Chapter Ten
JAYMES
Calvin kissed me.
CALVIN KISSED ME!
I loved it because I wanted it. I hated it because I shouldn’t have wanted it.
What was he thinking? What was I thinking? I started to kiss him back.
The only upside to the kiss is Fitz’s guilt.
It’s been two weeks since the party, and he’s not said anything about it. It’s like it didn’t happen, except for his random acts of kindness.
He folded my clothes last week. After it snowed, he cleared a path from the house to my Jeep and dusted the snow from my roof and windows. A few days ago, he made his famous chili and put some in a thermos for me to take to work for lunch. Yesterday, I made a torte, and he washed all the dishes.
If he’s not careful, I might marry him.
Conversely, I don’t get more than a few words from him, the occasional glance, and a polite smile.
He thought I was drunk, so he kissed me to make a point. So what? It was just a kiss.
A kiss I can’t forget.
“Is there something going on between you and Fitz?” Will shoots me a questioning glance while tossing a bag of popcorn into the microwave just as I slip on my boots to head to bed.
Shit!
I clear my throat. “Going on?”
“Maren mentioned it. She thinks he’s doing nice things for you.”
I stiffen while trying to slide my hands casually into my pockets. “Is being considerate a crime?”
“No.” Will turns, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “But sleeping with a housemate is a crime. It’s a hard rule.”
I cough a laugh. “No. Rest assured—I’m not sleeping with Calvin. Honestly, I think he’s trying to butter me up so I don’t retaliate. I have yet to get proper revenge for some of the shenanigans he pulled on me.”
Will offers me a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just trying to keep the peace around here.”
“You’re not a dick. You’re one of my three favorite people in this house.” I blow him a kiss before opening the door.
He chuckles. “Night, Jamie.”
“Returning to Miami yet?” Melissa asks the second I answer the phone on my way home from work the next day.
“Not yet. But I miss you like crazy. How are you?”
“Lonely.”
“Stop guilting me.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “I’m good. There’s a new PA in our department. He’s my future husband. I just don’t know how to break it to his wife.”
“You’re not a home-wrecker.”
“I would have said that, too, but he’s funny and smart. And kind. Gah! A nice guy. Jamie, do you have any idea how rare that is?”
“I do. And I’m sure his wife does too.” I pull into the Good Food Store’s parking lot to grab a few items.
“I’m not really going to steal him, but he’s going to star in all of my sex dreams, and I’m not even going to feel guilty about it.”
“I’ll allow that.” I giggle while unbuckling.
“What about you? Are you still a Montana virgin?”
I adjust my earbuds and head into the store. “What exactly is that?”
“If you haven’t had sex in Montana, then you’re a Montana virgin.”
“Who told you that?” I pluck a basket from the stack and hook it over my arm.
“I have original material. I came up with that.”
“Then yes, I still have my Montana v-card.”
“Nooo! Say it isn’t so. Why be a travel nurse if you’re not going to take advantage of meaningless sex in all fifty states?”
I inspect the apples before sliding several into a bag. “If you must know, Calvin kissed me after a party. He thought I was drunk, and he tried to make his point by kissing me.”
“Oh my god. How is that making a point?”
“He said I wouldn’t have let him kiss me if I were sober.”
“But you did?”
I smile at the guy next to me who grabs a mango. When he turns and heads back to his cart, I lower my voice. “It’s not like I had a choice. He didn’t ask me. One minute, my head was on his chest, and the next, my face was in his hands, and his lips were on mine.”
“Wait. Why was your head on his chest?”
“Just ... it’s not what you think. The point is, I didn’t let him do anything.”
“Was it good?”
“What?” I stroll toward the bulk aisle for trail mix.
“Was the kiss good?”
“It was quick and unexpected. It was ... weird and awkward.”
“But you think he’s hot.”
“I think this conversation has gone off the rails.”
“You’re saying he’s not sexy?”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“I am. But you’re not making sense. Just answer the question.”
