26. Jaymie
Jaymie
I didn’t mean to bring it up. Honestly.
I walked into the apartment still tasting the rosemary fries from lunch with Mallory, her laugh echoing somewhere behind my ribs like it lived there now, and I should’ve just gone straight to my room. Taken a shower. Worked out. Distracted myself like a grown adult.
But Logan was on the couch with his feet up, scrolling his phone and eating straight out of a container of chi cken and rice like he was in a dorm room, not a pro hockey player with a million-dollar contract.
“Didn't we have plans to hang?” he asked without looking up.
“Sorry, Lunch went longer than expected,” I said, too casually.
“With?”
He looked up.
I didn’t answer. Just grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and leaned against the counter like it didn’t matter.
“You’re bad at pretending things don’t matter,” Logan said.
I cracked the bottle open. “It was just lunch.”
“With Mallory,” he added.
I didn’t reply. Didn’t have to.
Logan smirked. “And?”
“And nothing.”
He laughed. “Dude, you’re vibrating.”
“I’m not.”
“You have ‘I want to kiss her but I told her we’re just friends and now I’m spiraling’ energy radiating off you in waves.”
I sat down hard on the edge of the couch, head in my hands.
“She looked so good,” I muttered. “And she was funny, and calm, and she talked about baby names like she wasn’t holding my entire nervous system hostage.”
“ So you like her.”
“I’ve always liked her. That’s the problem.”
“Then tell her.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“Not with an alien,” he deadpanned. “It’s not contagious.”
“She’s vulnerable.”
“So be something steady.”
I stared at him. “You make it sound so easy.”
Logan shrugged. “It kind of is.”
“Easy for you. Ava looked at you like you hung the moon. Mallory’s trying to raise a kid on her own. She doesn’t need me confusing the one good thing she’s got going.”
Logan leaned forward, arms braced on his knees. “Okay, hear me out. What if you’re not confusing her? What if you’re exactly what she wants but she’s too scared to believe it’s real?”
That stopped me.
“I don’t want to screw this up,” I said, quieter now.
“Then stop doing nothing,” Logan said. “Nothing is its own kind of screw-up.”
We sat in silence for a beat. The TV murmured in the background, some muted post-game commentary we weren’t listening to.
Then Logan looked at me, completely serious.
“Next time you see her,” he said, “kiss her.”
I b linked. “What?”
“Kiss her,” he repeated. “Stop dancing around it. She already trusts you. You already see her. Just show her she’s not imagining it.”
I shook my head, half-laughing. “And if she freaks out?”
“She won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t,” he said. “But I know you. And I know you’re not gonna survive much longer pretending she’s just your friend.”
And I hated that he was right.
Because I didn’t want to be just her friend.
Not anymore.
Mallory
Dakota arrived with the energy of a woman who refused to let cross-country travel dull her dramatic entrance. She stepped into my apartment like she owned it, oversized sunglasses perched on her head, her bag slung over one shoulder, and an iced coffee somehow still intact in her hand.
“I brought you peanut butter M&Ms, gossip, and exactly zero patience,” she announced, pulling me into a hug.
She smelled like lavender, vanilla, and a department store sample spritz. Familiar and fierce.
“Is it bad that seeing you almost made me cry?” I muttered into her shoulder.
She pulled back and blinked. “Hormones, babe. Totally allowed. You cry, I cry, then we eat our weight in carbs.”
Later that evening, we met Ava, Logan, and Jaymie down in the lobby to head out for dinner. Ava spotted us first, waving excitedly before pulling Dakota into a hug like they’d been friends since childhood.
“You must be Dakota! I’ve been waiting to meet the legend.”
Dakota grinned. “Likewise. You’re even prettier than your Instagram.”
“Stop, I love you already.”
Logan stepped in to introduce himself with an easy smile, wrapping a protective arm around Ava’s shoulders in the way that reminded you without words that she was completely his.
Jaymie appeared a moment later, nodding toward Dakota as he reached us. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Dakota gave him a once-over, then leaned toward me with a whisper not even remotely quiet: “Okay, you weren’t exaggerating.”
I elbowed her lightly, but I didn’t deny it.
Dinner was noisy, a kind of chaotic comfort you only get when everyone at the table actually likes each other.
We sat outside a bustling little place that served pizza on wooden boards and cocktails in mason jars.
