Page 11

Chapter 11

The one where Jeff faces the unexpected.

I hate driving Jamie around the city of Los Angeles in my crappy car.

I’ll admit it—I’m embarrassed. Jamie’s so well-off… way more well-off than me, and probably more than I’ll ever be.

I joked earlier about picking the restaurant because Jamie’s high-maintenance, but the truth? He’s probably the least high-maintenance person I know. Even here, at this fancy spot, he’s rocking black sweatpants, boots, a fitted white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. His hair’s messy as hell. What even is this outfit? I wear slacks and a dress shirt to work every day, so I don’t mind dressing up a bit for dinner. Jamie, though? He doesn’t care.

It's his first time in this city, but he walks in like he owns the place. Jamie doesn’t just fit in, he embodies the vibe in a way I never could, even if I tried. Honestly, it’d make way more sense to see him roll up in his shiny Mercedes, stepping into the restaurant solo in that getup, rather than climbing out of my beat-up high school car and walking in next to… me.

Was I feeling insecure?

Totally. And it fucking sucks.

I’ve never felt this way before—not on a date, at least. But with Jamie, I can’t stop comparing myself. For the first time, it hits me that maybe he’s the better catch. Like, maybe he’s lightyears out of my league. And now I can’t unsee it.

Why the hell did he even fly out here for me?

I try to bury the thought, straightening my dress shirt as we follow the host. The restaurant’s packed, almost every table full, but we’re led to a quieter spot near the back.

“Hey, check it out.” Jamie grins, pointing to the center of the table. “There are real flowers in this vase.”

I watch as he settles into the chair across from me, all effortless confidence. His grin stretches wider, lighting up his whole face.

“Why do most restaurants put fake flowers and fake candles on the table?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It looks so bad.”

I laugh. “Honestly, I never thought much of it… Pretty sure only crazy people care about that stuff.” I mean it as a joke, but it comes out sharp, harsher than I intended.

Jamie gives me that look—the one that always hits me right in the chest. The one that makes me feel like my heart’s beating in my throat.

“I’m just saying, dude,” he grins, leaning back, “that’s how you know this place is expensive. You know?”

God, why am I so fucking nervous?

Everything feels off. Not because I’m here or because this is a date with a guy. It’s Los Angeles. Nobody cares. What’s weird is that it’s Jamie.

Dates are for people trying to get to know each other, trying to impress someone. But Jamie? Jamie’s been my best friend forever. Since Kindergarten. If I didn’t already know him, there’s no way I’d be sitting across from him right now. No way he’d have agreed to go on a date with me if I were just some stranger walking up to him for his number.

Does he realize that? Does he see how out of my element I am at this table? Is that why he’s so calm, so relaxed?

Jamie greets the waiter like he’s done it a thousand times before, listening patiently as the guy rattles off the specials. He compliments the waiter’s watch to make him smile—of course he does—and then casually orders a bottle of wine. I tell him I probably shouldn’t drink much since I’m driving us home, but Jamie just waves me off, flashing that easy grin.

“If we don’t finish it, no big deal,” he says, like money’s never crossed his mind as something to stress about.

Must be nice.

Meanwhile, my head is spinning, my chest is tight, and I’m panicking internally, trying to keep it together.

Jamie orders one of the most expensive wines on the list, not that any of them are cheap. I sip one glass, keeping my mouth shut while Jamie does most of the talking. He’s already on his third glass by the time he starts venting about work—something about a new guy who keeps messing up—and then, somehow, he transitions to photography.

“Wait,” I interrupt, blinking at him. “Photography?”

Jamie nods, launching into a detailed rundown of the equipment he’s been investing in.

I sit back, watching him with this weird mix of surprise and admiration. I’ve never heard him talk about photography before.

And somehow, I’m even more out of my depth.

Jamie hasn’t lit up like this since we played football together in high school. He’s practically glowing as he talks through the specs of one of his cameras. Most of it flies right over my head, but I don’t care—I’m just enjoying watching him. The way his eyes shine when he’s talking about something he loves… God, it’s something else.

Jamie’s so animated, so alive. People are always drawn to him because of that. He’s exciting, interesting, fun. He’s such a fucking catch. And no, it’s not just the wine making him glow.

