13. Jami
Jami
I take a deep, gulping breath. What the hell was that?
Better question—why did I stop it?
Oh. Right. I remember.
Kissing. Wanting. Rolling around on the floor together.
All terrible ideas.
I stand here on shaky legs, waiting until he’s fully out of sight before I finally move. My body still hums, every nerve lit up and buzzing, like it hasn’t gotten the memo that this is over. Or paused. Or whatever this is.
I turn toward the hallway, then hesitate.
Left? Right?
With my synapses barely firing and my body still burning with want, I can’t tell which way is up or down—never mind left or right. I force one foot in front of the other, passing the now-quiet courts, the echoes of earlier noise replaced by silence and my own uneven breathing.
Finally, I find my studio.
I push open the door, and the scent of eucalyptus washes over me. I breathe it in deeply, again and again, letting it steady me, cooling the heat under my skin, tamping down the ache, replacing it with a small, fragile surge of excitement.
This place is mine.
I spend the next half hour walking the room—straightening mats, blocks, and balls, refolding towels. I fill a jug with water and give the plants a much-needed drink. I check the refreshment area, making sure the jugs that will be filled first thing tomorrow are ready, and line up the cups just so.
Honestly, everything is in order. I just want to take it all in, mentally prepare myself for tomorrow.
I think about what I’ll wear, what I brought with me.
Yoga pants and shirts, thankfully. The one and only department store in town didn’t have much, but I’m fine.
My thoughts drift to fashion again—not to what I’ve lost, but what I can build here—even if it’s only on borrowed time.
I grin, hearing Lauren’s voice in my head, encouraging me to go for it, much the same way she once nudged me to gift myself a “lumber snack”.
I owe her a call.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and dial. She answers on the second ring.
“Jami!” she squeals. “I wanted to call a million times, but I knew you just needed space. How are you?”
How am I?
“I’m actually good,” I tell her. “Other than freezing to death.”
She laughs, then her voice softens. “I know it hasn’t been long, but are you settling in okay?”
“Yeah. The town is really cute, and the people are so nice. Not at all what I expected.”
“I’m so happy to hear that. I miss you, though. It’s not the same without you here.”
“I miss you too. Maybe you could come visit when it gets warmer,” I add with a laugh.
“You mean malaria season,” she teases.
My insides lighten. Lauren always has a way of making me feel steadier, more like myself. For a split second, I consider telling her about Brody, but I stop myself. I want to keep that close. Hold it inside. Not share it with anyone, not even my best friend.
It feels wrong.
And yet, it feels exactly right.
We talk for another fifteen minutes. I tell her about the house, the social, the studio, and how maybe, possibly, a new line of pickleball clothing is needed. She gets excited, tells me to go for it like she always does.
I glance at the clock. “I should let you go. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
When I end the call and look up, Brody is standing in the doorway. His brow is furrowed, like he’s just walked in on me reconciling with an ex.
Body stiff, he pushes off the doorframe. “Ah, I didn’t mean—”
“I was just talking to Lauren,” I explain quickly. “She’s super excited about the studio.”
His shoulders visibly relax. “Lauren,” he says. “Your friend from the bar that night?”
“You remembered her name,” I say, my mind sliding back to that night whether I want it to or not.
“I remembered.” He steps closer, even though I know—I know—he’s told himself he wouldn’t touch me again.
“Did you tell her…about me?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“I just…” I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“You worried about what she might say?”
“Not really.”
I look down, suddenly unsure of myself, and he reaches out, tipping my chin up until I meet his eyes.
“You know,” he says, “I remember a lot about that night.”
“Like what I said to you?” I challenge.
“That’s right.”
I put one hand on my hip, all the while trying not to notice his closeness, his overwhelming presence and how that near kiss from earlier is still messing with me. “Still not going to tell me.”
“Nope.”
“Still annoying, then.”
When was the last time I’d taken a breath?
“We’ve established that.” His fingers brush lightly through my hair and that’s when I inhale. What is going on here? “We’ve also established that I’m a lumber-snack.”
My whole body shivers. He leans into me, his eyes darkening, and my legs go weak. Is he going to kiss me again? If he does, this time, there’s no way I’ll be able to find my words, this time…I don’t want to.
He’s seconds away—seconds—from kissing me when my phone pings, snapping reality back into place.
