Page 9

Chapter 9

The one where Jeff finally says it.

Lucy sinks into the outdoor café chair with a dramatic sigh, the metal scraping softly against the pavement. I take the seat across from her, the sun casting a warm glow over the scene, like some kind of ironic cosmic joke considering the shitstorm I’m about to unload on her.

She fumbles with her bag for a second, muttering under her breath before finally letting it thud to the ground. Her eyes dart to my face.

“Alright, spill. What in the living hell happened to your nose?”

I glance down at the table, my fingers fidgeting like they’ve got a mind of their own. Where do I even start? “A lot. I mean... a lot happened.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” she says, leaning forward with the kind of energy that means she’s already bracing for the worst. “What’s up, Jeff?”

I take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. “After I dropped you off... I went to Tiffany’s dorm. To give her the watch, and talk to her about Jamie.”

Her face twists into full-on horror. “No. You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t try the exact kind of stupid I warned you about.”

I stare at her blankly, saying nothing.

“Why the hell would you do that?” she snaps. “Didn’t I tell you not to say a word to her about Jamie?!”

I barely get a chance to answer before the server arrives, sliding plates onto the table with a clatter. Lucy waits until they’re gone, her eyes practically burning holes through me. “So, what happened?”

“I... wanted to surprise her. Talk things out,” I mutter.

Lucy groans, throwing her hands up. “Unbelievable. Judging by the mess that is your face, I’m guessing it didn’t go well. What did she say?”

“Not much,” I say, my voice hollow. “She didn’t have to. There was a guy in her bed. Naked.”

Lucy freezes, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. “No fucking way,” she breathes. “She cheated on you?”

“She did. But honestly...” I pause, gripping the edge of the table. “So did I. With Jamie. I mean, we didn’t do anything serious, but we did enough. Enough to make it wrong. Enough to feel like shit about all of it.”

Lucy slowly sets her sandwich down, her eyes locked on mine. “Oh.”

“It’s over,” I continue, my voice low. “All of it. Done. I lost it, Lucy. I let it all out on the guy in her bed... whoever the poor bastard was. I don’t even think he realized what was going on. But she did. And so did I.”

The weight of the moment settles over us, heavy and unrelenting, as I lean back in my chair, staring at the table like it might have answers. “It’s like some kind of fucked-up karma coming back to undo me.”

Lucy studies me, her sharp edges softening into something quieter, something gentler. “Jeff, are you okay?”

Am I okay? The laugh that slips out is sharp and bitter, barely human. “I don’t even know, dude. I’m just some idiot who keeps hurting everyone I care about.”

Lucy sighs, leaning back in her chair. “You’re a mess, Jeff. You’ve gotta get your shit together.”

“I’m trying,” I say, the words tight, my throat burning with the weight of everything unsaid.

“Try harder.” Her hand slides over mine, grounding and steady. “Hey... it’s going to get better, alright? I promise.”

I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her. But hope feels like a luxury I can’t afford right now. “Yeah,” I manage, though it sounds hollow even to me.

Lucy doesn’t let me off the hook. “And you’re going to talk to Jamie, right?” she asks, her tone firm, cutting through the haze of guilt and doubt like a lifeline.

Her question hangs in the air, and for the first time in forever, it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something vast, something terrifying and real. My lips twitch into an involuntary smile, and Lucy catches it instantly, pouncing on the flicker of light like a cat with a laser pointer.

“Oh my God.” She beams, her entire face lighting up with smug delight. “You are. You’re so gonna talk to him. You like him, don’t you?”

I groan, pressing my palms into my face, as if I can somehow hide from her or myself. “Lucy...”

“Nope, you’re not dodging this one,” she says, absolutely delighted now, practically vibrating in her chair. “Do. You. Like. Jamie?”

“Yes, okay? Yes, I like Jamie!” The words erupt from me, louder than I mean, startling a few people at nearby tables. Great. Just great.

Lucy leans back, crossing her arms and grinning so wide it should be illegal. “You like Jamie,” she says, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Shut up, Lucy.”

But the words lack bite, because for the first time, saying it out loud doesn’t feel like the end of the world. It feels like... relief. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years, and now, finally, I can exhale.

Lucy softens, her teasing giving way to something quiet and sincere. “You deserve to be happy, Jeff,” she says, her voice warm and steady.

I shake my head, but the protest dies before it reaches my lips.