Me? I was popular in high school because I could take anyone down on the football field. By senior year, I was a tank. People cheered for me, made those cheesy signs with my name on them. But I wasn’t charming or exciting—not like Jamie. I could do more pushups than anyone else, but that’s not exactly a skill anyone cares about once high school is over.

The fame was good while it lasted, I guess.

“Do you want to get dessert?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I just want to see Jamie’s eyes light up.

He doesn’t disappoint.

We order tiramisu. I already know Jamie doesn’t want to share, so I just go ahead and order two.

When the desserts arrive, and the waiter leaves the table, Jamie thanks him, then looks at me, his expression softening with concern.

“Hey,” Jamie says, cutting into his tiramisu. His cheeks are flushed all the way to his eyes, and I can tell he’s definitely tipsy. “Why are you so quiet?”

“Huh?” I haven’t even touched my spoon yet—I’ve been too busy zoning out on Jamie’s face.

“You’re being so quiet...” He lifts an eyebrow, taking his time savoring his dessert.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you really are.” He furrows his brow, leaning forward a little. “Are you embarrassed? To be eating here with me?”

I laugh and pick up my spoon, twisting my face in mock offense. “What? No. I’m not embarrassed at all.”

“Okay... Cool.”

Jamie doesn’t look convinced. “So...” He smirks, pointing his spoon at me. “Why are you so quiet?”

I take a deep breath, locking eyes with him. My chest tightens. I feel like an idiot, but there’s no way I can lie to him. Not anymore.

“I’m nervous.”

God, I hate how honest he makes me.

Jamie stops mid-bite, looking at me like I just said something ridiculous. Then he grins, biting the end of his spoon as his eyes sweep me up and down.

“Jeff, why the fuck are you nervous?”

I can’t hold his gaze anymore. The way he’s looking at me... it’s too much. I know confidence is supposed to be sexy, and I’ve brought none of that to this table—literally. I already feel like I’ve screwed this whole thing up.

I take a bite of tiramisu, trying to dodge the question, but I know I’m not fooling him.

“Jeffrey...”

I watch as Jamie reaches across the table, placing his hand over mine. His fingers squeeze gently, and he stares down at his dessert, his jaw tightening.

“Why the hell are you nervous, dude? It’s just me.”

I flip my hand over, holding his for a second before I force myself to meet his gaze again. His eyes… those big, soft, brown eyes. They melt me.

Jamie has these freckles on the bridge of his nose, just a few, scattered by his eyes. Sometimes he has them on his shoulders too, and I’ve always liked them. His cheeks are pink, probably from all the wine, and he looks so... perfect.

“I dunno...” My voice wavers, so I clear my throat, trying to play it off. “I know, it’s weird.”

Jamie laughs, squeezing my hand again. “It is weird, ‘cause this is really nice. The place, the date... You did such a great job on short notice. And Jeff? You look so fucking handsome right now. I can’t believe I’m sitting here with you like this, not just as your friend. I don’t know what the hell you’re getting all nervous about. I’m having a great time, and I’m going home with you after this... So what are you nervous about?”

His voice is soft, his cheeks flushed, his grin crooked as he looks up at me, and I feel like I can breathe again.

“Really? You’re having a great time?”

The stupid fucking butterflies are back, tearing through my chest like they own the place.

And Jamie thought I looked handsome? In these dorky work clothes? I don’t get his taste at all. I’m still blown away that he doesn’t see how out of my league he is.

“Really,” Jamie says, his grin turning coy, his voice so sure it knocks the air out of my lungs.

I feel my face heat up, probably red all the way to my ears. I can’t help but smile back, though, even as my thoughts race.

After a moment of hesitation, I reach across the table, my hand brushing his, and gently pull him toward me. Then I kiss him.

It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed Jamie in public, and I make sure to kiss him like I mean it—because I do. Because I'm not embarrassed. Because I don’t understand how I got lucky enough to even have the privilege of taking a man like him out to dinner.

I’m fumbling with the key again as we get back to the apartment. Of course, Jamie laughs, and I cringe at myself for what feels like the billionth time tonight.

“I hope you’re enjoying this,” I blurt out, finally managing to get the key in the lock.

“Are you kidding me?” Jamie grins, his smile making it obvious he’s having a blast.

My face heats up, but I push the door open and put a hand on his lower back to guide him inside.

