Page 20

Chapter 20

The one where Jeff tests the waters.

A few weeks later, Jamie finally comes to visit when he can actually take time off work. Finally. He’s been traveling nonstop for what feels like forever—some business leadership conferences or whatever. But now, he’s hit pause and says he’s planning to stick around for a bit.

The second he tells me, I’m like, “Cool, I’ll book your flight for this weekend.”

Of course, he says no—then books it himself later that night. Typical Jamie. Neurotic control freak.

I’m starting to think Jamie’s got me pegged as some kind of sugar baby with the way he insists on paying for everything. Like, come on… I could’ve afforded the flight myself. Sure, it wouldn’t have been first class with champagne and those fancy hot towels or whatever, but... I could’ve made it work. I’m not that broke.

When the day finally comes, I’m grinning like a total idiot the whole drive to the airport. It’s been way too long since we’ve done something like this, just the two of us. The only downside? My car’s air conditioning crapped out right as summer decided to crank up the heat. I still haven’t gotten around to fixing it because, honestly, spending money on this old junker feels pointless. Jamie doesn’t seem to care, though. He gives me a hard time about it, sure, but with the windows rolled down and his hair whipping around in the wind, he looks... happy. Genuinely happy.

I’m taking him surfing. Or, more accurately, I’m surfing, and Jamie’s playing photographer. He brought his camera, of course—he never goes anywhere without it—and the plan is for him to take pictures while I try not to wipe out.

As soon as we hit the beach, Jamie practically bolts. I barely get a word out before he’s tossing his white shirt onto the passenger seat and taking off with his camera, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. I watch him dash down the shore, already snapping shots like he’s on some kind of mission, and I can’t help but laugh. God, I’ve missed the hell out of him.

I wrestle my surfboard out of the car, banging it against the doors in the process. Great, more scratches. Perfect. Then I wrestle my wetsuit on, which is no small feat. The first time I put this thing on a few weeks ago, it was a bit loose, but I’ve been taking care of myself a little better lately. Now? I fill it out again, like I used to. It feels good, like maybe I’m finally starting to get back to me.

With my board tucked under my arm, I jog toward the water, dropping my bag onto a towel in the sand. I glance around, trying to spot Jamie. He’s nowhere to be seen. Where the hell did he go?

The waves look perfect, though, and I can’t resist. After a few minutes of prep, I wade into the water and paddle out, figuring Jamie will turn up eventually. The ocean’s calling, and I don’t want to miss out.

The waves are better than I expected, and for a while, I lose myself in the rhythm of surfing. The rush of catching a wave, the crash of the water—it’s everything I didn’t know I needed. But eventually, my eyes scan the shore again, and there he is. Jamie’s sitting on my towel, camera in hand, completely absorbed in whatever he’s doing.

At least he’s okay.

I swim back to shore, dragging my board behind me, my muscles screaming in protest. Surfing’s kicking my ass, harder than I remember, but it feels good. Satisfying.

Jamie doesn’t even look up as I approach, his focus glued to his camera. “Hey,” he says, laughing as I drop onto the sand next to him, “you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”

“Gee, thanks, you smug little fuck,” I mutter, shoving him playfully. He just laughs and nudges me back with his elbow, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile that makes my heart race.

Jamie’s in his swim trunks, but he already made it clear on the drive over—he’s not getting in the water. It’s kind of funny... and yeah, a little disappointing. I wanted to swim with him. But the water’s cold, and Jamie’s a total baby when it comes to the cold. No surprise there.

While he’s still messing with his camera, I unzip my wetsuit halfway, pulling my arms out of the sleeves. He’s too distracted to notice me, and I can’t help but pout.

“What’re you doing?” I ask, leaning closer to him.

Jamie blinks, snapping out of his camera trance. “Oh... I was just checking out my shots.”

“Where the hell were you? You missed most of my waves.”

He glances at me, smiling in that way that makes me forget how to be annoyed with him. “No, I saw it. I was over there.” He points toward some sharp rocks on the far side of the shore.

I squint, following his hand. “Are you shitting me? No way you were over there… I didn’t even see you.”

“Yeah, that was the point.” He grins, leaning back on his hands. “I usually shoot landscapes, but with people, it’s better if they don’t know they’re being photographed. If you’d noticed me, you’d have ruined most of my shots.”

I laugh, brushing sand off my arm. “Why? I wouldn’t have ruined them.”

He raises an eyebrow, the smirk returning to his lips. “Jeff… You would’ve started posing. I know you.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he’s not wrong. “Okay, maybe,” I admit, smiling.

Jamie just laughs, his gaze drifting toward the water. For a moment, it’s quiet—just us, the ocean, and the warm, sticky air—and it feels… right. Like this is exactly where we’re supposed to be. Together.

