Chapter Twelve
Will
“Yeah, a drink would be good,” I said, trying to push down the strange feeling bubbling away in my stomach. “Why don’t you open one of the bottles of red?”
“Perfect,” Jamie said. “Where do you keep your wine glasses?”
“Just in there.” I pointed at one of the cupboards on the opposite side of the kitchen before grabbing a tray out of the cupboard next to the oven to stick the lasagne on.
It might have only been a posh set of ready meals, but I appreciated Jamie’s gesture since my plans for dinner had reached as far as seeing what was in the freezer or failing that, cheese on toast.
Seeing him with the Tesco bag had thrown me for a second, and despite Jamie’s attempted blasé attitude, it was easy to see he was nervous.
Whether that was because he didn’t think I’d appreciate him bringing food and think he was overstepping or because he simply wasn’t sure I’d like his choices, I didn’t know.
But what I did know was that this posh boy from London, who by his own admission didn’t know anything about basic life skills, had willingly gone to my local supermarket to make sure I was fed. And there was something about that that made me stop dead in my tracks.
“Here you go,” Jamie said, handing me a large glass of wine as soon as I turned around from shoving the food into the still-heating oven. “Hopefully it’s okay. It hasn’t really had time to breathe, but honestly, I’m far too lazy to decant wine most of the time.”
“You’d have a hard time finding something to decant it into here,” I said, accepting the glass and giving him a smile over the rim. “Not unless you want to use a vase or something.”
Jamie shuddered and took a sip of his drink. “No thank you. Let’s avoid all forms of botulism.”
I chuckled. “Probably for the best.” I lifted the glass to my lips, admiring the deep, rich colour of the wine.
I wasn’t the biggest wine drinker, but I didn’t mind the odd glass when the occasion arose, and this felt like a very fitting one.
Jamie was watching me carefully but in a way that desperately tried to suggest he wasn’t.
“What do you think?” he asked in a faux casual tone as I took a long sip.
“It’s good,” I said, nodding. “I like it. You have good taste.”
“That has been said.” He grinned, visibly relaxing again. “On more than one occasion. Apparently, I also have expensive tastes, at least according to my father’s accountant. He and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.”
Looking at Jamie, I could well believe that, but I wasn’t going to spoil the evening by saying it. I got the feeling Jamie already knew that he lived a life most people could barely dream of. Or at least, he was starting to realise it.
“Oh, aye?” I asked casually.
“Yes. Apparently, my spending habits would rival even Kim Kardashian. Although I think there are a lot of people who’d give me a run for my money, but apparently, that argument is pointless.
Even if I did say he should attempt to go shopping with my best friend, Daisy, one day to put my habits into perspective.
I have never seen anyone spend so much money on shoes, and that’s coming from me. ”
“I think I own about four pairs of shoes,” I said with a grin. “No, wait, maybe five. I’m sure I’ve got a pair of smart shoes somewhere that Mum made me buy for my grandad’s funeral a couple of years ago.”
“I think I brought more pairs than that in my suitcase,” Jamie said. “They’ve all been awful in the snow, though. I’ve nearly ruined my Bottega boots.”
“I don’t even know what that is.” I’d never been into clothes or fashion in any way, shape, or form.
Clothes were clothes to me; they just did a job.
The only thing I ever spent good money on was work boots because decent boots were a lot more comfortable and lasted a hell of a lot longer.
I’d learnt that very quickly as a teenager when I’d bought a pair of boots for the bargain price of twenty quid and gone through them in two weeks.
“It’s a brand. A very expensive one.” Jamie glanced down at his wine, looking almost contemplative. “Sorry, you must think I’m a right fucking bore. You invited me over to fuck, and all I’ve done is stand here and bitch about money and shoes. I must sound like such a twat.”
“A bit,” I said, stepping a little closer to him. I put my arm around his waist, drawing him against me. “But you’re fine. You’re like a little frog outside your pond for the first time, and it’s quite funny seeing your view on the world.”
“A frog? Seriously?” He was smiling now, and that was all I’d wanted.
“Do you want to be a fish instead?”
“God no, I don’t want to be either.”
“Fish or frog, take your pick.”
“Fine, I’ll be a frog,” he said, his mouth forming a grumpy pout. “But only because I don’t get any other options.”
I laughed because I’d never seen a pout look so attractive, not even on Theo who’d made it into an art form. “Don’t pout, posh boy. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Then why are you staring at me?” Jamie asked, his lips curling into a smirk.
“Because I’m trying to work out why a grown man is pouting,” I said, leaning down to brush my lips against his in a teasing kiss.
“You just told me I was a frog. What did you expect?”
“I’m not sure, but you’re cute either way.” I deepened the kiss, tasting the wine on his mouth. It was rich and full-bodied with an underlying note of spice and something that suggested it was expensive.
“You think I’m cute?” Jamie asked. He’d barely pulled away, and his lips kept caressing mine as he spoke.
“I do. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”
Jamie hummed. “Are you always this honest?”
