an us if he’s over the potential of ever having an us and I’m just a dense loser who can’t accept reality and refuses to face the truth, so I just keep it to myself and don’t say a thing. Despite my penchant for rambling both aloud and internally, I’m not a fan of sticking my foot in my mouth. Frequency doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.
“I need this,” he says. His jaw is tight, and it ticks with his intensity. His blue-gray eyes bore into mine, willing me to understand. He’s beautiful.
“Okay.” I agree because if he needs it, I’ll give it to him.
I practically fall into him and just sniff all that is Jameson, but he pulls back and takes my hand in his as he leads me down the sidewalk. We turn into the lobby of a commercial high-rise and head for the first elevator bay. He presses the R1 button, and we wait.
I want to ask where we’re going or what we’re doing, but I can’t. I’m enjoying having his large hand wrapped around my normal-sized one and the amazing feeling that’s creating. My heart rate picks up when he gives me a small squeeze, and we step into the elevator.
It’s a short ride, and when the car stops on R1, the doors open to a sunny outdoor garden I didn’t know existed. Daddy’s building has a rooftop garden that has tables and benches and a small patch of grass to sit on. It’s ideal for eating lunch and getting away from the fluorescent lights and forced air inside.
We step out, and as I look around, I see that both gardens are similar both in size and landscaping and furniture as well. The one big difference is this garden has a raised grassy hill that faces the building next to it with a perfect view onto a floor whose walls are made almost wholly out of floor-to-ceiling windows. Jameson leads me to the hill, and when we’re at the top, he pulls me down beside him. I sit there for a long while in silence as he seems to collect his thoughts beside me. Every now and then I sneak a glance his way and find that he looks nervous—strangely nervous—and I don’t know why.
“I used to come here when I was a junior in high school. This is where I’d go instead of going to school. Once a week, on the same day, for months. I’ve never taken anyone here before.” His voice shakes a little as he speaks. This unbreakable, strong, formidable man can’t stop the shaking in his voice. It makes him all that much more human, more vulnerable—to me—more perfect.
“Never?” I ask, almost afraid to speak. I don’t want to ruin his moment.
“Never,” he says almost reverently. “Lydia and I were together for five years, and I thought that was what love was. I thought that was as good as it got. I was wrong.”