“You probably would’ve made funny faces, posed like an idiot, or flipped me off or… something,” he says, breaking the silence.

“Probably.” I grin and sit up, wiggling out of my wetsuit. It clings like a second skin, but I finally manage to peel it all off. Grabbing a second towel from my bag, I rub it over my face and hair, trying to get rid of the salt and sand.

“Can I see the photos?” I ask, holding out my hand for his camera.

“Nope. I’ll show you later. I have to edit them first. Plus, you’re still dripping wet.”

“Can you make me look extra buff?”

Jamie snorts, stifling a laugh. “I edit the lighting, you gorgeous idiot… I don't manipulate the image.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “But I don’t think you need the help. You already look really good in these, Jeff. You’ll see.”

I’m about to tease him back, but he starts putting his camera away, slinging the bag over his shoulder. Something feels off. He’s quieter than usual, not as chatty. Jamie is always chatty. He seems... distant.

Still lying on the towel, I reach over and squeeze his bare waist to get his attention. Jamie giggles—actually giggles —and swats my hand away. I can’t help but grin. God, he’s ridiculous.

“How come there’s no one here?” he asks, brushing sand off his arm.

“Not many people come to this part of the beach. You have to swim past those sharp rocks to get into the waves. It’s mostly just surfers, and it’s pretty late in the day.”

Jamie hums in response but doesn’t say anything else.

“You’re quiet,” I point out, watching him closely.

He laughs softly and leans on his side next to me, propping his head up with one hand.

“And you’re barely looking at me,” I add, my voice a little more playful, but I mean it. I need his attention; it feels like a drug I can’t go without.

Jamie laughs again, shaking his head, and places a hand on my cold, wet chest. The contrast of his warm touch against my skin sends a small shiver through me. “It’s because you look really good right now,” he says, his tone soft but steady, ignoring the way I narrow my eyes at him in question. “I haven’t seen you this into something since football.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool, but his words hit something deep. “I’m not that good yet, but I like surfing.”

“I know,” he says, his gaze drifting across my face. “I can tell. You seem... in your element. Jeff, I’m not used to you doing something better than me.”

I laugh, catching a flicker of something in his eyes that I can’t quite place. “Dude, are you jealous of my surfing skills?”

“…Not really,” he says, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips as his hand slides lower down my chest, his fingers tracing lightly over my skin. The touch tickles, and another shiver runs through me, this one harder to ignore.

I study him, his expression, the tension in his posture. Something’s off, but I can’t figure out what. Jamie’s been unusually quiet today, and it’s gnawing at me.

“You suck,” I say, my tone hovering between a challenge and a joke. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Jamie’s cheeks flush a deeper pink, and he pulls his hand away, leaving behind an ache I didn’t expect. That touch was one of the few moments of connection I’ve felt all day, and now it’s gone.

“Jamie,” I say, my voice more serious now. “You’re supposed to talk to me. What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“Fuck, Jeff, nothing’s wrong,” he says, laughing again, but his face is still flushed, and his laughter feels too light, too forced. “Just let it go.”

“Is it because you hate the beach?”

“I don’t hate the beach,” he says, his voice softening a little. “I actually like it.”

I watch him carefully, waiting for him to say more, to give me something— anything —but he doesn’t. He just leans back, letting his gaze drift toward the waves again, leaving me to sit with the weight of the words he’s not saying.

“Then what’s the issue? Is it because I didn’t come looking for you when you ran off?” I ask, trying to read his expression.

Jamie looks at me, his gaze sharper, more intense than I expect. His hand slides back onto my stomach, warm and flat against my skin this time.

“No, it’s not that,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “You just look... really different.”

“…What do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual, even though my pulse is kicking up.

Jamie’s hand starts to move, his fingers lightly tracing over my torso. The touch sends a shiver through me, and I have to fight to keep from reacting too much. I’m not entirely successful, and I know he notices. His fingers press a little firmer, skimming my sides and tracing over the line of fine hair at my navel.

I smirk, trying to regain my composure. “How do I look different?”

Jamie grins. “Well, for one, you’re tan now. And... this.”

His fingers trace my stomach again, lingering just enough to make me swallow hard. He’s definitely talking about my abs. Before I can stop him, one of his long, slim fingers slips under my waistband, and I laugh, grabbing his hand.

“Stop, that tickles...”

Truth is, he’s about five seconds away from giving me a very public boner I’m absolutely not in a position to deal with right now.

“How did you get like this in just a few months?!” he asks, mock outrage in his voice, but his grin is anything but innocent.

“I didn’t do anything special,” I explain, shrugging. “I just started working out again, like I used to. And, you know, all the swimming probably helped.”

Jamie’s hand doesn’t move from my stomach, and I glance down at it, suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact.

