Chapter 28 Claire
Claire
As much as it killed me to end our night short again, Sean is in a rough spot.
When we got in Jay's truck he told us about how he’s been in love with Maddie for a year now.
Ever since she stopped by the garage to drop Zeke’s phone off once when he forgot it and told him he looked like a ginger Zach Galifianakis.
I’m personally not sure if she meant that as a compliment, but if that’s how Sean took it, who am I to burst his bubble?
Either way, I would hate to be him tomorrow morning. He’s currently sitting in the back with his head against the window singing. He just keeps repeating the part in the Richard Marx song about how he’ll wait for his lover even after his heart breaks, horrendously offkey.
I’m riding shotgun, with my window down, trying not to either laugh or sing along, and Jay is driving with both hands white-knuckling the wheel.
It’s kind of adorable watching him be so mad at Sean, while also taking care of him.
I know he’s upset that our night took a turn but seeing him still be there for his friend, honestly just makes me want him more.
I put my hand on his leg, and his eyes dart from the road to my hand, then back to the road.
“I hate this,” he says, grinding his teeth.
“You’re a good friend.”
“I don’t want to be a good friend. I want to be with you.”
I squeeze his thigh, and he lets out a growl. Not like a sexy groan, an actual growl. This guy is so grumpy about this and I'm loving every second of it. We pull up to my apartment just as Sean is finishing his performance.
Jay gets out of the truck and comes around to my door. Opening it, he lets me out and then sticks his head in, talking to Sean. “Do not puke. I’ll be right back.” He slams the door shut.
I look at him and my mind funnels through all of the things I’d rather him do than get in his truck and leave.
I saw such a different side of him tonight.
The bones were still there — his straightforward answers, hidden smiles, and strong, stoic nature.
But new layers also came to light. We flirted together, kissed in public, and danced along with everyone.
Okay, I danced along with everyone, but he stood there, my one-man audience, like I was the best show in town.
I had such a good time with him, and at least in my mind, it wasn’t going to end on my doorstep.
“I can walk you in, but I’m kind of afraid he’s going to make a run for it.” Jay looks back at Sean who is blowing breaths on the window and writing Maddie’s name in the fog. He drops his head, turning back to me. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“Don’t be sorry. It happens.”
“Yeah, but things keep happening.” He steps forward and takes both of my hands in his. “And not the things I want to be happening.”
I can feel my face grow warm. I step forward and kiss him as my response. He parts his lips, and I sweep my tongue inside to meet his. He kisses me again and then pulls back.
“Okay, if I don’t stop now,” he looks over his shoulder to Sean. “He’ll end up sleeping in my truck.”
“Well, you could always leave snacks. Maybe crack a window?”
He laughs and then grows serious. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” It’s not a question.
“Okay.”
“Dinner. Like an actual date.”
“Ooh we go could go to—”
“Not at Enzo’s.”
I close my mouth mid-sentence, turning in my lips.
“I’ll text you a plan. Seven?”
“I’ll be here.”
“You better be.”
He leans in, but last minute, kisses only my cheek leaving my lips completely abandoned.
“I had a great night, Claire. Until well…” He looks back at Sean who is asleep, drool dripping down the window.
“Me too.” I bite my lower lip but my stomach swirls with the anticipation of us going out again.
He starts for his truck but stops at the driver’s side door, scanning me one more time from head to toe.
“Perfect.”
I tilt my head curiously.
“Earlier — I never finished my thought. You look fucking perfect.”
He misses the fire he starts inside of me because he starts the engine and drives away.
An arsonist escaping the scene of the crime.
“Sorry, I’m late.” Chloe slumps in the seat across from me and throws her bag on the table, just barely missing the mocha cold brew that’s waiting for her.
“Long night?” I wink at her taking a mouthful of my drink and noticing the slight smear of mascara she has under both eyes.
“Yeah…alone.” She takes three long sips of her coffee. “I seriously have to either stop going on shitty dates or stop getting drunk by myself afterward.”
“Uh oh, Motorcycle Guy was no good?”
She looks at me disgusted. “Motorcycle Guy was more like Moped Guy. And I’m not talking like cruising around Europe moped. I’m talking like a bicycle with a freaking motor on the back.”
I nearly spit out my drink as she continues.
“He showed up wearing white jeans that looked painted on and drew way too much attention to his very below-average bulge. Then, he casually dropped that he lives with his sister in a one-bedroom apartment and he still tried to kiss me at the end of the night.”
“Yikes,” I say.
“Open-mouthed, Claire. He tried to kiss me with an open mouth.” She shudders at the thought.
I am dying, but I pull it together and ask seriously, “So, no second date then?”
