Chapter 25 Jamison
Jamison
Of course, I’m swamped at work today. I don’t know what it is about Fridays but they’re almost always nuts.
The guys and I are cycling cars out of here one after another, barely taking even a ten-minute smoke break.
To add to it, not only are we crazy busy, but we’re also under a time constraint.
Zeke must have forgotten when he strong-armed us all into going to Maddie’s party, that most of us would have to put in a full day's work first. Not sure some of the guys will be in the mood for a party when we’re done here.
I, on the other hand, can’t fucking wait for Neon Nights.
Add that to the list of things I never thought I’d say.
But after last night, I’d go anywhere if it meant Claire would be there too.
Speaking of things I never thought I’d say — “I’m not going to do this.
” What the hell was that? I’m so glad I decided to have a conscience then, at that exact moment.
After seeing her on that bed looking like a goddamn goddess, it took everything in me to get up and walk away from her.
Figuratively and literally considering what I was sporting between my legs.
It’s an actual miracle I was able to move at all, but I had to.
When I told her I wanted all of her, which even took me by surprise, I wasn’t lying.
It’s the reason I texted her last night in the first place, to spend more time with her.
So, I knew it was the right thing to do to leave before it got to that point but man, sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.
This girl drives me crazy. Mentally, physically, fucking emotionally, she makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.
She makes me say things and do things I’ve never said or done before, but that’s exactly why I wasn’t willing to let her think I texted her just to get her into bed.
Girls like Claire, want more than that. Hell, I want more than that, and if proving that means going home and taking care of things myself, then that’s just what I’m going to do.
That’s just what I did.
Now, I’m running around like a maniac and haven’t had even a second to text her. It’s not a good look, even I know that. No matter the reason, I left her shirtless on her bed last night and have yet to talk to her at all today. Definitely not ideal.
“Yo, buddy, you ready for tonight?” Sean calls from under the hood of the car next to the one I’m working on.
“Oh, I’m ready.” It’s a loaded answer but only to me.
“You bringing a present?”
Shit, I didn’t even think of that. Do people still get grown adults gifts? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten more than a few in all of my birthdays, so maybe I’m not the best judge.
“Should I? I haven't yet, but I guess I could stop somewhere on my way home.”
“Ah, man, I’ve had my present ready to go for weeks now.” He sounds way too eager about a gift he got for his boss’s daughter. I roll my eyes but play along.
“What’d you get, Sean?”
He pops out from the hood with the biggest smile on his face. Talking with his hands he emphasizes every word.
“Pearl. Stud. Earrings.”
I’m momentarily confused. Not because I don’t know what pearl studs are but because I don’t understand the significance of getting them for Maddie. Seeing my uncertainty, he explains.
“You know! Cause they’re her birthstone.”
Wow, that’s actually crazy fucking nice.
Sean jokes around all the time about being into Maddie, but I always thought he was just doing it to get under Zeke’s skin.
Does he actually like her? He's younger than me so I guess it would only be weird because she's a Monroe. But, he has to — I didn’t even get a gift and he bought possibly the most thoughtful one, not to mention, those things can’t be cheap.
“That’s cool, man. She’ll love ‘em.”
“Damn straight! And wrapped in a purple bow. Her favorite color.” He goes back to what he’s working on, and I can’t help but laugh. This guy is one of a kind.
I make it back to my apartment with just enough time to shower and change.
Thank God my outfit is already set. I stopped at the liquor store on the way home and picked up a bottle of very average tequila.
Twenty-one-year-old girls are into that, right?
At this point the answer is irrelevant. It’s all I got, and I have to be at Claire’s in twenty minutes if I want to be at Neon Nights when the party starts.
I rip the tags off of the jeans and t-shirt and throw them on. Despite how much I hate shopping, Ro was right. These look way better than my usual outfit. I remind myself to never, ever admit that to him and slide on the Vans that are also growing on me.
I take a look at myself in the mirror. The reflection I see looks different, but it feels different too. Call me crazy, but this girl gives me something to be excited about. Something to be hopeful for. Something I don’t know that I’ve ever had before.
I grab my keys and the bottle of tequila and head out the door.
I light a cigarette and the first rush of nicotine calms nerves I didn’t even realize that I had.
I mean it makes sense. I’m about to go out on my first official date with a girl who is way out of my league, whose father owns the car of my dreams, at a nightclub where if not now physically, at least mentally, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.
Instantly, I’m hit with a flashback.
I am barely nine years old and standing in the middle of the type of living room I’ve only ever seen in movies.
They have ceilings that must be twelve feet high, a giant couch that runs the length of the house, and the biggest TV I have ever seen.