“Jeff, you look really good,” he says, and there’s something so warm in his tone that it catches me off guard. The sun’s setting behind him, turning his blonde hair into a halo. He looks angelic—if angels were capable of the kind of lustful intensity I’m seeing in his eyes.

I bite my bottom lip, trying to keep my cool, but the heat pooling in my stomach betrays me. I place my hand over his, feeling the tension simmer between us. “Oh...” I say, grinning like an idiot because I don’t know what else to do.

Is that why he’s been so quiet? I don’t get it. It’s still just me, but he’s acting like I’m someone completely new.

Then Jamie stands up and straddles me in one smooth motion, his hands pressing firmly against my chest, pinning me down against the towel that’s barely keeping the hot sand at bay. My breath catches, my chest tightening as I stare up at him. He leans down, close enough that I can feel the heat of his skin, and kisses me. It’s soft, careful, almost sweet—until he pulls back, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers something so dirty I nearly choke on my own breath.

Holy shit.

I reach up automatically, grabbing his ass with both hands and shifting him closer. My arms slide around his waist, holding him tight. “I’d do that... right here, right now,” I say, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.

Jamie laughs, but it’s low and breathy, and I can tell he’s considering it for a split second before reality kicks in. “We’re at the beach, Jeff. We can’t do that here.”

“Why not?!”

Before he can answer, the sound of a car pulling up in the distance grabs my attention. I glance over Jamie’s shoulder and feel my stomach drop. A van has parked next to my car, and within seconds, a group of kids pours out, screaming and running onto the sand, followed by their parents lugging beach chairs and coolers.

Jamie kisses me quickly one more time, grinning against my mouth, then climbs off me and starts gathering our stuff. I lie there for a second, groaning in frustration.

“Who brings kids here? The shore is dangerous... This is so messed up,” I mutter, helping Jamie pack up while glaring at the intruders.

By the time we reach the car, Jamie’s brushing sand off his feet before climbing in. I toss a sandy towel over my seat and slide in after him, starting the engine. The interior is like an oven, the heat practically unbearable.

Why didn’t I fix the air conditioning before Jamie got here? I roll down the windows and wipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand.

“Hey, Jeff,” Jamie says, his tone light and teasing, “do you know what time it is?”

“Uh...” I glance at the dashboard. “Two thirty. Give or take.”

“Wrong answer.”

“…Time to find a private place to park?” I ask hopefully, glancing at him.

Jamie gives me a bemused look, and I know immediately that’s a no .

Before I can come up with something else, the car radio blares on, and a commercial for greasy chicken sandwiches plays—one of those ads I know from TV where they show the bun falling apart before you can even bite into it.

I glance at Jamie, who’s trying not to laugh.

“Oh… They’re so damn good,” I say defensively, and Jamie finally cracks, his laugh filling the car and making the sticky heat almost bearable. Almost. Jamie and I used to hang out at the chain restaurant near campus after class, and I could devour five of those sandwiches in one sitting. He always made bets on how many I could handle, grinning like an idiot every time I proved him wrong.

“It’s chicken sandwich time!” the announcer on the radio yells in an annoyingly high-pitched voice, followed by fireworks and air horns blaring alongside the ridiculous jingle.

I glance at Jamie, and without missing a beat, we both yell the catchphrase in perfect sync.

I laugh so hard I can barely keep the car steady, the sound of our laughter blending with the absurd radio ad as I drive us home.

Back at my apartment, Jamie’s already absorbed in editing his photos on his laptop. He’s sitting on the couch, his legs curled up like he’s trying to disappear into the cushions.

“Can you do that later?” I ask, leaning over him from behind and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I kiss the top of his head, and he sighs, closing out of whatever he’s working on.

“Yeah,” he says, shutting the laptop.

Dammit. I wanted to see those photos.

“Come here,” I say, pulling him up from the couch. He stands, turning to face me, and I wrap my arms around him in a loose hug. We’re still in our swim shorts, and his skin is warm against mine.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I say casually, tugging on his arm as I back toward the bathroom. I don’t let go.

“What are you doing...?” Jamie laughs, his voice light but curious as I drag him along.

I just smile and keep pulling until we’re in the bathroom. I turn on the shower and glance back at him.

“I like your… shorts,” I comment, letting my eyes wander down his frame.

Jamie blushes, and I smirk, loving the way the pink creeps into his cheeks. What’s going on with him today?

I gently grab his waist, pulling him closer, and kiss him. It’s slow and lingering, and for a moment, everything feels right. When the water finally warms up, I lead him into the shower.

Nothing happens in there. Nothing like that, despite the tension from the beach earlier.