“Stop… You do,” she insists, leaning forward and gripping my hand tighter. “You’ve been through enough, dude. It’s time to stop running.”

Her words hit me harder than I want to admit. I glance away, blinking against the sting in my eyes, and take a shaky breath. “I’m probably just going to end up hurting him,” I mutter, the fear clawing its way to the surface.

“Jeff,” she says softly, her voice pulling me back. “That’s not who you are. You’ve been scared, sure. Confused, definitely. But you care about Jamie. You have heart, Jeff, that's what matters. And if you’re willing to put in the effort, you’re not going to hurt him. You’re going to be good for him.”

I swallow hard, her words wrapping around me like a lifeline, holding me steady when everything else feels like it’s slipping out of my control.

“You ghosted him for four fucking years... and he took you back like nothing happened, Jeff. What does that tell you? You seriously don’t get how he probably feels about you? I mean... I don’t have to spell it out, do I?”

Her words hit their mark, carving through the guilt and fear I’ve been clinging to for too long. My jaw tightens, the protest sitting heavy on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say it. I don’t want to forgive myself—not yet, maybe not ever—but...

“You like Jamie,” she says again, her voice softer now, almost reverent, like she’s unveiling the truth I’ve been too scared to face. “You like him more than a friend.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, the word barely audible, but it carries the weight of everything I’ve been holding back. Saying it out loud feels monumental, like I’ve crossed a line I can’t go back from. But for once, it doesn’t feel terrifying. It feels... right.

Lucy beams, her eyes sparkling with something close to pride. “Good. Now, go talk to him. Like actually talk to him. Communication is important.” She gives me a pointed look, like she knows exactly how bad I am at that. “And Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got this.”

The annoying thing about Lucy is that she’s always fucking right for some reason. It drives me up the wall—really grinds my gears. But for the first time, I’m actually hoping she’s right.

My phone rings just as I’m pulling the pizza rolls out of the toaster oven, the plate in one hand, the oven mitt still on the other. Tiffany’s name flashes on the screen.

It’s nothing new. She’s been texting me non-stop since 3 a.m., and I had left my phone on Do Not Disturb for most of the day.

I stare at the screen, debating whether to answer. Letting it go to voicemail is tempting, but I already know she’ll just keep calling. And honestly, I’m too tired to deal with whatever passive-aggressive bullshit she’s got lined up in her texts.

With a sigh, I swipe to answer and press the phone to my ear.

“What?” I say, sharper than I meant to.

There’s a beat of silence, then her voice cuts through, syrupy sweet and fake as hell. “Jeff… Finally . Can we just talk for a second? Please?”

I set the plate of pizza rolls on the counter, leaning against the edge, careful not to burn myself. I usually lounge around in nothing but sweatpants after work, which makes my favorite dinner a little precarious sometimes. You only accidentally lean on a hot pan with your bare side once. Trust me—once is enough.

“What do you want, Tiffany?”

She sighs, and I can practically hear her gearing up for some dramatic monologue. “I just… I’ve been thinking about everything. About us. And I really think we should talk things through. Don’t you think we owe it to each other to at least try?”

I laugh, short and humorless. “Try? To fix what? You had a guy in your bed, Tiff. Naked. What’s left to fix?”

Her tone sharpens instantly, all fake sweetness gone. “Oh, give me a break, Jeff. Don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. I know about Jamie. ”

Her words hit like a punch, but I hold steady. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think you know?”

“I know you cheated too,” she spits, her voice dripping with venom. “I know you keep an old picture of him in your car’s glove compartment. In the back. Don’t even pretend like you don't."

She doesn’t wait for me to respond.

“And I know when we first started dating, you wouldn’t shut up about him. I thought it was kinda weird, sure, but I didn’t think much of it because you swore to me you two didn’t talk anymore... until I saw what he wrote on your Instagram post about Nevada being really ‘hot’ while you were there. I can put two and two together, Jeffrey. He's kissing some guy in his profile picture, and it’s not you. You cheated, didn’t you? With a fucking guy?! Did you kiss him? What else did you do—no! Stop. I don’t think I can even hear you say it.”

Oh... Well, shit.

I don’t even hesitate. “Yeah, I kissed Jamie. That’s all I did, Tiffany, but I wanted Jamie. Hell, I still do. So congratulations—you figured it out. I’m an asshole.”