The conversation bounced around easily—Dakota’s job, Ava’s recent design project, Logan’s obsession with becoming a grill master—and Jaymie was effortlessly woven into all of it.
He sat next to me, just close enough that our arms would brush every so often. Each time it happened, a jolt of heat zipped up my spine. I kept telling myself it didn’t mean anything. He was my friend. We were just close.
But by the time dessert came—some shared tiramisu that Jaymie insisted I finish—I couldn’t deny how good it felt. To be out. To laugh. To feel like part of something steady.
Back at the apartment, Dakota collapsed dramatically on the bed. “Okay, I officially love them.”
I pulled on a tee for pajamas and settled beside her. “They’re good people.”
“No, like, I want to bottle that dinner and use it as perfume. Cozy chaos with a sexy tension chaser.”
I shot her a look. “Don’t.”
“Jaymie is a golden retriever in a hot guy’s body.”
“Dakota.”
“I’m serious. He barely looked away from you all night.”
“He’s just… sweet.”
“No,” she said, flipping onto her side to face me. “He’s steady. There’s a difference.”
I swallowed hard. “We’re just friends.”
“ Do you want to be?”
The question landed softly, but it echoed.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “He’s been here. Through everything. What if I’m just... projecting? Needing something to feel good?”
“Then don’t kiss him,” she said. “Just keep letting him show you who he is.”
“And if he never does anything?”
“Then you’ll still have someone who brings you lemon sorbet and watches weird documentaries with you when you can’t sleep.”
I blinked fast, staring at the ceiling.
“I think he might be the safest person I’ve ever known,” I admitted.
“Then that’s a hell of a place to start.”
We fell into silence, which turned into the best nights sleep in over a week.
***
Jaymie texted around ten that morning, just as I was walking Dakota through the final stages of her haphazard suitcase re-packing.
Jaymie
Want me to drive you both to the airport? I’ve got time. And an excuse to grab pastries after.
I s tared at the message, heart catching a little. He didn’t have to offer. But he had.
Only if you promise to get the almond cookies you love and not pretend they’re for me this time.
He replied with a thumbs-up emoji and a car gif that looked vaguely stolen from a Fast & Furious movie.
Dakota eyed me from the bed. “You’re doing that soft smile thing again.”
“Shut up and zip your carry-on.”
Jaymie was waiting out front in his truck, sunglasses on, one arm resting casually on the steering wheel. He jumped out to toss Dakota’s bag in the back like it weighed nothing and opened the passenger door for me like it wasn’t a habit he’d quietly built over the last few months.
The ride to the airport was filled with chatter—Dakota asking invasive questions about hockey schedules, Jaymie gamely teasing her about the city she left behind. It was warm and easy, and for a second I let myself pretend it was something else. Something normal.
When we pulled up to Departures, Dakota wrapped me in a hug so tight it made my eyes sting.
“Text me the minute anything changes,” she whispered into my hair. “And tell him what you feel, or I swear to God I will fly back and do it for you.”
I d idn’t say anything. Just nodded against her shoulder.
Jaymie loaded back into the car and didn’t ask why I was quiet. He just handed me a napkin with a pastry bag wrapped inside and said, “Chocolate croissant. Still warm.”
I stared down at the flaky golden treat, the first bite nearly making me groan out loud.
We drove in comfortable silence, turning the corner near our building and pulling into the little bakery parking lot before heading upstairs.
Once inside his apartment—bigger, softer, always colder than mine—he toed off his shoes, grabbed the almond cookies, and gestured to the couch.
“C’mon. Rest your feet. You’ve earned it.”
I didn’t argue. I collapsed into the corner of his couch, my ankles already throbbing, stomach stretched tight and tired beneath my hoodie. Jaymie joined me, his body warm beside mine, the light in the room dim with winter’s early dusk.
Then he reached for my feet, pulled them gently into his lap, and started rubbing slow, firm circles into my arches.
“Oh my god,” I groaned, my head tipping back.
His hands stilled for a second.
“You keep making those noises,” he said, voice low, “and I’m going to forget we’re pretending this is friendly.”
I opened my eyes, found his watching mine with something dark behind them. I didn’t flinch.
“ What if I’m tired of pretending?”
His breath caught. His fingers curled slightly around my ankle.
I sat up, moved toward him before I could talk myself out of it, and straddled his lap—one knee on either side of his thighs. The air between us shifted, heavier now, threaded with heat and the tension we’d been dancing around for months.
