Chapter 51 #2
“Baby,” he pushes. “Someone fucked with you, so I’m gonna fuck with them. Now tell me.”
“He … he tried to put his hand up my skirt.”
“I’m gonna kill him.”
“No. No, Jamie, you can’t kill him.”
“He touched you. Put his hand up—”
“I know,” I snap. “Fuck, I know, but you can’t—”
“Then I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.”
This isn’t the first time Jameson has stopped by the diner because of an incident like this, but it’s never been this bad. Nobody has ever gone this far. Said things yes, but never touched me.
“That’s the least he deserves,” Jameson adds.
I don’t respond.
Seconds pass before he asks, “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I breathe. “But I should get back inside. I just kinda ran out on my shift.”
“You can wait till I get there.”
“No, I’m … I’m okay.”
“Shit like this shouldn’t happen,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I answer. “But it does.”
I hear the door crash open, and then Jameson’s deep voice.
“Where is she?”
Setting down the plate in my hand, I round the corner, and the instant he sees me, he’s moving toward me.
“Which one?”
I point. “The guy in the back booth, sitting—”
Before I can even finish, he’s striding over to the man, stopping in front of his table.
I stay where I am, watching as Jameson grabs the guy by the back of neck and slams his head against the table. Then he motions me over, not letting up on his hold, and demands that the man apologize.
I can’t help but feel satisfied when his eyes meet mine and I see they’re blown wide with shock.
Yeah, fucker, how do you like that?
Jameson slams the man’s head against the table again when he hesitates to apologize.
Finally, after some coaxing, the guy finally spits out, “I’m sorry, okay?”
“What are you sorry for?” Jameson sneers, his tone making it clear that he’s not gonna let this guy off easy.
But the man’s too stupid to hear it.
Too self-assured.
“What?” the guy asks.
“What. Are. You. Sorry. For,” Jameson repeats slowly, his words full of condescension.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jameson leans in. “Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, man.”
I see Patsy rush into the room just as Jameson starts to pick up the guy’s head again. She briefly moves her gaze to me before she hollers at Jameson to stop.
He lets go of the guy’s head, and the man scrambles back into the booth as Jameson reasons with Patsy, telling her what he did to me.
She looks over the man, who’s running his hand across his head, checking for damage.
“You’ve clearly handled it,” she tells Jameson. “People are trying to eat here.”
I glance around the room and notice everyone with their heads down, purposely minding their own business. Nobody here likes to put their nose where it doesn’t belong, and this is clearly a personal issue.
“Yeah, all right,” Jameson tells her. “I’ll leave when he does.”
“I’m not leaving,” the man says. “My food hasn’t come yet.”
I pull my head back. This guy is an even bigger idiot than I thought. Why wouldn’t you just leave when you have the chance?
As expected, that answer doesn’t go over well with Jameson, and they get into it again, their words quickly escalating into a fist fight.
The man doesn’t get a hit in, but Jameson does. He cracks him right across the face before he grabs the man by his hair and says something into his ear too low for me to hear.
The next thing I know, the man is being shoved in front of me, his eyes glued to the floor, the fight completely beaten out of him.
“I’m—”
“Look her in the eye when you’re talking to her,” Jameson interrupts him.
He corrects himself immediately, meeting my gaze. “I’m sorry for how I talked to you.”
Jameson closes the space between them.
“And that I … that I touched you like that.”
I nod, and the man darts his eyes to Jameson before moving toward the door.
Before he can get far, Jameson calls out, “Where are you going?”
The man turns. “W-what? You told me to leave.”
“You didn’t leave a tip.”
I stare back at Jameson, raising an eyebrow, and he smirks.
“A tip?” the man asks. “I didn’t even get my food.”
“And whose fault is that?” Jameson bites back, motioning to me. “It sure as shit isn’t hers.”
The man deflates, his shoulders sagging, but he walks back to the table and sets down a five-dollar bill.
“Since you enjoyed the service so much,” Jameson mutters, “I think she deserves a little more than that, don’t you?”
I stand by and watch as he squeezes another thirty-five dollars out of the man before he barks, “Good. Now get out of my fucking sight.”
The man scrambles away, heading for the door.
The second he’s gone, Jameson moves for me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
He stares down at me for a moment before he looks over his shoulder at Patsy and says, “She’s taking her break.”
Patsy doesn’t argue, even though I technically just took one. My shift is about to end, anyway.
Jameson grabs my hand, leading me to the door.
We pass by the table of rich kids, and I notice the blonde girl watching me again, the look on her face catching me off guard.
She looks angry. Pissed, even.
I briefly wonder if it’s me who she’s angry for, but I shake the thought away, focusing on keeping up with Jameson’s quick pace.
He pulls me around the corner, finally slowing when we’re tucked away in the alley next to the diner.
I take him in as he shifts restlessly in front of me, his body teeming with energy. My eyes drop to our interlocked hands, noticing his cracked knuckles.
“I feel like all you’re ever doing is saving me,” I whisper.
He blinks, his gaze softening, his breathing beginning to slow.
“It feels like, lately, it’s been …”
“What?” he asks, his voice a low rasp.
I shrug. “A lot.” I drop my eyes. “Too much.”
He tips my chin up. “It’s not.”
“You say that, but …”
“Even if it’s a lot,” he tells me, “it’s never too much.”
I shake my head.
“I’d give you everything, remember?”
“I just feel bad that I …”
He takes my hand, sliding it up the side of his body, over where the tattoo he got for us lies.
Always Love You More
It’s a silent reassurance. A promise forever marked in ink.
“None of this shit matters,” he breathes. “The drama. Your family. Fuck, even the stuff I deal with. ’Cause we love each other more.”
I stare up at him.
“You said that. It took a long time, but”—he leans in—“you finally made me believe it.”
I feel a tear fall down my face, and he lightly brushes it away.
“We’re more than this shit. More than the fucked-up lives we were born into. You and me”—he motions between us—“we’re more.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, fighting back the emotion lodged in my throat. “We’re more,” I whisper, telling myself that the words are true.
Making myself believe them.
He closes the distance between us, bringing his lips to mine. The kiss is soft, slow, a reminder of what I already know.
That nothing can be too much when we love each other more.