Page 7

Chapter 7

The one where Jeff leaves his heart behind again.

I pull up to the house around 5:30 PM and immediately notice a gleaming red Mercedes parked in my usual spot in the driveway. It’s so obnoxiously shiny that it practically screams look at me. With a sigh, I park on the street, shooting the car a scowl.

“Who’s that?” Lucy asks, her voice full of curiosity.

“Probably Jamie,” I mutter, frustration tightening my chest. Of course, Jamie would show up in a car way nicer than mine.

Lucy’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you serious?!”

“Yeah. My mom invited him for dinner tonight with the neighbors, before we head back home.”

Her excitement is instant—she practically vibrates in her seat, her mouth hanging open in awe. “Oh my God, Jeff…”

“Seriously, you’re making way too big of a deal out of this.” I slam my door shut, trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety in my chest.

My hands feel clammy as I fumble with my car keys to lock the door. Why is Jamie here so early? I told him six.

“I’m living for this right now,” Lucy says, grabbing my arm and tugging like an overexcited kid on Christmas morning.

“Just shut up, Lucy.”

I open the front door and let her step inside first, closing it firmly behind us.

From the kitchen, my mom’s cheerful voice calls out, “Hey, you two!”

Jamie’s there, helping her arrange dinner plates and prep wine glasses like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My dad, as usual, is glued to the recliner, watching TV.

Jamie turns to face us, and it’s like I’ve been hit by a freight train. My stomach knots as embarrassment and anxiety crash into me all at once.

He’s beautiful. His eyes are soft, happy, and his smile flashes a row of perfectly sparkling teeth, just like it always does. For a second, I can’t breathe.

But there’s something else about him—something different. He seems… older, somehow. More confident, like he’s fully stepped into himself in the years we’ve been apart. His posture is relaxed, easy, like he knows exactly who he is and doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

And that somehow makes him even more devastating.

It’s not just the old Jamie I remember, the one who could laugh off anything and make me feel like the world wasn’t such a big, scary place. This is someone grown, polished, standing right in front of me like the living embodiment of every dream I’ve tried to push aside.

It hits me all at once: he’s not just beautiful. He’s more —more real, more untouchable, and yet more impossible to ignore. And the worst part is, I can feel it. Every nerve in my body is hyperaware of him, like gravity’s pulling me closer no matter how much I want to resist.

Then, like a cruel joke, the dream I’d shoved to the back of my mind hits me with full force—the memory of his touch in places he’d never dared to before, that pretty mouth on me—and my face heats up, burning redder than it probably ever has in my entire life.

Jamie’s grin falters, shifting into something amused but questioning as his gaze sweeps over me. I can tell he’s clocking how weird I’m being, and it only makes me panic more.

I completely freeze, caught somewhere between wanting to run and hoping the ground will swallow me whole.

Lucy bounds into the room, practically skipping. “Hi!!!” she sings, waving at Jamie with an exaggerated shyness that does nothing to hide her excitement.

Oh God, she’s going to make this so awkward. And so am I.

“Hey,” I say, forcing a casual tone, hoping it’ll dampen her enthusiasm.

Lucy, of course, ignores me completely. She pushes past, all smiles and excitement, introducing herself to Jamie before immediately taking over in the kitchen. She and my mom dive into arranging the food, chatting like old friends.

Jamie drifts over to me, lingering by the dining room table with a faintly amused look on his face, like he’s waiting for me to say something stupid.

“Hey,” he says.

“Dude, I said six,” I snap, trying to mask my nerves with irritation.

Jamie just shrugs, completely unfazed, like he couldn’t care less. Of course, he doesn’t.

And yet, despite my irritation, I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. Dammit. I’m pathetic. It’s stupid how glad I am to see him.

Lucky. That’s the word that keeps circling in my head. I felt lucky—lucky to run into him accidentally. Lucky that he didn’t want to murder me on the spot. Lucky that Mom invited him to dinner, and that he actually wanted to come.

More than anything, I felt lucky to know Jamie at all. To have grown up with him at my side. To have him here, now, like some piece of my life that I thought I’d lost was suddenly whole again.

To my surprise, Jamie leans in and hugs me. For a moment, I freeze, caught completely off guard. Then, cautiously, I wrap my arms around him, the motion stiff but deliberate.

And there it is again—his scent. That same bar soap he’s probably been using since we were kids. It’s clean, simple, and so unmistakably him . It pulls me straight back to the summers we spent biking around town, crashing on his couch, and talking about everything and nothing.

I let myself hold on a second longer, breathing him in, like it’s a thread tethering me to a time I can’t seem to let go of.

But when I glance over his shoulder, my chest tightens. Dad’s sitting in his recliner, glaring at us.