He’s not completely hammered, which shocks me. I’ve never seen anyone drink that much wine in one sitting, but he’s definitely tipsy. It feels natural to guide him around, though—plus, it’s a great excuse to keep my hands on his waist. Maybe I’m overdoing it, but whatever. Every time he looks up at me with that little grin, my heart nearly stops.

I lead him over to the bed. “Go lay down. I’m gonna get you some water.”

“Oh, what?!” Jamie groans dramatically, full of disappointment.

I laugh. “Chill out, dude. I’ll be right back.”

When I return, Jamie’s sprawled out on the bed, arms above his head, his pale stomach peeking out from under his shirt. He looks so goddamn handsome, even like this—half-passed-out from too much wine.

How does he move through life so effortlessly?

I walk over and run my fingers through his hair, accidentally waking him.

“Jeff,” Jamie mumbles, blinking up at me in surprise.

I try to help him take off his jacket, but he’s too floppy to cooperate. Giving up, I move to pull off his boots instead. Jamie eventually wriggles free of the jacket and flops back onto the bed like he’s just conquered Everest. I stifle a laugh.

I pull off my shirt, fumbling with my pants as Jamie lies there, watching me.

“What?” I ask, sitting on the bed in just my boxers, suddenly feeling way too exposed.

The familiar insecurity from earlier creeps back in. After all this time, why the hell am I questioning how Jamie could be attracted to me?

I know I look good without a shirt—I’ve got that, at least. But even now, I’m second-guessing myself.

“Nothing,” Jamie says with a small smile, his flushed cheeks deepening in color. His eyes drop to my boxers before he sits up, placing his hand there.

He gets up on his knees and leans in, kissing me softly. His lips are warm, slow, and unhurried as they trail down my neck. I can’t hold back the groan that escapes when his hand grips me gently through the fabric of my underwear, sending a jolt straight through me—I’m already hard as a rock. Every nerve in my body lights up like fireworks, sparking under his touch.

God... finally, we’re going to do this. How many times have I fantasized about this?

Jamie gently pushes me back onto the bed, bending down as his hand moves over me and his lips trail kisses down my stomach. In one smooth, almost desperate motion, like he’s been anticipating this as much as I was while fumbling with my key at the front door, he pulls down my boxers and takes me into his mouth.

The sensation is overwhelming, hitting me all at once. It’s better than I ever imagined, better than that ridiculous dream I had back at my parents’ house. Ten times better.

My fingers thread through his hair as he starts to find a rhythm, and I can’t stop the stupid noises escaping me. I’m not usually this vocal. Every whimper that slips out feels embarrassing, but Jamie’s completely wrecking me. No one’s ever made me feel this good.

His tongue is driving me insane, and I can’t help but wonder—could I return the favor? Would I even know what I was doing? I’ve never thought about doing what Jamie’s doing right now, but the idea plants itself in my head.

Jamie lets out a deep moan around me, the sound vibrating through my thighs and shooting straight to my core.

I glance down, watching him. He’s completely in his element, clearly loving every second of this, and it only turns me on more. When his warm eyes flick up to meet mine for a brief moment, I can’t help but smile back at him, knowing I’m seconds away from losing it.

He knows it, too. His tongue grazes the tip, and that sly smile of his says it all.

And then, just as I’m teetering on the edge, he pulls away.

I frown, but it’s short-lived when I see him undressing.

Jamie’s bright eyes lock with mine as he pulls off his shirt, and I can’t take it anymore. I need him—I need to be inside him. God, please let him be okay with that. I need to make him mine, completely, desperately, obsessively.

I sit up, my hands trembling as I reach for Jamie’s waistband, pushing his fingers aside with a desperation I can’t hide. My heart pounds, my breath coming in shallow bursts as I get closer to everything I’ve been craving. Every moment has led to this, and just as I’m about to finally have him…

A loud, room-shaking knock echoes from the front door, cutting through the haze like a thunderclap.

Jamie freezes.

“What the fuck?!” he yells, his voice sharp with panic as he scrambles to pull his pants back up.

The knock comes again, harder, angrier, rattling the walls.

“What the hell…” I whisper, stunned, disappointment slamming into me like a tidal wave. My hands fumble to grab my clothes as the yelling starts.

“Open the door, you fucking asshole!” a woman’s muffled voice screams from outside, sharp and raw with fury,

My heart sinks into my stomach, my skin prickling with dread.

No way. No fucking way.

I look toward the door, my chest tight, my mind racing.