17. Bryn
Chapter seventeen
Bryn
One of the hardest decisions in life is if I should get something sweet or something savory when I’m brunching. Izzy would tell you to get both. I, like the sane person I am, feel mixing sweet and savory ruins them both, so I opt for the breakfast sandwich. It was delicious and messy, and I am now licking egg yolk off my fingers. “So, it was terrible?” Jameson asks as we both rise from our booth.
“Oh yeah. Hated every bite.”
Jameson holds the door for me as we exit, his eyes narrowing on something behind me.
I’m surprised when I feel the pressure of his big hand on my lower back, a little more forceful than expected as he shepherds me forward. Jameson starts lengthening his stride, almost like he’s running away.
“Excuse me, sir!” a voice sounds from behind us.
Jameson sighs, and I note the defeated lowering of his shoulders before he is smiling and turning around. I follow suit, and we come face-to-face with a man and his teenage son, both of whom appear to be big Jameson Walker fans. Thank goodness we made it far enough away from the waiting crowd that we don’t draw more attention.
“Excuse me, sir,” the dad says again. “Could my son get a picture with you?”
“Are you sure you want one with me, man?” Jameson jokes with the kid who now looks embarrassed at the whole spectacle. “Last year wasn’t my best showing.”
“Uhm.” The boy turns a brighter shade of red before starting again, “You’ve always been my favorite golfer. I follow JT on social media just in case you happen to be in one of his stories. I know this year will be better for you.”
Jameson laughs, and I mentally make a note to start following JT. That won’t be too weird, right?
The dad pulls out his phone, and I jump in, offering to take the picture so both father and son can be in the photo.
“Oh!” The man seems to notice me for the first time. “That would be wonderful.”
They all pose for the picture before shaking hands with Jameson and heading back in to—assumedly—finish eating the breakfast they just abandoned.
I don’t think either of us have a plan as to where we were headed, but it seems prudent to leave before anyone notices Jameson being noticed.
“I’m sorry about that, Bryn. I’d like to say that won’t happen again, but it almost certainly will.”
“It’s fine. I understand,” I say.
“I know it can be a lot to handle. I love my fans, but it’s hard sometimes not getting to be a normal guy.” He looks at me intently. “But I want you to know that you do not have to take the pictures.”
“I know,” I say. Because I do. “I was happy to help so the dad could be in the picture too.”
“Truly, Bryn. You’re not my personal photographer. I know that. Fans will understand it too. I don’t want you to feel—”
“Jameson,” I cut him off, recognizing he might continue to belabor the point if I don’t stop him. “I hear you. I understand. I did not feel like you or anyone else expected me to take the picture. I was happy to help out so that kid and his dad could share in the memory.”
We walk a bit more before I say, “Actually, if you saw the pictures I took, you would feel much more comfortable about it all. I’ve never really seemed to understand the appropriate angles to hold a phone to make anyone look their best. Fingers crossed they don’t submit that one to the press. You undoubtedly have both eyes crossed and are in the middle of a sneeze.”
“Luckily, I haven’t sneezed once today.”
“That, my guy, is just how impressive my skills are,” I joke.
We walk around the neighborhood, burning off some of our breakfast before ordering another Uber and heading to Venice Beach. Though neither of us brought swimming suits, we walk along the shoreline, Jameo with his hat pulled low and a pair of sunglasses on like the incognito celebrity that he is. The good part about LA is that, while most people assume a person in a hat AND sunglasses on a partially sunny day is some version of a celebrity, there are so many of them around that no one really seems to care.
I know I should be in the office, working, but I just can’t seem to convince myself that spending more time on my computer is a better alternative to spending time with Jameson. I just hope Kyle isn’t there anymore. The last thing I need is him gloating on Monday about all the hours he put in this weekend, even if I’m very aware of the fact that he doesn’t accomplish anything close to what I do in any given day.
After about an hour of walking, I’m starting to feel sweaty despite the cool ocean breeze. I’m not sure how to navigate the awkwardness of not wanting to say goodbye but also wanting to find some air-conditioning. I’m about to pull the trigger and just ask if we should call it a day or find something else to do, when I see a sign for a movie theater ahead.