“I’m not answering the question.” I fill a bag with trail mix.
“Why?”
“Because it’s irrelevant. We’re roommates. It’s a hard rule—no sleeping with your roommate. We’d get booted out. And I like my setup. I’d rather not have to leave before I move on to my next job.”
“Yada yada. Is he hot?”
“Stop.” I set the bag in my basket.
“Have you had a sex dream about Calvin Fitzgerald?”
I giggle. This is absurd. I shouldn’t have told her about the kiss.
“It’s okay if you have. That makes you normal. Who am I going to tell?”
“I have to go.”
“No. You’re not ending this call until you just tell me. Have you had a sex dream about Calvin Fitzgerald? Huh? Huh? Huh—”
“Yes. I’ve had a sex dream about Calvin Fitzgerald. Are you happy now?” I huff and turn the corner. “Oof!” And I run right into Calvin Fitzgerald . “Shit. Sorry. I ... I have to go.” I pluck out my earbuds and toss them in my bag.
He didn’t hear me. Please, God, say he didn’t hear me.
“Watch where you’re going,” he warns with a taut voice, a jar of mustard in one hand and something wrapped in butcher paper in the other.
It’s the most we’ve said to each other since the kiss. I can’t think of Fitz or look at him without thinking about the kiss. Who am I kidding? I can’t do anything without thinking about the stupid kiss.
“Hey. How was your day?” I ask in singsong, clinging to small talk like Rose clung to the door after the Titanic sank.
He doesn’t speak. And I can’t decipher his expression. This sucks. Did he hear me?
Fitz’s gaze makes its usual inspection of me. Nothing to see. I’m in my not-so-sexy purple scrubs, and I’m already flushed. Why must he toy with me?
I clear my throat to get his attention. “Will’s been talking about either re-siding the house or a kitchen remodel. I think I will get an electric kettle for my room and eat ramen or order takeout. How about you?” I hold my breath and offer a constipated smile.
“SPAM.”
What?
One word? I’m freaking the hell out as to whether or not he heard me, and all I get is SPAM?
“You eat SPAM?”
“I do,” he says with a confident smile—too confident.
“Yum.” I roll my lips between my teeth. “Well, uh ... I’ll let you finish your shopping. See you at home.”
“I have another stop to make, so if you’re nestled in your shed by the time I get home, have sweet dreams .”
I freeze—as in, I stop breathing. My lungs stop oxygenating my blood—death by embarrassment.
My brain scrambles, body sweats. The sooner I can come up with an explanation that’s not the obvious one, the sooner I can breathe again. “Don’t look so smug. You heard one side of the conversation and took it out of context.”
His mouth purses into duck lips while his eyes narrow. “Can a sex dream be taken out of context?”
I survey our surroundings, replying in a hushed voice, “I’m on the verge of saying whatever it takes to shut you up, the way I was willing to say anything to shut up Melissa. So what’s it going to be, Fitz? How many times do I need to lick your ego before you let this go?”
His eyebrows make a slow ascent up his forehead. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a licker.”
“I’m not a licker.”
“No?” He cocks his head.
I groan. Not moan. Groan. “If you let this go and promise never to say another word about it, then we can be even.”
“Even?”
“Yes. Even. I still owe you for the bullshit about the thirty-day trial in the rental contract and your assery about Betty.”
“Assery? Is that a word? Is it like cantankerous?”
My eyes narrow. “Take it or leave it.”
He beams victoriously. “We’re even.”
He’s good. I’ll give him that. After a long day, I’m tired and not feeling up to the challenge. Nevertheless, there’s no way I’m rolling over on this and admitting defeat by letting him manipulate the conversation.
I can tell from the gleam in his eyes and his puffed-out chest that I will never live this down. Melissa is on my shit list, right next to Fitz. For that matter, I’m upset with Will and Maren, too, for thinking something’s going on when it’s not. If everyone stopped pestering me about Calvin Fitzgerald, maybe my brain would find more appropriate dreams.