But it’s... nice. I love it. The way the water pours over both of us, the way his presence grounds me—it’s perfect, except for one thing: Jamie still feels distant. I can’t shake the sense that something’s off. I’m desperate to figure out what’s going on, but I can’t think about anything intimate when he’s like this. It wouldn’t feel right.

The shower is annoying, the water alternating between hot and lukewarm every minute, and I curse under my breath. Why is it doing this now?

After we’re done, barely speaking to each other, Jamie heads to the bedroom to change into sweatpants. I stand there in my towel, watching him from the doorway.

“What?” he asks, his face still flushed, his damp hair sticking to his forehead.

“I can’t watch my boyfriend get dressed?”

Jamie hesitates, his eyes flicking away. “No, it’s not that. I just...”

I narrow my eyes, my patience wearing thin. “Jamie, come on. What’s wrong? You’ve been weird all day, and it’s not because I’m disgustingly ripped now. Just tell me what’s up.”

He fidgets with the drawstring on his sweatpants, avoiding eye contact. His silence is deafening.

“...Are you over this?” I ask, even though the question terrifies me. “Over me?”

Jamie laughs, finally looking up at me. “Hell no. You're kidding, right?”

Relief floods my chest, and I exhale, my shoulders relaxing.

“Okay,” I say, but his expression shifts slightly, and I catch the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is it—”

“I just...” He cuts me off, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not feeling... attractive.”

The words take a second to register, and when they do, I blink at him, completely thrown. “...Sorry, what?!”

“Hot,” he corrects, laughing at himself, but there’s this edge of vulnerability in his voice that catches me off guard. “Seeing how much you’ve been working on yourself, seeing you like this... it just makes me feel like... I don’t feel hot.”

I stare at him, my brain scrambling to process the absolute absurdity of what he just said.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, his cheeks turning even redder, which only makes me stare harder.

“No. You’re so stupid,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Like, you’re a bigger idiot than I ever thought was humanly possible for an idiot to be.”

Jamie finally cracks a grin, that toothy, lopsided smile of his that makes my heart melt every single damn time.

I walk over to him, and he rolls his eyes as I get closer, but he’s still smiling. He places a hand on my chest to stop me, but I ignore it, stepping into his space.

“Jeff, stop. I know what you’re going to say,” he says, trying to sound annoyed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s nothing. I’ll probably feel better tomorrow.”

“Jamie, quit it,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist and leaning in to nuzzle my face into his neck. He freezes for a moment, then his arms slide around my shoulders, holding me tightly.

“What part of you are you talking about?” I whisper against his skin. “Because I still think you’re being an idiot.”

“You can’t just call me an idiot when I’m telling you how I feel,” he mumbles, his voice softer now.

“Okay, okay,” I say, pulling back to look into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze drops to the floor, and I can tell he’s still holding onto whatever’s bothering him.

“Is it your hair?” I ask, running my fingers through the damp strands. “Because I really fucking love your hair. You should leave it like this forever.”

Jamie laughs softly, but he shakes his head. “No...”

“Your eyes, then?” I say, tilting his chin up gently. “Because those are definitely perfect.”

He tries to keep a straight face but ends up laughing anyway, swatting my hand away.

“Stop,” he mutters, but the tension in his shoulders eases a little.

I kiss him again, cupping his face in my hands. When I pull back, I grin. “Your body is bangin’, by the way.”

Jamie finally laughs, rolling his eyes. “Not next to yours.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I was thinking the same thing about myself on our first date.”

Jamie’s smile wavers. “Really? Is that why you were so nervous?”

“Yeah,” I admit, brushing my thumb over his cheek. “Among other things...”

Jamie leans into my touch, his smile softening.

“Don’t ever say something like that about yourself again,” I tell him firmly.

He looks up at me, his expression warm but teasing. “Jeff, I’m allowed to feel that way.”

“Yeah, but… it’s not true, I don't want to hear it” I argue, pulling him closer. “You’re gorgeous, inside and out, and if you ever tell yourself otherwise, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Jamie laughs, his arms tightening around me. “Okay, okay.”

“Good,” I say, resting my forehead against his, my voice softer now. “I want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Jamie’s arms stay wrapped around me, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air outside and the steady rhythm of his breathing against mine.

“Jeff,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you. You’re such a sap.”

I snort, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye, a grin tugging at my lips. “Yeah, well, I love you too and… you bring it out of me, so… deal with it.”

Jamie shakes his head, but he’s smiling—really smiling now—and it feels like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing his hand and lacing our fingers together. “Let’s go watch something stupid and eat way too much popcorn. No more thinking. Deal?”

“Deal,” Jamie replies, his thumb brushing against mine.

As we head toward the couch, his laughter fills the space around us, and for the first time all day, it feels like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be. Him, me, and this moment. Perfect.