Mel is in the kitchen next door talking to a couple with fancy names and fancy jewelry, and sitting on the giant couch are three kids — all well dressed, well groomed, and staring at me.
The oldest is a boy about my age, only we’re complete opposites physically. Where my hair is ash blonde and overgrown, his is dark brown and clipped neatly by his ears. His clothes are clean and wrinkle-free. Mine are faded and there’s a hole in the seam under one of my arms.
The other two are girls. One looks like she’s maybe six or seven and the younger one is probably around three.
She sits close to her big sister, hiding some sort of stuffed animal behind her back.
Both girls are wearing matching dresses and have headbands that pull their hair neatly away from their faces.
“Why’s he here?” the youngest girl whispers to the others.
“Looks like you need a bath,” the boy says.
“Guys, Mom said to be nice.” The oldest girl half-smiles at me but drops her face as soon as she sees my ripped-up sneakers.
Suddenly, I wish that my backpack, the only thing with me, was filled with helium, so I could float those twelve feet to the ceiling and away from these strangers.
The grown-ups come in, interrupting their comments and Mel puts her arm around me. “Jay, Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle are very excited to have you. You be a good boy, and I’ll check in soon, okay?”
I hang my head. I met Mel yesterday when she told me she was from “The State,” whatever that means, and that she was finding me a new place to live.
This morning, she picked me up and took me for pancakes and french fries, and then brought me here.
After everything you would think I’d be happy to move somewhere new — a fresh start. But not somewhere like this.
This isn’t the type of place that I pictured when she told me she found me a “home.” This isn’t a home, it’s a museum.
I don’t belong here. I don’t fit into this perfect, little family in this perfect, giant house.
What am I even supposed to say to these people?
I can’t even walk through their house without my ratty shoes dragging dirt onto their pure white carpet.
I’m used to feeling alone, but not when I’m surrounded by other people.
The youngest girl pulls the stuffed animal she is holding out from behind her back, as Mel turns back to the Carlisles.
The toy, that I can now see is some sort of lamb, is worn, parts of its fluffy white fur now matted over time, the color of butter.
It’s missing one eye, leaving a hole that has been roughly sewn shut and while one ear sticks straight out, the other now hangs down.
Holding the lamb against her body, the shabby stuffed animal stands out against the clear perfection of everything else — the faded yellow spots more obvious against the white of the little girl’s dress.
The mismatched ears, the only thing here not carefully set.
And yet, even so, I am the most misplaced thing in the room.
At least the toy is well-loved. It’s wool raggedy from being hugged and held close and taken on real adventures.
I, on the other hand, look tattered just because I am.
Because, unlike the lamb, I have been left, rundown, and neglected.
Because, unlike the lamb, I truly don’t belong — the black sheep in this place I’m now supposed to call home.
I pull up to Claire’s apartment and take one more deep breath before heading into her building.
When I get to her door, I pause. There’s music playing from the apartment, and I can hear her on the other side singing along to Pink’s Raise Your Glass.
I chuckle as I hear the lyrics. This girl is full of surprises.
I’m tempted to sit here and listen to her belt out the rest of the song, but it’s 8:45 pm and if we’re late I might lose my job and my goddamn head to Zeke Monroe.
I knock loudly, all things considered, and hear her voice grow louder as she approaches the door.
It isn’t lost on me that she doesn’t stop singing, and I love that she’s that comfortable with me and herself.
She times it perfectly, opening the door as she sings the last words of the hook about being so serious, with a dramatic frown on her face.
I close my eyes and smile at the irony of the words. She couldn’t have planned this any better.
My eyes open and holy shit — she is fucking breathtaking. Her hair is pulled back on top of her head in a way that reminds me of the first day I saw her. She’s wearing more makeup than usual, but she still looks like herself — dark lashes, pink cheeks — incredible.
As she stops the music on her phone, I scan the rest of her.
My God. Her dress is black and lands halfway up her thighs.
The neckline rises and falls across the front in a heart shape where her chest is and two tiny straps hold it up around her shoulders.
Her shoes are simple black heels that wrap around her ankle, and it’s only now that I realize she’s standing at almost my height for once.
“You look…”
She does a slow twirl and it’s only then that I see that her entire back is exposed, the cut of the dress dipping in a U shape to her hips. It’s tasteful but so fucking sexy, and I suddenly wouldn’t care if we we’re late. Shit, I wouldn’t care if we didn’t go at all.
I blow out a heavy breath instead of finishing my thought.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She smiles and runs back inside grabbing a gold-wrapped bottle of champagne off the island.
She hands it to me as she uses both hands to pull the door shut and lock it behind her.
Grabbing the bottle again, she links her arm through mine as naturally as if we’ve done it a hundred times before.
And despite her ease, my stomach flips at just her skin on mine.