Brutally honest? Maybe. But she was doing a damn good job of making me the only bad guy, when she was the one getting dicked by some other dude in her dorm room the whole time I was gone.

The silence on her end stretches, and for a second, I think she might have hung up.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” she finally snaps, her voice shaking. “You don’t even know who you are. You’re just some confused little f—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off, my voice cold and steady. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

She huffs, her breath heavy through the line. “You’re pathetic, Jeff. Have fun chasing your gay little fantasy. Just don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face.”

“I won’t.”

I hang up before she can say anything else, the sharp sound of the call ending filling the kitchen. The room feels too quiet now, except for the faint hum of the oven cooling down.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the pizza rolls, the smell of cheap pepperoni and fake cheese doing nothing for my appetite.

I grab my phone again, scrolling to Jamie’s name in my contacts. It’s late, but I don’t care. I need to hear his voice. I hit call and put it on speaker, leaning back against the counter as the phone rings.

Jamie answers almost immediately, his deep voice groggy but alert. “Hey.”

It’s just one word, but it hits me like a balm on raw skin, soothing the sting left by Tiffany’s tirade. I don’t even realize how tightly my chest has been wound until it starts to loosen, the sound of Jamie’s voice steadying me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

“Hey, Jamie.”

“How’d your day go, how’s your face? Did Tiffany call?”

His tone is casual, curious, like he’s asking about the weather, but it’s enough to pull me back from the edge. The storm from earlier starts to settle, just a little. Jamie’s voice has this way of grounding me, even from hundreds of miles away, like he’s steadying the chaos in my head without even trying.

I let out a humorless laugh, leaning against the counter. “Oh yeah, she called. She also texted me more times today than anyone ever has in my entire fucking life.”

“…Well?! What’d she say?”

“We’re over.”

“…Did she want you back?”

I laugh, low and self-deprecating. “Yeah, until I told her I wanted to fuck you.” I pause, my chest tightening with sudden nerves as I wait for Jamie’s reaction.

It feels strange—being this upfront with him. We’ve never talked about this stuff before. It’s always been an unspoken truth, buried under layers of guilt and denial. But after my talk with Lucy earlier, I feel lighter, like years of carrying that shit around is finally starting to lift. I’m done hiding.

Jamie’s soft, incredulous laugh comes through the phone, sending warmth down my spine. “You did not tell her that, Jeff…”

“Oh, I did,” I say, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

“Oh my God.”

“I think she was about to call me the f-word.”

“…She sounds lovely.”

“She’s a fucking hateful bitch, and all sorts of fake, and the only thing I’m mad about now is how I could have ever seen something longterm in her.”

Jamie laughs again, but it fades quickly, leaving a quiet stretch between us. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, almost hesitant. “…Hey, do you remember what you did to my neck?”

I smirk, the memory flooding back, vivid and dangerous. His skin was impossibly warm, his blonde hair slipping like silk through my fingers. The way he smelled—clean and fresh, that goddamn bar soap—still lingers in my mind, as intoxicating now as it was then. I can feel the thrum of his pulse beneath my tongue, syncing with the wild pounding of my own heart.

It’s just a memory that refuses to loosen its grip on me, but I need to stop thinking about it right now , because suddenly, I’ve got a problem in my pants. I adjust myself awkwardly, shifting the phone to my other hand as I start plating my pizza rolls.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I remember. Are you still pissed about that?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“No one noticed,” I say, trying to sound casual, though my stomach twists even as the words leave my mouth.

Jamie scoffs dramatically. “Seriously, Jeff? They noticed, you hot dumb idiot. My boyfriend pointed it out the second he saw me. And I even tried covering it up instead of just owning it, because I’m also an idiot, I guess. Stop being stupid—how could you think he wouldn’t notice something like that?”

A weird mix of relief and guilt washes over me. I don’t say it, but a small, selfish part of me is glad he noticed. It’s shitty, but it’s true.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have commented on my Instagram photo either,” I tease. “Are you sure it wasn’t that? Because that comment really made it sound like you wanted in my pants.”

The line goes quiet, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve gone too far.

“He was pissed,” Jamie finally says, his voice quieter now. “And honestly, he had every right to be.”

“I mean, yeah,” I admit, the knot in my chest tightening. “We both messed up. It was wrong.”

