13. Bryn
Chapter thirteen
Bryn
My cheeks are starting to strain from how much I’ve smiled tonight. And I’m certainly not going to need to get in any sort of an ab workout tomorrow with how much I’ve laughed—shit, I might be able to skip abs all week at this rate.
We’re almost done with our entrees, and I can honestly say this is the best date I’ve ever been on. Or, at least, it would be if it were a date. Which it’s totally not, because neither of us date! Gah! Why do I have to keep reminding myself of this?
As the waitress brings out the dessert menu, I glance at Jameo. He’s concentrating on the options, and I take the chance to look him over. His beard, which he—thank God—did not shave down into a mustache, is thick and dark. His hair is styled slightly. He’s paired dark jeans and a white long-sleeved button-up, transforming him into the type of man you only see in commercials. He may be the most handsome man I’ve ever met in person.
He catches me staring, and I quickly glance back down at my menu, asking, “So, are you going to get anything?”
“Actually…” He looks a bit nervous, and I wonder if he’s about to blow me off again. “I was thinking we could walk a few blocks and see if we can find some ice cream.” He runs his finger down the side of the menu as he continues, barely taking a breath. “I mean, I know this dinner invite came at the last minute, so maybe you’ve got something else planned, but I could definitely use a walk. I know you really like ice cream, so maybe we could get some.”
He glances up at me, and I nod. “Sure. I’d love that.”
Jameson stands up. “I’m going to run to the bathroom really quickly, then.”
The waiter brings the check while Jameson is in the bathroom, and, as I know this isn’t a date, I just go ahead and throw my credit card down. I am fully aware that my bank account can handle the $220 charge better than I could emotionally handle the awkwardness of figuring out who pays.
I’m filling in the receipt as Jameson comes back, and with a quick flourish, I finish signing my name and stand up to go.
Looking confused, he asks, “Did you pay?”
“Yup.” I shrug, grabbing my phone off the table.
“Shit. Bryn, I didn’t mean to make you pay. I asked you out. I definitely intended on paying.” His eyes look a bit frantic, so I instinctively reach out and put my hand on his arm— a gesture we both follow with our eyes, unsure what to do next. Then, as if he’s made a decision, he turns on his heel, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm, and starts walking to the door.
Neither of us say a word as we navigate through the tables scattered around the restaurant. Jameson drops my hand as he pushes through the door, holding it open for me.
The weather outside is still warm, though the heat from the day is being swept away by the cool evening breeze common this time of year.
I take off toward the direction of the ocean, guessing ice cream will be that way, but not really caring if it takes us a while to find some. Jameson keeps pace with me easily. He keeps opening his mouth like he’s about to start talking before giving his head a slight shake and continuing forward.
I give him some time, finding the whole thing slightly amusing. Usually, I’m the one who is unsure of what to say.
We walk in companionable silence, our hands brushing against each other every few steps. I know I could take a step away from him at any time, but the zing that passes up my arm and into my core each time it happens is making me a little bit giddy. You’d think I’d had a bottle of champagne with my steak tonight—rather than the Guinness I’d sipped on—with how light and bubbly I’m feeling.
Jameson stops suddenly, turning to look directly at me. “Thank you for dinner.”
He is so serious. I feel like I’m missing something—something important. So I pause for a second, searching for the answers in the dark green depths of his eyes, noting how the streetlights are making gold flecks ignite within them.
“Of course. I’m truly happy to buy you dinner. I’m having so much fun tonight. And…” I trail off as I look at him. Whatever. Might as well say it. “Honestly? I get it. It’s hard to tell who likes you for you versus those who are just using you for fame or money. I don’t ever want you to question that about me.” I look into his serious eyes again. “I like hanging out with you, and I’d rather be clear that I’m not interested in your money than get a free dinner. Though”—I shrug—“I do really like free things.”
He laughs. “Who doesn’t? It’s why swag exists. No one needs another branded ChapStick, but we sure as shit are all going to take it when offered.”
He grows serious again. “But thanks, Bryn. It means a lot to me to hear you say that. You’re not wrong; it hasn’t always been easy to know who is in it for the wrong reasons.” He starts walking again, grabbing my hand to pull me along with him.
We wander through the streets of LA, not trying particularly hard to find an ice cream place, and, in fact, deciding to continue on past a few of them under the guise of “walking off dinner.”
While strolling through town is a good way to burn off the ribeye I took down at dinner, I, at least, am not in it for the extra steps. The feel of his large, strong hand in mine is everything I never knew I wanted, so I do my fair share of turning down the shops as we get to them, intent on stretching out our time together for as long as I can.
Finally, Jameson lets out a loud, impossible-to-ignore yawn.
I laugh. “Next shop. We’re definitely going in.”
We walk a few more minutes before begrudgingly—at least on my part—entering the next ice cream store we come to. It’s one we passed an hour earlier—turns out we had been walking in a large circle the entire time, but neither of us is acknowledging that fact or what it could mean.
As we finish our ice cream, a woman checks out, and as she turns to leave, she does a double take. She gazes at Jameson for a moment longer before finally making her way toward us. I watch her confident steps—something I could never pull off in the four-inch heels and pencil skirt she has on—unsure how to handle this. Jameson’s back is to her, so he has no idea she’s approaching.
“Jameson, hi.”
He swings his head around at the sound of her voice, glancing at me with wide eyes before standing up to give her a hug.
“Erica. How’s my favorite publicist?”
“Flattery will get you nowhere. Last I heard, you were hunkered down in Colorado.” She pointedly looks at me. “What brings you to California?”
“Oh, um.” He turns to look at me. “This is Bryn.”
“Hi, Bryn,” she says, her tone almost frigid.
“Hi.” I offer a small wave.
“Well, this is…cute. Jameson, you and I will need to discuss some things later, but I had better get going.” She shoots Jameson a look that I’ve only seen on my mom’s face before and pushes through the doors into the California air.
“Erica is my publicist.”
“I gathered that,” I say, tucking back into my ice cream.
“I just want you to know she’s not someone…else.”
“Duly noted. You might owe her an apology, though. She had a you’re-in-trouble look on her face.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a heavy breath. “I’m sure I’ll be getting some texts shortly.”
I do feel bad he’s in trouble. Judging by her face, it feels like I might be the cause of it.
“I’m sorry if I had something to do with it.”
“Ehh. Normal professional golfer stuff.”
“Oh, dear.” I put on my best Mrs. Doubtfire voice. “Not professional golfer stuff. How positively brutal.”
“You’re a dork,” he jokes.
“True.”
We finish our ice cream, and after about five more yawns from Jameson, we both call Ubers to take us back to our respective hotels. My driver arrives before his—five-star Uber rating for the win!—and with the click of a button on his phone, he jumps in with me, claiming it’s unsafe for me to ride home without him.
Pleased with a chance to extend the night just a bit longer, I latch on to the excuse, sharing a conspiratorial wink with Gemini, the petite twentysomething in the driver’s seat. As we ride along, Jameson reaches over and takes my hand again, unaware of the way it makes my heart beat double time in my chest.
We arrive at my hotel much quicker than I would’ve liked, and I begrudgingly wish Jameson good night. He squeezes my hand, thanking me again for dinner. We both sit there awkwardly for a moment before Gemini clears her throat in the front, breaking me out of my trance.
I push out of the car, taking a few steps toward the front entrance before turning back to wave as Jameson pulls away. The glow from his phone is lighting up his face inside the car, and as soon as I enter my hotel, his text buzzes on my phone.
Jameson
Thanks again for dinner. I had a great time.
Me
Me too. And anytime. Truly.