Chapter Thirty-One
125 days until graduation
Hungover and walking into the Callaghan’s house in its completely normal state is a mind fuck. Last night, all the couches were replaced with beer pong tables, and the dining room’s China cabinet was missing in place of a DJ.
If it weren’t for the pounding headache I”m dealing with today, I would think nothing out of the ordinary happened.
I think back to last night, a sudden memory of sitting with Jameson near the firepit—kissing Jameson near the firepit.
Yeah, last night was most definitely out of the ordinary.
All I came here to do was drop Gwen off. She and Mae have been planning a backyard tea party with their friends in celebration of the semester ending.
What a difference their celebration is to ours.
“Gen!” Logan smiles as he walks out of the living room. “How are you feeling?”
I hate him and his smug grin so much right now. “Like I got hit by a bus.”
Fun fact—but also really annoying fact—Logan Callaghan has never once been hungover, and I envy him for it every time I drink with him.
“Are you staying for the tea party?” He asks.
“No.” I glare. “I’m going home and I’m sleeping.” Logistically, it’s not his fault he isn’t hung over, but his chipper attitude is making me angrier.
“Well, you”re missing out. Mae has forced me into wearing a tutu and crown,” he says.
“Shit,” I groan, already turning back toward the front door at the mention of tea party attire. “Gwen left her tutu in my car.”
I walk out the front door and back to my car, grabbing Gwen’s sleepover bag and lugging it into the house. I’m just glad I realized this before I got home.
“Can I take this upstairs to her?” I ask Logan. I’m not sure why; I already know his response.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
I make my way up to the second level of the house, not really paying attention as I walk down the hall since I am already well acquainted with the layout.
“Gwen!” I call, close to Mae’s bedroom door.
Then, the bathroom door swings open, and I pummel into a hard, wet chest.
“Jesus.” I hear an English accent stammer as he grabs my shoulders, keeping me from falling over.
“Oh, my God.” I step back, feeling the urge to slap a hand over my forehead.
That’s when I notice Jameson is practically naked, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. The fact only makes the situation all the more mortifying.
“Are you alright?” Jameson asks, assessing me.
His arms are still outstretched, holding onto me. This must be one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen to me.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, “I didn’t know you were in there. I was just coming up to give Gwen her bag and then the door opened, and I didn’t see, and then you stepped out and…” I trail off, realizing I must really be taken aback because I have never rambled in my entire life, and yet that’s what I’m doing.
“Genevieve,” Jameson cuts me off from continuing. “You’re fine, it’s no big deal.”
I glance down at his body without meaning to. I’ve seen Jameson shirtless before, but those times were different. Those instances weren’t the morning after I kissed him.
“You’re thinking about kissing me.” I blink roughly, focusing my attention back toward Jameson’s face.
“What?” I shake my head as I attempt to register what he just said.
“I can tell you were thinking about last night.” He smirks. “When you kissed me.”
“What, so you’re a mind reader now?” I ask, my arms crossing over my chest as I take another step back.
“I can read more than your mind.” He takes a small step forward.
My back hits the wall of his bedroom door when I stumble back.
“When you’re nervous, you press your tongue against your cheek. When you’re upset, you clench your fists,” he says, making my pulse quicken. “But that look you had on your face? It’s the same one you had last night right before you kissed me.”
I push myself off the door. “Yeah right,” I scoff, trying to sidestep Jameson’s frame.
He blocks me in though, putting a hand on either side of the doorframe, caging his arms around my body.
He’s not even touching me. None of his weight is resting on me, and yet, all my mind can focus on is the heaviness of his limbs surrounding me.
“Jameson,” I rasp. “What are you doing?”
“Tell me you regret last night.” When I go to ask what he means, he says, “If you truly regret kissing me last night, if you really believe that it was a drunken mistake, tell me now.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
His smell encases me, a light scent of tobacco. I’ve never noticed it before, and I wonder if it’s because he just got out of the shower.
