Chapter 15 #2
“No, I’m not the charitable type,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, then flashes me a wicked grin. He mirrors me, shifting onto his side and gazing at me from the other end of the couch. “Can’t you just ask your parents for a bigger allowance?”
“No,” I say abruptly, like it’s the most abhorrent suggestion possible.
“Addy’s never had to ask our parents for more.
Theo’s never had to ask for more. I don’t want to be the one who can’t make it on my own.
I’m going to pay Michael back and I’m going to graduate and I’m going to be that nurse who’s so amazing with her patients that people remember her for years and years,” I state with determination.
“That really the truth?” Jameson asks, a softer edge to his voice now that makes it even huskier. “You’re really not some con artist?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do I look like a con artist?”
“You look exactly like a con artist. Beautiful, sharp-tongued, good kisser . . .” Jameson’s gaze dips to my lips. Is he also replaying our kiss in his head right now? “You’d make any man fall for your tricks.”
“Oh, well . . . Thanks,” I say, glancing away.
Lying here on the couch like this in the dark with such strong eye contact feels too intense all of a sudden, and I immediately sit upright.
“There, I told you the truth. Can I please get my bracelet back now? It matches the bracelet my grandma got a few months before she passed. We all got matching ones—Addy and Theo and me . . . It’s not actually worth much financially, but it’s worth a lot to me. ” I smile hopefully.
It’s too easy, the way he stands from the couch and moves across the suite toward the security deposit box, and my heart pounds in my chest as I watch with bated breath.
I don’t believe for a second he’s really retrieving my bracelet until his tall frame is towering over me and slipping the dainty chain into the palm of my hand.
“Memories are important,” he says quietly as he closes my fist around the bracelet.
My lips part in surprise. Jameson turns away from me, heading toward the mini fridge now.
I can’t help but stare in fascination at the contracting muscles in his back as he bends down and reaches into the fridge for bottled water.
I gulp, then uncurl my closed fist and glance down at my bracelet in my hand.
The chain is snapped, of course, but it can be fixed.
The main thing is that I have it back in my possession, safe and sound, and my chest relaxes with the relief of it all.
“Thank you, Jameson,” I say with complete sincerity.
Something has changed in his demeanor, but I can’t put my finger on what.
He’s very quiet all of a sudden and can’t quite look at me at me anymore.
He tries to give me a smile as he approaches, but it doesn’t fully stretch over his mouth.
He hands me one of the bottles, then sits down on the edge of the coffee table in front of me, fiddling with the cap of his.
“If we’re being truthful, can I be honest with you, too?” he asks apprehensively, lifting his gaze to mine. It is the first time all night I have seen even a hint of vulnerability from him, so it catches me completely off-guard and I have no idea what he could possibly be about to tell me.
I side-eye him. “Honest with me about what?”
“Earlier,” he says, “when I told you I was here for a work conference? That was a lie.”
“Are you the con artist?” I gasp playfully, holding my bracelet protectively to my chest.
Jameson’s expression doesn’t change, not one bit, and I realize too late that he is trying to actually tell me something serious.
“Sorry,” I apologize, tilting my chin up toward him. “Why are you really here in Vegas?”
“To get my mind off things,” he murmurs, and he allows a beat of silence to follow his words as he takes a swig of water and releases a heavy breath, “because this morning, I was back home in Texas, attending my grandfather’s funeral.”
My brows lift in surprise. I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that.
He stares down at the floor now, lower lip between his teeth.
If he was anyone else, I’d reach out to touch his hand, to comfort him in some way.
Maybe even hug him. But I don’t know him, so the most I can do is offer my sympathies.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, and it sounds as awkward as it feels on my lips. “Were you close with him?”
“When I was a kid, yeah. Once I fucked off to Atlanta, not as much.” Jameson shrugs, but there are cracks forming in his voice.
He fidgets with the bottle of water in his hand, his head still bowed.
“After the service wrapped up this morning, I found an old gambling chip in my wallet from my last trip out here with him, so on a whim I flew here instead of back home. Gramps was a Vegas veteran. Typical old-school guy, loved a slot machine and a cigar, you know? We’d come out here to Vegas together every year to catch up, so I guess I just wanted to feel close to him.
When I met you in the casino, I didn’t want to admit I was just some loner drowning my sorrows. ”
I squeeze my fingers a little tighter around my bracelet in my palm.
Even now, a year later, the way my heart splintered into pieces the day I lost my grandma is a feeling I’ll never forget.
I wouldn’t wish such pain upon my worst enemy.
Despite Jameson’s steady composure, I can sense his anguish in the small tremor of his hands, the shake of his voice, the glazed-over look in his green eyes.
Maybe that’s why he handed back my bracelet so easily—because memories are important.
“Well, now I feel like the worst person in the world,” I say, pressing a hand over my face and probably smearing mascara everywhere. “I was trying to rob someone who’s grieving. Sorry, again, for like the tenth time.”
I feel Jameson’s hand on mine as he pulls it away from my face, and his gaze has lifted from the floor to focus on me now instead. “Actually, I kind of needed the distraction, so thanks,” he says with a small smile.
“You’re . . . welcome?”
“I’m still going to mess with you for the rest of the weekend,” he says, squeezing my fingers and then pushing my hand away from his.
He stands and stretches out his shoulders, and it’s like the brief moment of vulnerability is over and done with already.
Our feud resumes—just with lower stakes than before.
“Do whatever you want,” I say with indifference as I rise from the couch, but there’s a giddy feeling of anticipation in my stomach. Now that I have my bracelet back, it’d be so easy for us to go our separate ways . . . Except I want Jameson to keep popping up in my peripheral vision all weekend.
“Do whatever I want?” he challenges. There’s only a sliver of space between us and he steps even closer, heightening the tension that lingers in the air. “What if I wanted to kiss you again?”
My breath hitches in my throat and I don’t know where I even find the confidence to respond. My eyes trail down his bare chest, over the lines of muscle, then back to his mouth. “Do you want to kiss me again?”
Fuck, my heart is hammering so hard, I feel nauseous. Jameson is so close to me, I think I may get lost in his gorgeous green eyes. He cups a hand around my jaw, his fingers slipping into my hair. Leaning in closer, his softly parted lips linger only a touch away from mine.
“Only if it’s real this time,” he whispers.
I draw my mouth close to his ear, letting the warmth of my breath dance over his skin. “Who said it wasn’t real before?”
Jameson’s lips find mine, but not in the same frenzied way as before.
It’s agonizingly slow, his mouth softly capturing mine with a tender gracefulness as his hand remains on my jaw.
The tips of his fingers massage my hair, and I press a hand to his hot, bare chest as I brace myself for the kiss to deepen, for the same crazed hunger I felt in his touch earlier, but it never comes.
Almost as quickly as our lips met, Jameson pulls away again.
My eyes flicker open to meet his. It’s not what I was expecting, but the way he just kissed me with such delicacy and restraint . . . Why did that feel so, so much hotter than the wilder kiss from before? It was like it kind of meant something, but I don’t know what.
“Huh,” I say, stupidly.
Jameson laughs and brushes his thumb back and forth over my jaw. “Huh? That’s your response?”
“Maybe I should go now,” I say, turning my face away and breaking the intense eye contact before I start blushing and saying more dumb shit. I grab my purse from the couch, then reach around Jameson to pluck the final peanut butter cup from the table. No way in hell I’m leaving it behind.
“You don’t want to stay?” Jameson asks as I walk away, and when I glance back at him over my shoulder, I see that same vulnerability in his eyes once again. “I don’t want to be alone, Evie.”
Ah, fuck.
I could never bear to be alone, either.