Chapter 37 Jamison
Jamison
Claire pulls up right as I stomp out my cigarette, but not before almost passing me first. I wanted to grab her on the way to Sean’s house, but she remembered how close I live to him and insisted that it made no sense for me to drive to her apartment first. I tried to convince her that the extra ten minutes really didn’t matter much to me, especially if it meant she didn’t have any excuse to finally see my place, but that girl is scary persistent.
“Hey, no fair! That’s cheating!” she calls out the window, her body reaching across the middle console toward the passenger side.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say despite knowing exactly what she’s talking about.
“I told you I’d pick you up at your place, not in front of Enzo’s! I was heading around back and almost passed you completely.”
Okay, so she’s persistent, but I am nothing if not resourceful.
Technically I agreed to her picking me up at my apartment.
Technically my apartment is inside Enzo’s, which I am currently standing in front of.
She grunts and roughly one percent of me feels slightly guilty for manipulating her like this, but the other ninety-nine percent is completely satisfied seeing the fucking adorable pout now plastered across her face.
I walk to the window, my elbows resting half inside. "Technically this is my place.” Her pout grows more prominent as she hunches back into her seat.
“You know what I mean.” She juts out her bottom lip and the way I instantly want to suck the thing off makes my stomach tighten.
“You’re adorable,” I say without realizing and it’s only by luck that she thinks I’m still teasing her. “And I’m sorry. Next time, okay?”
“Promise?”
“Pinky.” I stick my arm through the window and hold my pinky out to her. She looks at me sideways and then back at the steering wheel like she’s deciding whether or not to forgive me for my grievance.
“Fine.” Her pinky finds mine. “But next time you let me be a gentleman!” Our fingers embrace and I remember the last time I did something so juvenile, so innocent.
“You’ll find me?” I stand in the doorway, Ronan on the porch, his duffle bag carelessly thrown over his shoulder. His case manager Marcus is waiting at the car on the street, holding the passenger door open.
Ronan moves in a step closer, his voice hushed like what we are saying is only for us. “I said I would, didn’t I?” He did, but honestly that never really means much to me, coming from him or anyone else.
The last two weeks, having Ronan as an ally has been so different for me. But despite that, like everyone always does, he is leaving, and as much as I want it to be different, I know better than to get my hopes up.
“I will, Jay.” He pushes his bag up higher on his shoulder and holds up his pinky. “I swear.”
I laugh at the babyish gesture, but the look he gives me is dead serious.
I hook my pinky around his and he spits over his shoulder. I have no idea what the loogie is for, but I follow him blindly, doing the same.
Six days later, the house phone rings while I should be in sixth-period history. There is only one person who would call when they know everyone else is supposed to be out of the house.
I run to the phone from my bedroom, skipping steps two at a time from the second floor.
“Hello?” I pant hesitantly, my voice low and breathy, my body suddenly flooded with the anticipation I promised I wouldn’t have.
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
I can hear music from the backyard as we walk around to the back of Sean’s house.
Biggie is telling his hunnies that he loves being called Big Poppa as we push open the gate.
Sean’s playlist ranges from classic rap and hip hop to hillbilly country music, each song always aggressive in its own way and never appropriate for the time that it’s played.
“Biggie, Sean, really? It’s the Fourth of July and like two in the afternoon.” I put down the assortment of cheeses, crackers, nuts, and fruits that Claire called something French and the six-pack that was my contribution.
“What? Haven’t you guys ever seen Hardball? What’s more American than baseball?” he calls back. We all scoff.
“Your soundtrack is always spot on, buddy!” Mikey yells. He comes over and claps me on the back, then hugs Claire. “Welcome to Hell,” he whispers to her before they end their embrace.
“Is it really that bad?” She asks back.
Ronan, who followed Mikey over, replies, “Oh, it’s bad.” He turns to me. “Remember when you said he tried playing Margaritaville at Rick’s party last year?”
“Well that doesn’t sound so bad,” Claire says.
“It was to celebrate his fifth year,” Mikey adds.
“Sober,” I finish. Claire closes her eyes and smirks like she’s embarrassed for him.
“Or how about when he woke us all up the morning after your twenty-first by blaring Beat It on full volume,” Mikey says.
“Oh my God.” I shiver at the memory. “We’re hungover as fuck and all I hear is Michael Jackson.”
Claire chuckles. “Better than Curtis Jackson,” she says and after half a beat, all of the guys burst out laughing…
except for Sean. His eyes shift between us like a pinball, which only makes us laugh even harder.
Claire, who is making that puppy dog face at him like she did after Neon Nights, explains the joke.
“That’s 50 Cent’s real name.”
Sean cocks his head to the side, his eyebrow creased. “Huh,” he says. “No shit.” And the laughing starts all over again.
It’s nice to see Claire interact with the people I’m closest to so easily. Ronan and Mikey, and I guess more recently Sean, are the closest things I have to brothers anymore, so bringing her around when we do things is like my fucked up way of introducing her to family.
I grab the two of us beers from the shared cooler and we spend the next fifteen minutes bouncing around to some of the guys from the shop, and a few of Sean’s neighbors who decided to stop by.
When we’ve made our rounds and we (Claire) have sufficiently made small talk with each individual, we replenish our drinks and find shade under one of two giant trees in Sean’s backyard.
“Thank you,” I say. “For coming.” I hold out my beer bottle and she clinks hers to mine.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
“Ehh, technically Sean invited you.” I shrug one shoulder, and wink at her while sipping my beer. Her hair is back in a tight ponytail today and the undisrupted view of her face shows off her features in a whole new light.
“Is that so? Well, it’s good to know someone wanted me here.”
She teases a smile, but despite the lightness of the situation, my body stills. I have the same feeling I had when I first told her I liked her. Like the words have been slowly chipping away at a wall I once built and they’ve finally busted through to the other side.
“I wanted you here,” I say evenly. She slowly lowers the beer she was sipping and looks at me intensely. I step to her, suddenly sweating through my shirt, yet still unable to control my words.
“I want you everywhere I am, Claire. And I want to be wherever you are.”
“Me too.” She breathes heavily. “All the time.”
I pull her to me, dropping a kiss behind her ear. Her head lolls back and she pulls me closer.
“Jay,” she whispers.
I feel myself growing harder between us and I know there are a dozen other people here, but it’s like we’re in our own bubble, floating and weightless.
I run the tip of my nose to the base of her shoulder and she trembles beneath my touch.
Her hands find my waist and I exhale, my breath forming goosebumps on her skin.
I’m seconds away from ditching this party when The Real Slim Shady pounds through the speakers.
Her shoulder bucks beneath my mouth as she starts laughing hysterically.
Moment gone.
Bubble burst
Sean and his fucking timing.