My chest tightens, and I pull away quickly, my face burning. Jamie looks at me like he doesn’t notice—or maybe he does, and he’s just choosing not to say anything.

Feeling flustered, I mumble something about helping in the kitchen and dart away, eager to escape the tension twisting itself into knots in my chest.

The neighbors arrive right on schedule, around six, and I manage to avoid spending too much time with Jamie. Not that it’s hard—he’s the star of the evening, effortlessly commanding attention at the table. Everyone seems drawn to him, laughing at his stories and asking him questions.

Me? I barely get a word in.

As dinner winds down, the chaos gets to me. My mind’s a blur, and I need a minute to breathe. “I’ll be right back,” I mumble, pushing away from the table.

I retreat to my old bedroom and shut the door behind me. It’s exactly the same as I left it—fresh sheets on the bed, a few childhood posters still clinging to the walls. My mom’s care is everywhere, making the space feel like a time capsule. I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the familiarity settle over me like a heavy blanket.

For a moment, it feels surreal, like I never really left.

The sound of the door cracking open jolts me out of my thoughts.

“Yo.”

Jamie’s head pops into the room, his grin a little too confident for someone who just barged in uninvited.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course you can come in, Jamie. What kind of stupid question is that?” I snap, sitting up slightly. My tone comes out sharper than I intend, more surprise than annoyance.

If Jamie notices, he doesn’t care. His grin widens, and he steps inside, closing the door with a soft click. My heart skips a beat when I hear the lock turn.

Why the hell did he lock the door?

Jamie walks over and perches on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. I stay sprawled out, nudging his back with my knee.

“Hey, why’d you lock the door?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

Jamie glances at me, puzzled, then follows my gaze to the lock. “Oh… I don’t know.” He grins again, his eyes flicking over me like he’s sizing me up.

God, I hate that grin. It makes it almost impossible not to kiss him.

Jamie shifts, leaning back, staring at me. His eyes are warm, curious, like he’s waiting for me to break the silence.

“We’re probably heading out soon,” I say, desperate to fill the quiet. “Just so you know.”

His expression falters, and he looks down at the comforter, tracing invisible patterns with his fingers. “I barely got to talk to you.”

“I know,” I admit softly. His words hit harder than they should, dragging me back to our last goodbye—how hard it was, how much I didn’t want to let him go.

“When do I get to see you again? Christmas?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“My parents always come to LA for Christmas.”

“Oh.” He falls silent again, staring at his hands.

The pause stretches, heavy, until I finally say, “Hey, I was thinking… Maybe you could come visit me for New Year’s or something. I’ve got a new place. Slightly less crappy than the old one.”

Jamie’s eyes brighten, his whole face lighting up as he sits up straighter. “Really?”

I laugh and nudge his side with my leg, almost knocking him off the bed. He laughs, too, and the sound sends a chaotic thrill through my chest.

“Yeah, really,” I say, smirking. “Unless that’ll piss off your boyfriend.”

Jamie’s laugh softens, but he shakes his head. “It’s not that serious. We’ve only been dating a couple weeks. I’ll tell him next time I see him. He’ll be fine with it.”

“For real? Because I’d be pissed if I were your boyfriend and you told me that. Like, super pissed.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow, his expression caught between amusement and curiosity. “Well, you’re not my boyfriend.”

“No, I’m not,” I reply, my voice catching on something between resignation and a quiet ache.

I sit up, shifting closer to him, and before I can stop myself, my hand grabs the front of his shirt. His eyes widen slightly, surprised, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he watches me, his breath hitching just enough that I notice.

I tug him toward me, wrapping my arms tightly around his shoulders, my face pressing into the curve of his neck. His scent hits me again and I can’t help but breathe him in, my grip tightening like I’m afraid he might disappear if I let go.

“Come on, hug me back,” I mutter, my voice softer now, almost pleading. “You’re such a loser.”

Jamie laughs, a low, quiet sound that vibrates against my chest. “You’re the one clinging to me, dude.” But he shrugs like it’s nothing and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me in tighter than I expect.

His warmth seeps into me, steady and grounding, like an anchor I didn’t know I needed. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, closing my eyes as the noise in my head finally quiets.

For a second, it’s just him. Just us.

And I forget everything else.

Without thinking, I flip Jamie onto the bed beside me, my arms still wrapped tightly around him, and press my lips to his.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t help it.

The kiss feels desperate, like every stupid, bottled-up emotion is pouring out of me all at once. My head spins with how much of an idiot I’m being—coming here, letting this happen, risking everything. I know Tiffany will be furious. I know Jamie has a boyfriend. I know it’s wrong. I know it makes me a bad person, doing this. And none of it stops me.

