Chapter 7
Seven
Lane
“Have you seen Jameson since that night he was undressing you with his eyes from across the bar?” Kam asks, wiggling her eyebrows as we set up for book club inside her cozy store.
I roll my eyes, placing a stack of paper cups beside the coffee pot. Steam curls up, carrying the deep, roasted scent of fresh brew that mingles with the buttery sweetness of cookies. The faint rustle of pages turning somewhere in the shop drifts through the air like background music.
“You do realize you are ridiculous sometimes, right?” I shoot her a look, my voice dry.
“I prefer eccentric,” she counters, plopping a tray of brownies between the cookies and the coffee pot. Her hands find her hips and her grin turns mischievous. “And you’re avoiding my question.”
I’m absolutely avoiding her question. “Because you are making a big deal out of nothing. Besides, I think he left town already,” I mutter, trying to keep the pinch of disappointment out of my voice, but I’m sure she picks up on it.
Kam studies me, her brows tugging together. Yep. I was right, she sees right through me.
Before she has a chance to continue her interrogation, the bell over the door jingles, sparing me. I send up a little thank you to the powers that be, as Betsy bustles in, a bright smile tugging at her painted lips; still rocking that 90’s Avon lipstick in the shade Model Magenta.
“Have you girls seen that new man in town? Jameson, I think his name is. Lord have mercy, I’d let him take me for a ride on his motorcycle any day,” she declares, dramatically fanning herself.
Motorcycle? My pulse jumps as I picture him astride one. Wind tearing through his hair, leather hugging his shoulders, and my stomach knots again.
Kam looks in my direction, a cheeky smirk on her lips. “Guess that answers our question.”
I roll my eyes hard enough to hurt and busy myself making sure the trays of food are just right. “Your question, not mine. I don’t care if he leaves town or not.”
Betsy’s ears perk up, like a hound on a scent. She’s in her late fifties and takes two things very seriously: her dog and gossip. Once she knows, so does everyone else in town.
Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas and she pushes a brown, tightly permed, curl out of her face. “So you have met him?”
Kam shoots me another grin. “Ohhh. We’ve met him, haven’t we Lane?”
I shoot her a ‘what in the actual fuck?’ look in return.
“Can we please get this book club started? I am very excited to talk about this book.” I scurry to my seat, desperate for a break from the Jameson talk.
“I’m sure you are,” Kam calls from behind me, both she and Betsy dissolving into a fit of giggles.
Jameson already owns too much of my headspace. His face slips into the roles of every male lead I read. Worse, when I’m alone at night, it’s his voice whispering filthy things against my ear. My hands become his hands in my fantasies, leaving me trembling in the dark.
Monica clears her throat and adjusts her glasses, the chain on them glinting under the light. “What did everyone think about this week's book?” Her voice carries that calm, librarian authority that makes everyone pause.
She looks the part still; tight bun, cardigan, neatly pressed slacks.
Beside me, Betsy uses her hand to fan herself again. “Can we skip right to talking about the MMC?”
Cassie, a first-grade teacher at the local elementary, leans forward to grin at her, the overhead lights gleaming off her shoulder length blonde hair. “Did he remind you of that new guy in town, too? He just might be the hottest man I’ve ever seen.”
I inwardly groan.
Fuck my life.
The room fills with chatter, voices overlapping in laughter and speculation. Jameson becomes the main character, the book forgotten entirely. By the time it wraps up, I’m mentally begging for wine.
Outside, the warm July air brushes against my skin. I inhale deep, filling my lungs with the sweet scent of blooming flowers, mixed with the faint tang of impending rain. It should calm me. It doesn’t.
All anyone wants to talk about is Jameson. The girls at book club, the customers at the bar, the cashier at the grocery store.
He’s only been here a week and has become unavoidable.
I don’t want to talk about Jameson because there is nothing to talk about. He’s a customer who comes into my place of employment. So what if he flirts with me and gives me that sexy grin of his that makes my knees weak? It means absolutely nothing.
I yank open the door to the Wine & Spirits store, the cool, recycled air slapping against my overheated skin. Goosebumps race up my arms as I stalk through the store on the hunt for my favorite wine, Cupcake Moscato.
So what if I’ve dreamed of him pinning me against the pool table after closing. His mouth on my throat, his hands everywhere. Dreams that leave me trembling and panting into the dark, clutching my vibrator like a lifeline.
It’s just physical. That’s all.
It means nothing. It’s—
My thoughts are cut off when I round the corner and crash into what can only be described as a brick wall.
“Whoa. You okay, Wildflower?”
The nickname slides off his tongue effortlessly. His voice is a low rumble that sinks into me, settling heavy in my chest.
Strong hands steady me, warm and solid. I look up and directly into Jameson’s stormy eyes. That maddening, knowing smirk tugging at his lips like he already knows exactly what I was just thinking about. His scent invades my senses, making me dizzy. His touch burns into my skin, branding me.
Damn it. Of course, I would run into him, literally, while I was thinking about him. Haha. Very funny universe.
“Lane?” His voice, low and smooth, vibrates through me.
I blink hard, realizing I’ve been staring. Heat crawls up my neck and I stumble back, needing air, space, anything to regain control. “S-sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
His gaze lingers, slow and deliberate, like he’s picking me apart one thought at a time. “Rough day?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Rough hour.” Because of you.
One brow arches.
I sigh, and give him the edited version. “It was book club night, and the ladies can get a little intense.”
He chuckles, the sound rich and deep, sends chills skating over my skin. “I heard book debates can become a little heated.”
“You have no idea.” I nod toward the bottle of Jack Daniels clutched in his hand. “Not going to the bar tonight?”
Smooth, Lane. Real smooth.
He smirks, leaning just a fraction closer, enough that I feel the pull of his gravity. “Nah. I don’t like to drink there when that bartender’s working.”
My brows shoot up in surprise. “What’s wrong with Rodney?”
“Nothing.” His voice drops lower. “I just don’t think he’s nickname worthy.”
My cheeks blaze, but my body instinctively leans into him. His rich scent wraps around me, thick and intoxicating. His gaze lingers on me, heavy and unrelenting. It’s a look that says he’s already imagined peeling me out of my clothes, and he’s in no rush because he’s certain I’ll let him.
I tear my eyes away, suddenly needing to move, to do something. “I should…get my wine.”
His smile curves, slow and dangerous. “Don’t let me stop you.” He takes a step toward the exit, then pauses, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “Night, Wildflower.”
That wink. It’s to let me know he knows exactly what I’ll be doing tonight, and exactly who I’ll be thinking of while I do it.
I stare after him, feet bolted to the floor. My pulse beats in time with his footsteps echoing through the building. Only when he disappears out the door am I able to look away. I stalk to the back of the store, and grab two bottles off the shelf. To hell with restraint.
When I reach the counter, the cashier is leaning on her elbows, staring out the door, dreamy-eyed. I set my wine on the belt and clear my throat.
She tears her gaze from the door and looks at me, cartoon hearts still in her eyes. “Did you see that man who just walked out?”
“Nope,” I lie smoothly, sliding the bottles forward. Good thing I grabbed the second one.