Chapter 16
I have a date tonight, and it’s safe to say I was a little unhinged at work the entire day because of it. I’m fairly certain Chelsea was ready to muzzle me more than once. I couldn’t stop talking about Jamie, or asking her questions about dating etiquette.
I’ve dated before. I’ve even had sex … although not that much.
I’ve never felt comfortable with giving it up to someone I barely knew, so one night stands were off the table.
And a lot of guys expect it after a certain number of dates.
Jamie is an NFL superstar. I’m sure he’s had countless one night stands.
He’s probably slept with dozens and dozens of women.
Maybe triple digits. Gross. God, I really hope he hasn’t slept with that many women, but I’m not asking for a number.
That thought occurred to me at lunch today, and I had a full panic attack.
I began thinking back to the last time I had sex, and I can’t remember.
I actually cannot remember the last time I slept with a man.
That kiss with Jamie was the first bit of action I’ve had in well over a year, but I know it’s been longer than that since I had sex.
The entirety of my sexual history fits on one hand, and the thought of doing anything with Jamie gave me one hell of a reality check. What if he expects a confident, sexual woman in the bedroom? A take-charge partner? Someone who has no problem telling her partner exactly what she wants and needs?
That is not me.
I can barely tell the Starbucks barista what kind of milk I want in my latte.
I’d almost talked myself into canceling the dinner tonight when I received a package at work. I was stunned to find oversized guinea pig slippers, and a coffee mug that says ‘world’s best guinea pig mom’ on it. He attached a simple handwritten note that said:
Looking forward to our dinner and a movie date. I’ll wear my slippers too.
-J
Now I simply have to go through with the date, if only for the purpose of seeing his slippers.
At six o’clock on the dot, my doorbell rings, and I have the sudden urge to puke, just like he did weeks ago. I open the door to find him grinning widely, a far cry from how he looked that first time when he barely made it to the bathroom.
I let out a loud burst of laughter when I see that his slippers are the cat version of mine. “Do they match your cats?”
“Who are you kidding? They won’t let me put theirs on them,” he says with a wink. “I wish I was kidding. But yes, my slippers match them. I have two tuxedo cats.”
“Maverick and Goose, right?” I ask as I motion for him to come inside. Flash yips in greeting, and the pigs down the hall let out a crescendo of squeaks.
“Yeah. They’re quite the pair. I brought a bag of food for the pigs, too.”
My eyes pop to his in shock. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “I brought dinner for everyone. Even Flash.”
Good God. I might cry. “What did you bring for Flash?”
“Well,” Jamie says as he walks into the kitchen, depositing a bag and a cooler onto the counter, “I wasn’t fully sure what her diet allowed, so I did some research.”
“You know, you could have called her veterinarian to check,” I murmur, watching as he pulls out a stainless steel container.
“Har-har. Everything I saw online said boiled chicken and plain steamed rice were good for dogs, so I brought that. Oh, and pumpkin puree. The unsweetened kind, which I didn’t even know was a thing.”
As he removes the top of the stainless steel box, I stare in shock. “Did you … did you make the food for Flash?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I mean, I made food for us, too.”
I’m speechless. I’ve never had a man make me food. This is basically our first date, and he’s pulling out the big guns. “What did you make?”
He scratches at the back of his neck, giving me a sheepish grin. “I wanted to surprise you, but I should have clarified on your food aversions. So I kept it pretty basic. It’s also a simple chicken dish, but a variety of sautéed vegetables and a seasoned rice. I like to cook.”
Wow. Emotion clogs my throat. How on earth has no one scooped this man up yet? “That’s — wow. I’ve never had someone make me dinner before. That’s incredibly sweet, Jamie. Thank you.”
He nods shyly, his eyes drifting down to his bags. “It’s nice taking care of someone, I guess. I don’t get the opportunity to do it. Well, I will only cook for someone I care for, and someone I trust. It’s a pretty small list.”
“I don’t think it’s ever occurred to me to cook for someone,” I muse. “I suppose everyone shows their feelings in different ways, although I’m not sure what mine is.”
Jamie pulls more containers out of his bags, piling them up on top of one another. “Yours is words of affirmation.”
