Page 18 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart

Jameson Hart is three feet away, and his presence is so immediate and jarring I nearly drop the book again.

He’s in a dark green hoodie that’s drenched across the shoulders and biceps, and his dark-wash jeans are painted onto his legs.

It’s obvious he dashed in from the parking lot from how flushed his face is.

The rosy cheeks make him that much sexier.

He waves, rather than do the expected jock bro-fist or chin nod. The move is so foreign to see on someone whose hands are the size of Nevada.

“Hi.” My voice comes out normal, which is a miracle considering my heart is lodged right behind my Adam’s apple.

“What brings you to the bookstore on this wonderful day?” He gestures vaguely at the window where rain continues to pound against the glass. His sarcasm has me smiling despite my nerves.

“I love to read.” I hold up the two books as evidence. “Plus, I was going stir-crazy at home. My brothers have been playing Call of Duty for approximately seventeen hours straight.”

Jameson laughs, and it’s not the polite chuckle people usually give during small talk.

It’s genuine and makes his eyes scrunch.

“I feel that. Ethan’s been moping around the house because of the rain.

That’s actually why I’m here.” He runs a hand through his damp hair, and droplets scatter.

“I’m trying to find him a book. Something to get him through this weather without driving us both insane. ”

“What does he like to read?”

“That’s the thing—he mentioned wanting to try young adult romance? But I don’t even know where to begin.” He looks utterly lost, scanning the shelves as if they’re written in a foreign language. “I usually stick to sports biographies and the occasional Stephen King novel.”

My brain does this weird thing where it switches from “oh God, Jameson Hart is talking to me” mode to “someone needs book recommendations” mode. This is easy. Talking about books is the one thing I can do without having a complete meltdown.

“You’re in luck. Young adult romance is having a huge moment right now,” I say, setting the books in my hand on a nearby shelf. “Does he have any specific preferences? Contemporary? Fantasy? LGBTQ?”

“He didn’t say.” Jameson shrugs. “He’s fifteen, so I think he’s still trying to figure out what he likes.”

Warmth blooms in my chest at the way he cares about his brother. “Okay, let’s check out some of the crowd-pleasers. Have you heard of Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas?”

Jameson shakes his head, and I pull the book from the shelf. The cover shows a boy surrounded by marigolds and candlelight.

“It’s about a trans Latino boy who’s trying to prove himself to his traditional family and accidentally summons the ghost of his school’s bad boy. They end up falling for each other while solving a murder.” I hand it to him. “It has romance, mystery, and beautiful cultural elements.”

Jameson studies the cover, turning it over to read the back. “This sounds cool. What else?”

I grab another book. “ Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda is a classic. Funny, sweet, and deals with coming out and first love. They made a movie out of it— Love, Simon ?”

“Oh, I’ve seen that!”

“Perfect. The book’s even better.” I’m on a roll now, moving down the shelf with purpose. “If he wants something with more adventure, try In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan. It’s fantasy, but also hilarious, and the main character is bi. Always a plus.”

Jameson follows me, adding each book to his growing pile. “You really know your stuff.”

“I read a lot.” I pause at another shelf. “Oh, and if he wants something swoony that also deals with real issues, I’ll Give You the Sun by Jandy Nelson is gorgeous. It’s told from two perspectives—twins—and one of them, Noah, falls for the boy next door.”

“These all have LGBTQ characters,” Jameson observes. It’s not said with judgment, but curiosity.

My stomach clenches. “Is that okay? I can recommend some straight romances?—”

“No, it’s great,” he cuts me off gently. “I think he’ll appreciate these.”

I pause. “You know, it’s really cool that your brother is interested in reading. Most boys his age would thumb their noses at this type of stuff.”

“Kid’s braver than I was at fifteen,” Jameson says as he adds the book to his pile. “I couldn’t even tell my parents I hated baseball until junior year.”

“You hated baseball?”

He grins sheepishly. “Still do. But my dad played in college, so I suffered through Little League for years before finally admitting I’d rather be on the football field.”

Wow. I’m learning more about Jameson Hart in five minutes than I have in four years of high school. “That must have been tough.”

“Dad came around eventually. Helps that I’m decent at football.”

I scoff. Decent?

He shifts the books in his arms. “What about you? Always been into theater?”

I nod. “Since I could walk. My brothers say I came out of the womb with jazz hands.”

Jameson laughs again, and it feels as though I did something right, but I don’t know what it is.

He glances down at his armful of books. “I think these will keep him busy. But, um…do you have any recommendations for someone who wants to read a romance that tugs at the heartstrings but isn’t for a fifteen-year-old? Asking for a friend.”

I cover my smirk by scratching my nose. Totally not subtle at all. “ The Fault in Our Stars might be something along those lines. Again, another book that’s been turned into a movie.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He backs toward the checkout counter. “Thanks for this, Kevin. Seriously. I would have been wandering around for hours.” He gives me another one of those incongruous little waves and heads to check out.

I stand frozen in the stacks, surrounded by stories of first loves and happy endings, trying not to clutch my heart and squeal in delight.

My phone buzzes with a text from Dad saying he has to use the restroom.

Good. That gives me just enough time to have a complete emotional breakdown and pull myself together before facing the world again.

“Find anything good?” Dad appears from around a bookcase, looking lighter on his feet than he was when we first walked in.

“More than good,” I say with a grin.

As we wait in line to check out, I watch the rain still streaking down the bookstore windows. “Dad? When you finally asked Diana out, were you scared?”

“Terrified,” he admits without hesitation. “But being scared doesn’t mean you shouldn’t act on your feelings. Because you know what the worst part of regret is? It’s not knowing if you failed; it’s wondering what might have happened if you’d tried.”

The cashier hands me my books in a brown paper bag, and then we make another mad dash to the van while getting thoroughly soaked in the process .

Water hammers the windows, leaving me unable to hear Dad humming along to the radio playing Madonna’s “Cherish” as he pulls out of the parking lot.

I keep the bag of books pressed to my chest even though they’re already safe and dry. My heart is still going haywire.

I replay every second of Jameson Hart’s visit to Pages & Prose—the way he smiled, the way he said my name again. The fact he gave me his undivided attention while I talked his ear off about books. I think about the stories I picked out and Jameson taking all of them home without question.

The air in the car is thick with dampness and that weird, almost buzzy sensation you get after something happens that you know is going to be a big milestone in your life.

“You okay, bud?” Dad asks when the song ends.

I nod, but my mind is racing. When you read romance, you hope that one day, the world will work the way a story does, that people will automatically know what you’re thinking.

But in reality, you can recommend a dozen books to a guy and he’ll never guess how much you wish you were in one of them with him.