His glasses slid off, landing somewhere behind us on the couch. “Mal,” he said, like a warning and a question all at once.
“Yes,” I whispered.
That was all it took.
His hands gripped my hips, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that had lived just beneath the surface for too long. Our tongues tangled, breaths shallow, my body rocking against his as the seam of his jeans pressed right where I needed it most.
I moaned again, involuntary and desperate.
Jaymie groaned, rough and low. “Baby, if you’re gonna come, it’s gonna be on my tongue.”
He stood in one smooth motion, lifting me like I weighed nothing. I clung to his shoulders, breath hitching.
“Jay,” I said, half-laughing, half-panicked. “I’m— I’m not light anymore.”
“You’re perfect,” he said simply, carrying me down the short hall.
He pushed open the door to his bedroom—a room I’d never seen, though I’d wondered about it more times than I’d admit. It was all deep navy and charcoal, soft shadows and thicker curtains. Clean, warm, private.
Sensual.
He set me down at the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of me.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He peeled my maternity leggings down with maddening slowness, his fingertips dragging along the inside of my thighs like he wanted to memorize every new curve. Then came my top, peeled off over my head, and finally my bra, the cool air licking over my bare skin.
I hesitated, arms instinctively rising to shield my chest. My breasts had grown heavier, fuller—something I still wasn’t used to.
But Jaymie caught my wrists, gentle but firm, and pulled them away. “You’re beautiful, Mal. Every inch. Especially now.”
My pulse skittered.
He leaned in and took one nipple into his mouth, hot and wet, sucking until it peaked against his tongue. My hips jerked. He groaned low in his throat, switching to the other breast, his hands bracing around my ribs, his thumbs stroking slow, hypnotic circles over the sides of my stomach.
The n he kissed lower—down my torso, stopping at my bump. He pressed his lips there, soft reverence in every breath.
“I love this,” he said against my skin. “I love how round you are. How full. It’s driving me crazy.”
My thighs quivered as he hooked his fingers in my panties and tugged them down. I was already slick, aching for him, the heat between my legs nearly unbearable.
Jaymie pushed my knees apart and buried his face in me, no hesitation.
His tongue was relentless—licking, sucking, teasing me open until I was panting, clawing at his sheets. Every stroke was greedy, practiced, unashamed. He groaned like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted, like he was starving and I was his last meal.
“Oh fuck—Jaymie—don’t stop—” I sobbed, my legs shaking as the first orgasm shattered through me. But he didn’t stop. He held me open, tongue fucking into me until another wave hit, harder than the first, so sharp I almost screamed.
When I finally caught my breath, still trembling from the waves he’d drawn out of me, I saw the way Jaymie looked at me—completely undone.
His chest rose and fell hard, his eyes glazed with need.
I slid off the bed and knelt between his legs, undoing his jeans with deliberate care, watching his pupils dilate with every second.
“ Mal—” he started, but his voice cracked as I pulled him free.
Thick, flushed, already leaking for me.
I wrapped my fingers around him, slow and firm, before I lowered my mouth. The first pass of my tongue made him groan like I’d stolen the air from his lungs. I took him deep, letting him hit the back of my throat, feeling his fingers knot in my hair, his thighs tense beneath my palms.
I didn’t rush. I wanted to memorize the way his hips flexed, the curse words he muttered, the shiver in his voice when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked hard.
“Mallory, I—fuck, I’m close—”
I pulled off with a soft pop, wiped my mouth, and climbed onto his lap without a word. I lined him up and sank down in one slick, steady motion, swallowing him whole.
He gasped, hands flying to my hips, eyes wide and wild. “Jesus.”
I rode him slow, tight and deep, clenching around him until he couldn’t hold back.
“Where—” he panted.
“Inside,” I breathed, pressing my forehead to his.
He exploded with a groan that shook me, his body stiffening beneath mine. But I didn’t stop.
I circled my hips, reached between us, and found my clit with his thumb, guiding him until he took over. He rubbed tight, relentless circles until the pressure cracked wide o pen and I came again—loud, hard, soaking both of us.
I stayed there, trembling, letting the aftershocks roll through me. I could feel the wet heat between us—his release and mine, warm and sticky as it coated his thighs.
He held me close, one hand stroking down my spine, the other still curled protectively at my waist.
And in the quiet that followed, all I could hear was the beat of his heart beneath my cheek.
No more pretending.
Just this.
Just us.