He rests a hand on my jaw, like he’s going to kiss me again, but he doesn’t move any closer to me. “Because I’m telling you now, I meant everything I said last night.” He leans closer. “Every last word was true.” He whispers in my ear, his wet hair brushing against my neck.
I am stunned into complete silence, feeling faint as I grip one of his shoulders.
The only thing I manage to say as his hand leaves my jaw is, “I don’t regret it.”
That was all I needed to say for him to take both sides of my face in his hands and press me harder into the door behind me.
The kiss is just as intoxicating as the one last night. It feels like every possible emotion is flooding through my veins, and I can’t tell what any of it means.
Then my hands run through his wet hair, and I’m driven right back into reality.
Me. Jameson. Kissing.
“How the hell did we get here?” I ask when we break apart.
“We both know this is exactly how it was supposed to end,” he gasps, his breath ragged.
“You didn’t think that until last night,” I say, pushing my hand against his chest.
I’m well aware of how compromising our position looks. Jameson is only in a towel, and we’re kissing in the middle of the hallway of the Callaghan’s house.
“Maybe I only realized it last night.” He pushes my hair behind my shoulders. “But it’s been in the cards for a lot longer than one night.”
“What gave it away?” I joke. “Was it when I pushed you in the pool and you dragged me in with you? Or maybe when I stabbed you in the chest with your boutonniere?”
“I hate to admit it, but getting tossed in that pool made your tank top just a tad see through,” he answers, a small gleam in his eye.
“Jameson!” I gasp, shocked at his bluntness.
“What?” He laughs. “Would you rather me lie?”
“I can’t believe the first thing that attracted you to me was my bra.” I laugh with him, rolling my eyes.
“Hey,” he chastises. “I’ve been attracted to you ever since I found out you got a 1580 on the SAT.”
“That was the first time we met,” I tell him, as if he didn’t already know. “And I was also in a bikini, then.”
“It doesn’t matter that you were in a bikini,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “All I saw was what’s up here.” He taps my skull with his pointer finger.
I wrap my arms over his shoulders, resting my head on his shoulder. “You’re the only person I’ve ever felt this way toward.”
I’ve been thinking all morning about how my affection for Jameson has been irrational and fleeting. I didn’t know if it’s rational for me to be feeling this way because of a single kiss.
In reality, these emotions have been building since the beginning of the year. It’s gotten to where it’s become impossible to ignore the pull between us.
He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “I can tell.” He laughs into my hair.
It only takes moments for my brain to begin reeling as the silence plagues me. I’ve had conflicting thoughts about Jameson since the moment I met him, and the feeling of falling for him is one I never welcomed until recently.
And it scares me.
I’m terrified of any misstep I might take, of inadvertently pushing him away, or the possibility of him doing the same. That’s how it ended the last time I felt even a sliver of this feeling. This time it’s worse, because it’s Jameson, and that only leaves room for us to get hurt.
I hear another door in the hallway open, making the two of us quickly break apart.
“Evie?” Gwen asks as she opens the door to Mae’s bedroom. “Oh, hi Jameson.”
He holds a hand up in a small wave. “I’m going to go get dressed.” He says awkwardly, motioning toward the door I’m resting against.
I nod, shuffling out of the way so he can enter his bedroom.Once the door is shut, I notice Gwen and Mae have both stepped further into the hallway.
“I, uh, brought you your bag,” I tell Gwen, pushing the bag toward her.
“I see that.” Gwen smiles, her tone teasing. “So, you and Jameson?”
“I have to go home,” I say quickly, avoiding her question. “I’ll see you guys later.”
They both say bye as I dart toward the stairs, and once I’m about halfway down, I hear two girly cheers from the second floor.
“What’s that about?” Logan asks once I reach the foyer.
I shrug. “They’re thirteen-year-old girls.”
“What a joy,” he sighs.
“Hey, that could be your future.” I tell him.
Logan laughs, looking up at the ceiling. “If I’m lucky.”