I glance down, my body quaking, on fire. “Liam,” I say, my voice rough, edgy, but not because of the man texting me.
Brody snorts and steps back. “That didn’t take long.”
I work to keep my hands from shaking as I tuck my phone away. “I don’t know why a guy like him would be interested in me. He’s got it all together, and I…” My voice trails off before I can finish the thought.
Anger flashes across Brody’s face so fast it startles me. “Are you fucking kidding me, Jami?”
My head snaps back. “What?”
“He’d be lucky…” he begins, voice rough, jaw tight, “…to be with someone like you.”
I blink once. Twice. My pulse kicks up. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? That I should consider him. “Do you think I should—”
“No.” He cuts me off hard, dragging a hand through his hair and gripping it like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “I don’t fucking think you should do anything with that man.”
My heart stutters, heat rushing through me at the hungry, possessive way he’s looking at me. It lands low in my belly, dangerous and intoxicating. But…
We can’t.
So I do what I always do when things tip toward the edge—I go for humor.
I reach out and tap his chest lightly. Bad call.
The moment my palm meets him, I feel it—his heart slamming beneath my hand, fast and hard and completely unrestrained.
My breath catches. My gaze drops, traitorously taking in the way his body is betraying him, too.
Yeah. Big mistake.
Big dill.
“You know,” I manage, forcing the words past a suddenly tight throat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
He steps into me, decisively, erasing every inch of space between us. His body is solid and warm and unmistakably there, stealing the air from my lungs like it belongs to him now.
“So what if I am.”
The words hang between us—half challenge, half confession. I lift my eyes to his, dark and intense, searching my face.
Neither of us moves.
My pulse is a roar in the quiet room. His jaw is tight, eyes shadowed, like he’s bracing for impact. Rejection, maybe.
Or…agreement.
“Brody, please,” I murmur, and I don’t even know what I’m asking. To leave… or to stay.
That’s a lie. My body knows exactly what I want, and while my common sense is hanging by a frayed thread, the reckless side is tugging at that tread and asking…what’s one more bad decision?
He exhales, rough and frustrated, and takes a measured half step back, like distance might douse the fire between us.
It doesn’t.
I step forward, closing it again.
“This is a bad idea,” he says, more to himself than to me.
“It is,” I agree, my voice barely a whisper.
Still, neither of us moves.
“I should go,” he says finally, low and strained. “Before I forget how to be good.”
My body screams no, loud enough to drown out every reasonable thought. Before I can stop myself, I grab a fistful of his shirt, anchoring him to me.
“Maybe,” I say, heart pounding. “Maybe I don’t want good, Brody.”
His hand lifts, hesitates—then brushes my cheek, feather-light but warm, needy. His gaze drops to my parted lips.
“I just realized something…” he begins.
His unfinished thought coils tight in my chest. “What?” I blurt, wide-eyed, hanging on every breath, every flicker of his expression, praying he’s about to say exactly what I need to hear.
“When we said no more kissing…” His voice drops, low and husky, charged with arousal, hunger, need.
He steps closer, so close I feel the heat radiating off him.
The air between us hums, every heartbeat a drum in my chest. His eyes flick up to mine.
His finger traces along my lower lip. “We were talking about right here…on the mouth.”
“It’s true.” I draw in a deep breath, hold it, my chest tightening.
His thumb slides into my mouth. A rough groan escapes him as I suck, and I feel his head tilt back, eyes shutting briefly, lost in the sensation.
“But…” His gaze snaps back to mine. “I don’t remember saying anything about not kissing here.”
Before I can register it, his hands cup my sides, thumbs brushing over the curve of my breasts. I lean into him, shivering as the pads scrape over my sensitive nipples.
“No, I didn’t remember saying no to kisses there, either,” I admit too quickly, heat rising at the grin tugging at his lips.
“Or here,” he murmurs, sliding one hand lower, teasing, deliberate.
“No, no. We didn’t say anything about there either.”
And then he’s lifting me effortlessly off the floor.
I instinctively wrap my legs around him as he carries me to my private room.
The door slams shut behind us with a thud, then he’s pressing me flush against the wood.
Shadows flicker across his face in the muted streetlight cutting into the darkness, and I can’t stop my gaze from drinking him in.
“So, from what I understand,” he says, leaning in, lips hovering a hair’s breadth from mine, “I can kiss you everywhere…except right here,” he breathes, his lips just brushing mine.