“Very funny. I dodged the kiss and walked right back into the bar.” She scrolls through her phone and then turns it to me. “I got this about an hour later.”
KYLE: Was it the pants…?
This is too good.
Chloe pulls her phone back and throws it in her bag. “Please tell me your night went better than mine.”
I'm not convinced that Chloe wants anything serious, but these guys she meets online are always of a rare breed. It almost feels like rubbing it in to say that my super hot date looked absolutely smoking in jeans that looked made for him and his very impressive bulge.
So, instead, I just say, “It was fun!”
“Ugh, I hate you for having a regular, boring boyfriend.”
Probably way too quickly I clarify. “He’s not my boyfriend.” And he’s definitely not boring from what I’ve seen so far.
“Oh please.” She drinks more of her coffee which at this point is almost gone. “You’ve seen each other like every day since you’ve met and he’s totally into you.”
I smile at the thought. Technically only about half of the times we’ve seen each other were both intentional and mutual, but I mean, I’m not a prude, I know Jay is interested. I guess hearing it from my best friend just hits differently.
“Plus you’re like putty in his hands so…”
I roll my eyes and kick her leg under the table.
She’s not entirely wrong there either. In this last week and a half, Jay and I have grown closer than I would have ever imagined when I saw him that first day.
Who would have thought the sexy guy with muscles and tattoos would end up also being sweet and a really good listener?
Now I know what people mean when they talk about falling fast. I think when it comes to Jay, he’s a cliff and I sort of nosedived right off.
“So what’s going on with the car?”
The question of the year. I was on the phone with Mom on my way here. She was complaining about the car taking up so much space in the garage that she was going to take a sparkler out of the Fourth of July box she was looking for and shove it somewhere I’m pretty sure a car doesn’t have.
“Beats me. Last I heard he had turned down another offer because as the man pulled up, a black cat walked in front of his van. Dad called it bad luck and told the poor guy to leave. If you ask me, I think he has cold feet on selling it altogether.”
“Oh, Tommy boy.” Chloe has this thing with names and refuses to call my dad Tom like a normal person. It borderline makes me uncomfortable.
“Can you please not call him that?”
“Listen, Big Tom just needs to sell the thing to the highest bidder. Sentiment won’t matter once the money hits the account.”
“Damn Chlo, that’s kinda cold.”
She rubs her forehead. “I know, I’m sorry. I tend to get a little ganglordy when I’m hungover.”
Chloe might be the most dramatic person I’ve ever met, but that’s exactly why I love her.
“Why don’t you go sleep it off, Gambino.”
She flips me a middle finger and a smile and grabs her bag off the table.
“Keep me posted on the boy and the car, okay?”
“Deal.” I blow her a kiss as she walks out the door.
I’m finishing the last few sips of my butterscotch latte when my phone buzzes with a text from a number I don't know. I swipe the message open.
UNKNOWN: Hey Claire, it’s Maddie! I made Dad give me your number. Here are some pics the photographer at my party got of you and Jay. So cute. Thanks for coming! Xoxo
Attached to the message are two pictures of Jay and I.
The first is of the two of us by the gift table. The viewpoint is of our sides as we’re standing, talking to each other. This was right before the kiss when I called him Jamison for the first time. I still can’t believe I didn’t even consider that Jay may not be his full name.
I’m grinning in Busy's as I look at the picture. Man, we look great together. Our matching black with his shirt and my dress, and the contrast of his inked skin versus my blank canvas. We’re both wearing casual smiles, but even in the subtly we look genuinely happy.
The second picture is entirely different.
It looks like this one was taken from the entrance to the VIP section.
The two of us are just barely out the doors on the edge of the main dance area.
My eyes go to Jay’s powerful figure, and all I see is his tall, broad, back.
Both hands are predictably in his pockets and I can’t say I’m complaining about the view.
Then, I see myself.
I’m in front of Jay, just slightly off to the side so that you can see me in the frame.
My hands are in the air, my eyes closed, mouth open, and I know from the memory that I’m belting the words to the song in the background.
This girl looks…serene. She doesn’t look weighed down by life changes or job decisions.
And she doesn’t look like she’s overthinking the entire situation.
She looks light and relaxed. She looks carefree.
Before our first kiss, Jay told me I wouldn’t want someone like him. For some reason, he sees himself as damaged. Like whatever has happened to him in the past has left him broken. But that’s not what I see.
I see a guy allowing the girl in this picture to finally feel like herself. A version of her that's been hidden by stress and worry — by anxiety and overthinking. A version that doesn't look burdened at all by his baggage.
No, I see a guy who despite his “brokenness,” makes the girl in this photo feel more whole than she ever has before.