Chapter 38
CARMEN
Shifts at the café usually go by quickly for me, but for the past couple hours, I’ve been counting down the minutes. Soon, I might start counting down the seconds.
It’s not like anything’s going badly today. It’s just that, about a quarter of the way into my eight-hour shift, I got a sudden flash of inspiration for how to start my next chapter while cleaning the coffee carafes.
Now I’m itching to get home and make progress on a chapter that’s held me up for days.
I feel like once I finish this chapter, the end of my book will be in view. Confidence charges through me. For the first time, actually finishing this book feels like something that’s going to happen, rather than a hope.
It’s a bit of an irony that this round of writer’s block hit me during the least sexually frustrated week of my life.
Jamie and I have really leaned into experimenting.
He surprised me with some ropes the other day and tied me up, after I hinted that I wanted to try something more adventurous.
Another evening, we experimented with blindfolds.
Both were a lot of fun, and I’m glad that I’m trying new things to find out what I’m into, but now that I’ve explored my sexuality a bit, I think my tastes are just more vanilla.
As fun as some of the kinkier stuff has been, there’s nothing I get more satisfaction from than when a cozy night turns into a make-out session, and we take it to my bed, where Jamie settles between my legs, or positions himself behind me, or sprawls that powerful body out for me to climb on top of and ride.
There’s a lull in business, so I grab a sheet of loose paper to scribble down some dialogue ideas that are popping into my mind.
The bells on the front door jingle, and I look up. My heart does that tap-dancing thing it’s been doing a lot of lately. I should probably be a little concerned about it. Jamie walks into the café. There’s a coy smile on his face, like he’s about to spring something on me.
I smirk when I notice the shirt he’s wearing. “I think you’re the first person I’ve seen in one of those.”
Cindy had t-shirts made for Last Word. They’re displayed for sale behind the counter. We’ve had a couple of regular customers buy them, but this is the first time I’ve spotted someone wearing one.
“Well,” Jamie answers, “you’re not on a sports team, so I thought this would have to do.”
“Huh?”
He turns around. Across his back, scrawled in black marker on the white fabric, is my last name. Loureiro.
My heart climbs into my throat. A warm, sappy feeling spills behind my chest. This is absolutely ridiculous. It’s also sweet. And so, so Jamie.
“Tell me you weren’t walking around with that shirt on all day.”
“Of course I was.” He doesn’t hesitate an instant in answering.
“You look ridiculous.” And yet I feel my smile reaching my eyes.
He lifts his shoulders. “If your name is good enough to be written on my heart, it’s good enough to be written on my back.”
I might be screwed.