“What?” I ask, choking back a breathy laugh.
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You show everyone you care for them by using your words. You just told me how sweet it was that I cooked for us. You’ve encouraged me to share more about my autism diagnosis, and as soon as I told you about my sensory issues, you flat out told me I had to be honest about them with you, because you didn’t want to overstep.
That tells me you care. I bet you’re constantly telling people you’re proud of them, or how inspired they made you feel.
Some people may not recognize that, but I do.
It speaks volumes about your character.”
Mouth agape, I’m stunned. I’ve never felt so seen in my entire life.
I can remember the first time I spoke to my family like that, when I was around ten.
I’d witnessed my parents fawning over my brother and sister, and I attempted to recreate their compliments.
I thought maybe they weren’t encouraging me because I wasn’t reciprocating.
Unfortunately, I was wrong. My mother laughed at my attempt, and my father told me to be quiet.
Afterward, my sister sneered at me, and told me I’d never be her, so I should quit trying.
All I wanted was to feel like I was an equal part of my family. It was a mask I’d put on, hoping to receive the affection I craved from my parents. I continued to try, and the mask became more permanent. Seeing it through Jamie’s eyes, I understand why he viewed it that way.
“Do you know about love languages?” he asks as he begins rifling through cabinets. I point to the one with plates, and he pulls two down.
“Some, but not a lot,” I confess. “I haven’t done any tests for myself.”
“Well, there are five. Words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time, receiving gifts, and acts of service. But what most people don’t know, is you can have a love language that you want to receive, but also one you want to give.
So the love language you excel at is very clearly words of affirmation.
But that isn’t necessarily the one you want to experience. ”
“Actually, I think words of affirmation is just one that I’m good at. It isn’t what I want to give to my loved ones.”
“Oh?” Jamie asks, cocking a brow at me as he plates a variety of roasted vegetables. “What do you think yours are?”
“Acts of service,” I answer quickly.
“I can see that,” he replies. “Like taking in the guinea pigs. I bet you watch all kinds of pets for friends too.”
“I do,” I say sheepishly, feeling a blush creep onto my neck.
Biting my lip, I continue as I watch him carefully pile chicken onto our plates.
“Well, I don’t have a lot of good friends.
Basically just Chelsea. But I’ll petsit for anyone.
Honestly, I like doing things for others.
Sometimes it’s watching a pet while they’re on vacation, but it can also be dropping off a container of soup when they’re sick, or going out of my way to meet someone who’s going through a tough time.
To me, acts of service are a perfect nonverbal way to tell everyone that I care about them. ”
“Let me get Flash’s food so she can eat with us, then we can feed the guinea pigs after dinner.” he says, handing me both plates. “And what love language do you want to receive?”
I sigh, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Words of affirmation. My parents were never vocal about things with me. Nothing like they were with my brother and sister, and I think I always really wanted that. I had to ask if they loved me, and … it just sucked. Hearing someone tell me the reasons they care for me, it affirms so much for me.”
Jamie is quiet as he follows me to the table. As I place each plate onto the surface, he lets out a curse. “I fucking hate your parents. I’m sorry if that angers or offends you, but I really hate them, Aud. They’re vile people. No kid should have to ask their parents to love them.”
I sit quietly, offering a nonchalant shrug. “It’s fine. It is what it is.”
His hand covers mine, surprising us both.
It’s as if he moved without thought, but before I can pull my hand out, he squeezes it reassuringly.
“No, it’s not fine. It’s not fine for parents to so cruelly disregard one of their children.
They’re lucky I didn’t know any of this Saturday night, or I would have … ”
“What?” I ask, intrigued. “What would you have done?”
He chuckles. “Pretty sure I would have done nothing, but I’d have seethed silently, wished hellfire upon them, and then made sure I never donated to anything they’re involved with again.”
I let out a loud laugh. “You’d have done nothing? No fighting for my honor?”
Jamie smiles. “Can I blame two decades of media training on this? I’m so used to never making a scene, and always saying the right things.
I don’t know how to be confrontational. That’s probably part of the reason why I stood there, staring at you like a deer in headlights, and couldn’t even move.
I’m never in contentious situations unless it’s on a football field. ”