When Jamie finally kisses me back, his lips parting just enough for my tongue to graze his, a soft groan escapes me. The sensation of him responding—his warmth, his taste—sends a shiver down my spine.

I know we shouldn’t be doing this. Not with everyone still in the house. Not with Jamie in a relationship. Not with me tangled in my own mess.

But every ounce of self-control I have around Jamie crumbles the second I touch him. It’s always been this way, and it’s exactly why I shouldn’t have come back. Why I left in the first place.

I cup his face in my hands, my fingers tracing the curve of his jaw as I deepen the kiss. The feel of his breath on my skin is dizzying, pulling me under.

The nostalgia hits hard—like a tidal wave. It feels just like old times, sneaking moments together, getting lost in each other as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

I tilt my head, breaking the kiss to trail my lips down his neck. My tongue flicks against the soft skin near his ear, and I start to suck gently, savoring the way his body responds. Jamie’s quiet sounds—those soft, breathy noises he tries to stifle—send jolts of electricity through me. My hips press against his leg almost instinctively, and he shifts, slipping his thigh between mine, his hands gripping my waist with a firmness that sends my pulse racing. I press my hips into him again, seeking more friction as I feel my dick throb painfully against the zipper of my jeans.

“Jeff,” Jamie whispers, his voice trembling, and it only fans the flames of my desire. I kiss the edge of his jaw, lingering near his ear again, my hands tangled in his hair.

“Jeffrey,” he says again, louder this time.

I pause, lifting my head to look at him. His face is flushed, his soft brown eyes meeting mine with a mix of amusement and something deeper—something that sends fire rushing through my veins.

“What?” I ask, smirking, trying to ignore the frantic pounding of my heart.

Jamie stifles a laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Honestly… I was kind of hoping you’d kiss me in here.” His voice is soft, uncharacteristically shy. “I really wanted you to, Jeff. But… we should stop.”

“Why should I?”

I know I should stop, but teasing him feels too good. My heart skips as I take in the pink flush on his cheeks, the way his breath catches when I brush my fingers along his jaw. If I thought he looked beautiful before, seeing him like this completely floors me.

Jamie’s gaze locks on mine, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I want you. Really bad.”

Oh.

The room feels like it’s spinning. His words land like a spark in a dry forest, igniting something in me I can’t control.

Heat rises to my face, spreading down my neck. The way he’s looking at me, the honesty in his voice—it makes stopping feel impossible.

My fingers tangle in Jamie’s blonde hair, and I forcefully pull his head back, my lips latching onto the soft skin just above his collarbone. He gasps, the sound sending a shiver through me, straight to my core.

I know I’ve left a mark—I can already see the faint red forming—but I don’t care. His neck is so soft, and he smells so damn good.

Jamie’s hand grips my wrist suddenly, stopping me.

“Jeff, stop messing with me,” Jamie whispers, his voice breathy and strained.

I pause, pulling back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted, but there’s something in his expression I can’t quite read.

“Quit messing with me,” he says again, sitting up slightly. “I told you to stop. You know I wasn’t being coy… Don’t be an asshole.”

His words hit like a slap, and I blink, trying to ground myself.

“Jamie,” I say softly, chuckling weakly in a failed attempt to lighten the tension. “If things were different—so many things—I’d rip these fucking pants right off you,” I murmur, tugging at one of his belt loops. It’s the first time I can remember seeing him in jeans in so long, and somehow, that only makes it worse.

His flushed face breaks into a skeptical smile, his eyebrow arching. “…Shut up.”

“I’m not fucking with you,” I say, smirking, though guilt is already creeping in at the edges. “I really would.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Give me a break. You wouldn’t even know where to start.”

His words feel like a challenge I’m too stubborn to back away from. My mouth falls open briefly before I laugh.

“I know exactly where I’d start,” I say, my voice lower now as I slide my hand down between his legs. The hard heat of him, even through the thick denim of his jeans, is impossible to ignore. His smirk vanishes as his eyes flutter shut, his breath catching as a soft sigh escapes him.

And for a second, I seriously consider it. Right here, in my old bedroom, with a house full of people just down the hall.

But then Jamie pulls back abruptly, sitting up just as I pull my tongue away from his mouth.

Thank God.

“I can’t cheat, Jeff. I can’t,” he says, his voice tight, almost shaky. His gaze falls to the floor. “This isn’t me… This isn’t you.”

The words cut deeper than I expect. I laugh, but there’s no humor in it, just the echo of old memories—the girlfriends we had in high school, the times we crossed the line anyway.

“Yeah, okay,” I mutter, shrugging, even as guilt tugs at me harder now. “This isn’t cheating…”

It is, though. I know it is. And the worst part is, I can’t stop wanting him. My body isn’t listening to reason, even as my mind begs me to back off.