“Mostly,” I said, “but not always. I’m honest as long as it’s not going to hurt people. I hate it when people use being honest as cover for being a right twat. There’s just no need for it.” I tilted my head back to look down at him, studying his expression. “Why do you ask? Do you think I’m lying?”
“No… It’s just…” He grinned and shook his head. “I just don’t think I’ve been called cute before.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m usually the one calling people cute.”
“Well, now it’s my turn,” I said. “You are cute, Jamie. And handsome. And bloody sexy too.”
“Thanks.” He glanced down for a second, the bridge of his nose tinting slightly. “You’re sexy as fuck too.” He leant in and kissed me again. It was soft and lazy—the sort of kiss that didn’t have any goal except to be enjoyed.
“If you hadn’t put dinner in, I’d suggest we go upstairs,” he said. “Or I can blow you right here. I’m not picky. I can make you come by the time everything’s ready.”
It was tempting, especially imagining Jamie on his knees in front of me.
But hard, cold flagstones weren’t the best to kneel on for any length of time beyond a few seconds, and since he’d gone to so much effort to organise all the food, I didn’t want to let it go to waste.
Besides, I was curious about spending time with him outside of a sexual setting.
This was the closest thing I’d had to a date in years, and there was a small part of me that wanted to enjoy it, even if it would only be just once.
At least this way when my friends asked me when I’d last been on an actual date, I’d have an example to throw at them.
“It’s tempting,” I said. “But no.”
“Seriously?” Jamie’s eyes were wide with surprise. “You’re seriously turning down a blow job right now?”
“Yeah, I am.” I sipped my wine again and smirked. As much as I’d enjoyed letting Jamie take control when we fucked, I wasn’t going to let him win everything. I didn’t think either of us would like it.
“Why? I mean, you’re fully within your rights to do so, and I’m not going to push, but I’m just curious.”
“Never been turned down before?”
“Not recently,” he said. “A few times in the past but not for a while. Then again, I usually spend time with men whose sole desire is to get laid.”
The more I heard about his life, the lonelier it sounded.
Did Jamie really only spend time with rich, vapid assholes and men who wanted to fuck him, filling his days with nothing but spending money and partying?
To each their own, I supposed, but it just sounded so empty.
My life might have been hard and stressful and exhausting, but I wouldn’t change it.
Even on the days when I was this close to giving up.
“You brought all that food,” I said, diverting away from my thoughts about Jamie’s life. “Would be a shame to waste it.”
“You know it’ll keep.”
“I know. But I want to eat it with you.”
“Okay… Yeah, let’s do that.” He sounded completely stunned like he couldn’t fathom the idea of me wanting to spend time with him like this. “Do you want me to make a board? Or a plate will do… Do you have…”
“Let’s just eat it out of the packets,” I said, giving him a soft kiss before stepping away to reach for the wine bottle. “You open everything, and I’ll see how long those peas need.”
“I might need a plate for the burrata,” he said. “It doesn’t really work in the tub.”
“Sure.” I walked over to the other side of the kitchen, pulled a small side plate out of the cupboard, and handed it to him.
Jamie nodded and turned back to the counter to start opening everything while I grabbed the peas and flipped the packet over, quickly scanning the instructions.
It wouldn’t take long, so I could just stick them in the microwave before the lasagne was ready.
“That looks good,” I said, casting my eyes over the immense selection of food Jamie had laid out. It was more like a mini banquet than a starter for two.
“Good. I wasn’t sure it would be enough as I was walking round, but now I’m wondering if it’s too much.”
I chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’ll keep.” I reached over and plucked a piece of salami out of one of the packets, popping it into my mouth. Jamie did the same, although his eyes were still fixed on me.
“When did you say you go back to London?” I asked as I reached for one of the delicate slices of prosciutto. One day, I wanted to go to Italy and eat as much as I could find.
“Saturday afternoon,” Jamie said. “I only booked a week. I thought that would be enough.”
“For what? Or am I not allowed to ask?”
“You are, but I’ll warn you now, it’ll sound ridiculous when I say it out loud.”
“Even more ridiculous than the fact you’ve never been to Tesco?
” I teased, giving him a sly wink as I reached for the burrata.
The cheese was so soft and creamy it had easily fallen apart, and even though Jamie had brought some posh toasted crackers for it, I ignored them in favour of picking up a bit with my fingers.
Jamie stared at me as I licked the rich, salty cheese off my finger, his mouth open in a soft O like he’d forgotten what he was about to say.
“I… er… You’re very distracting when you do that.”
“Do what? I’m just eating cheese.”
“Don’t be a twat,” he said, a new note of fondness in his voice. “You know exactly what you’re doing.” He gestured at the posh crackers. “I bought those to eat with the burrata.”
“I know, but I don’t want one.”
“You’re a menace to society,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, but the warmth in his expression was unmissable.
“I think that’s you,” I said as I picked up more of the cheese. “Come on, tell me about this ridiculous reason that made you leave London.”