Jamie doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, his words tumble out like he’s been holding them in for days. “I kissed you first, Jeff. That’s on me. I shouldn’t have done it.”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “Don’t do that. Don’t put it all on yourself. I kissed you back, Jamie. I wanted it. I didn’t stop it. That’s on both of us.”

“Still,” Jamie says, his voice heavy, “I knew better. I knew what I was doing, and I did it anyway. That’s... not who I want to be.”

His words hit me hard, because they echo exactly what I’ve been feeling since it happened. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Me neither. Honestly… I hate that we did this. I mean, I liked it—I liked it a lot—but it wasn’t the right way to do it.”

“Me too,” Jamie says softly. “I don’t ever want to be that person again, Jeffrey… All the making out we did in secret back in high school too, you know? I feel like a jackass.”

“Same.” I swallow hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “We’re not gonna let this happen again, okay? No more... this. Not if either of us is in a relationship.”

“Promise,” Jamie says immediately, his voice firm.

“I promise.”

For a moment, the line is silent, the weight of our guilt hanging between us like a heavy fog. But then I ask the question that’s been nagging at me.

“So… Did your boyfriend... did he break up with you?”

Jamie exhales, and I can hear the resignation in the sound. “Yeah. He did. It’s over. I haven’t heard from him since he exploded on me about my neck. Honestly, I can’t blame him. He’s probably better off without me.”

“That’s not true,” I say instinctively, though I’m not sure he hears me.

Jamie lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, either way… I guess I’m single now. Just in time for our little reunion.”

I force a chuckle, but the truth is, the weight of what we’ve done still lingers. I know we’ve both got a lot to figure out before anything between us can feel right.

Jamie’s voice sounds heavy, and I hate hearing him like this. I try to lighten the mood. “So... you saying you’re gonna be single when you visit me next month?”

“Probably.” Jamie chuckles softly. “Not like you will be, though...”

That stings more than it should.

I force a laugh. “Dude, are you kidding me?”

Jamie’s laugh is real this time, light and deep, and it hits me hard. He has no idea how much I want to be with him… Without the guilt, without all the bullshit.

“Hell no. You’re a total slut, Jeffrey. I bet you a hundred bucks you’ll end up in some girl’s bed and fall in love again. Like you always do.”

I let out a genuine laugh too then, shaking my head. “Wow. Yeah, okay, fucker... You’re on. It’s a bet.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay then.”

Later that night, after inhaling way too many pizza rolls, I stand under the shower, the hot water pounding against my skin. But my mind is stuck on Jamie—on the way he laughed, the way he talked about our past without anger or bitterness. His voice… His smell. His smile, still following me everywhere.

Memories of us making out flash through my mind. I think about Jamie’s question earlier—“Do you remember what you did to my neck?”—and it hits me like a freight train.

I want him. I want more than we’ve ever allowed ourselves to have.

For the first time, I let myself feel it, without pushing it away.

It’s not just some random thing.

It’s always been more than that.

I wonder what might’ve happened if things had been different—if we’d both been single on Thanksgiving. Would Jamie have let me take things further? Would we have finally stopped pretending?

The water streams over my back, but my body refuses to relax. I’m starting to get hard, and my mind can’t stop replaying the way he had me straddled on his couch back in Nevada.

My hand moves instinctively, wrapping around my thickening length as my thoughts circle back to Jamie—his face, his scent, his laugh, the sound of his teasing voice, and the way his body felt pressed against mine. The memory sharpens: the feel of his hips under my fingertips, his solid thighs wrapped around my waist, the unexpected confidence in his eyes as he starts grinding against me.

Fuck.

I grip myself tighter, my rhythm quickening as my thoughts spiral into something deeper, something hungrier. I imagine how it would feel to actually be inside him. I want to take him like no one has ever taken him before... Would he want that? Would he be okay with doing... that? Would he ride me like that, on the couch, if I ever came over again?

The questions dissolve into heat as my fantasy takes over. My hand moves faster, stroking hard and desperate, the water cascading down my chest and pooling at my feet. I’m completely lost in him now, replaying the dream I had back in my bedroom on a relentless loop—the vivid flashes of him taking control, having his way with me.

When I come, my thighs tremble, and his name escapes my lips, barely audible over the pounding water. I lean against the cold tiles, gasping for breath as the steam thickens around me, fogging up the shower like the haze in my mind.

A month until I see Jamie feels impossibly long—easily the longest month of my life.