Jamie glares at me, crossing his arms, but I can tell he’s struggling too. He shifts awkwardly, trying to adjust himself, and I can’t help it—I laugh.

“Shut up, Jeff…” he mutters, his face red as he glares harder.

I stop laughing the moment I notice it.

Shit.

A massive purple hickey sits just above Jamie’s shirt collar, and the entire side of his neck is bright red.

How the hell did that happen?!

I’d been so gentle… or at least I thought I had. I guess I got carried away.

"Holy shit, Jamie," I say, biting back a grin. "I totally murdered your neck. It’s pretty bad, dude."

Jamie’s hand flies to his neck, his eyes widening as all the color drains from his face.

"What?! You’re kidding, right?" His voice pitches high with panic as he bolts into my bathroom.

“FUCK, JEFF! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine…” I try to stifle my laugh, but it’s impossible. “I’ll grab your jacket. You can zip it up all the way. It’ll cover most of it. No one will notice—we’re leaving now anyway.”

Jamie glares at me from the bathroom doorway. “Jeff, my fucking boyfriend will notice, you ass!”

I wince and quickly text Lucy to bring Jamie’s jacket to the bedroom. She replies almost immediately. God, I love her. She’s the best sidekick anyone could ask for.

When I unlock the door, she’s already there, glaring daggers at me as she shoves the jacket into my hands. “ Jeff , you idiot,” she hisses, her voice low, “everyone’s wondering where you two went. I’ve been trying to keep them entertained, but your mom won’t stop bringing it up.”

“It’s fine,” I say, panicking as I toss the jacket into the bathroom. It hits Jamie, and I hear a muffled string of curses.

I step out and close the door behind me.

“What’d you do?!” Lucy asks, grabbing my arm.

“Nothing,” I mutter, brushing past her.

Without waiting for her reaction, I make a quick exit through the living room, offering hurried goodbyes. My mom doesn’t press me, thankfully. I make up a story about not feeling well and Jamie checking on me. No one asks more questions as Lucy and I share final goodbyes. Soon I’m outside, throwing our bags into the car.

A few minutes later, Jamie walks out with his jacket zipped up to his chin, waving back to the others still inside. As he reaches the driver’s side of his Mercedes, he flips me off and pulls the door open.

“Wait a sec,” I say to Lucy, signaling her to stay put.

“Oh, what now? You guys already said goodbye in your bedroom…” she groans, sighing as she gets into the car.

I walk up to Jamie, who’s still scowling at me, his arms crossed like he’s daring me to say the wrong thing.

“Jamie…” I start, hesitating, my throat tight. “Don’t paint me as the bad guy,” I say, holding his glare. “That’s not fucking fair. I know this was a disaster—hell, a complete fucking disaster—and I’m sorry. I really am. But…” I let out a shaky breath, my voice dropping. “You locked the door, Jamie. You knew what was going to happen, so don’t act all innocent. It’s always been the two of us making these decisions—I’ve never made them for you. And yeah… I suck at controlling myself around you. Why do you think I left?”

His scowl doesn’t disappear entirely, but something in his expression shifts—less angry, more… tired. “Because you’re chicken-shit,” he mutters, almost to himself.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say, shrugging, knowing deep down that he's right. “But you better still call me. And come over in December.” My voice softens, the words almost a plea.

Jamie’s face relaxes a little more, his shoulders dropping. “Yeah… I will.”

Relief settles in my chest. I didn’t mess things up badly enough to push him away completely.

“I can’t believe you’re still driving that piece of junk,” Jamie says, nodding toward my car, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Whoa, fuck you too,” I shoot back, grinning despite myself.

We laugh, and for a moment, everything feels normal again. Just us, teasing and smiling like nothing’s changed. But then Jamie looks at me—really looks at me—and his smile lingers, soft and wistful. It hits me like a punch to the gut, the way my stomach twists and flips. Butterflies.

“Bye,” Jamie says, his gaze locking on mine like he’s trying to memorize my face.

“Bye,” I echo, stepping forward to pull him into a tight hug. My arms wrap around his shoulders, squeezing harder than I probably should. Before I can stop myself, I press a quick kiss to the side of his head, subtle and fleeting, hoping no one’s watching.

Leaving Jamie always sucks.

At least this time, I didn’t make him cry. The last goodbye was brutal. The look in his eyes then—crushed, broken—it still haunts me.

Jamie squeezes me back before stepping away. His face falls just before he gets into his car, and my chest aches all over again.

“Bye, Jeff,” he says softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of his door closing.

“Bye,” I whisper, the word catching in my throat.

I walk back to my car as the roar of Jamie’s engine fills the driveway behind me.

And just like that, he’s gone.