“Ooo! Let’s go to a movie,” I basically shout, grabbing on to the excuse to prolong our time together.
Jameson is surprisingly easy to convince, and I wonder if he loves movies as much as I do or if he is also looking for a way to keep our date going.
After an awkward conversation where we feel out each other’s movie preferences, we end up at the newest Marvel movie. Jameson heads to the booth to pay, but I insist I use my monthly movie passes. So he buys the snacks—popcorn, Milk Duds, and Cherry Coke—just like Izzy and I always get when we go to the movies together.
Two hours later, we stroll out of the theater, trash in hand, eyes blinking as they adjust to the bright light of day.
“Look, it’s one thing to want to split the cost of our dates fifty-fifty, which I do find insulting to my manhood no matter how progressive you want me to pretend to be, but to make me have to buy that trash snack combination? Who eats Milk Duds and popcorn at the same time? ” Jameson teases.
I shoot him a fake glare. “If you had just tried them, you would have a leg to stand on. But no, poor Jameo couldn’t bear the thought of combining two ‘totally different snacks.’ And you really missed out. What makes the two such a beautiful combo is that the stickiness of the Milk Duds counteracts the popcorn getting stuck in your teeth and vice versa. Somehow, two things that normally stick around in your mouth for days both go in together and, voilà , perfection.” To be clear, it’s not the same sweet and savory combination I was hating on when deciding what to order earlier. The way I do movie theater popcorn with the perfect amount of butter is most certainly sweet.
I glance at him, noting how he is subtly trying to remove popcorn from his teeth with his tongue. “You are going to be stuck eating soggy popcorn as it drops out of your teeth crevices for the rest of the night.” I pause, knowing I should stop rambling about snacks—and crevices—but then can’t help myself. I continue, “And the Milk Duds today were fresh. Easy to chew. It was bliss in my mouth.”
His eyes darken at my last comment, and I mentally cringe. Did not mean to put a somewhat sexually charged statement out into the night. And honestly, is it sexually charged? I’m still a little confused by Jameson’s quick bounce from not dating to I-need-this-to-be-a-date to getting turned on by a statement.
“Hmm. Bliss in your mouth.” He stares at my lips for a moment. “That checks out. I promise next time you offer something that is bliss in your mouth, I will definitely be in.”
We both stop and stare at each other, his eyes growing wider, before I burst out laughing, and he quickly follows suit. He gasps out, “Oh fuck. I went for it with the first innuendo, but the second one, it was unintentional. It just happened. God, it was so good.”
“Damn it, Jameo. I am never going to be able to look at Milk Duds the same way.” I playfully swat his arm, and he grabs my hand, keeping hold of it as we continue down the road.
“Good. Glad to know my dick in your mouth is now going to be all you can think about while enjoying your favorite snack at the movies.” My eyes widen in shock as he taps his chin, pretending to think. “You know, you might even say that my cock is your favorite snack now.”
A double puff of air bursts from me, not quite a laugh, but what my sisters have deemed “the least girly giggle in the world.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Jameson.” I look around at the crowded sidewalk. “You can’t say shit like that. Particularly since—” Crap. Why do I let these things come out of my mouth? Dang it. I wonder if I should somehow use this opening to tell him I’m a virgin. No, not dropping that bomb…but maybe just like, casually let him know without actually telling him?
“Particularly since…what?” He squeezes my hand reassuringly.
I internally roll my eyes at my inability to control my mouth. Oh well, I’m in it now. “Particularly since your cock has never been in my mouth.” The merriment from his eyes is gone and it’s all dark smolder now. Don’t focus on his sex-eyes right now, Bryn. Keep going! “I’m definitely not willing to pass the favorite-snack award on without any sort of evidence.”
“Evidence, huh?” He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out a bit raspy.
I smirk, loving that he is so affected by our conversation, but at the same time, definitely not ready to put my money where my mouth is on this one. And, since Jameson has made it clear this is a date, I know I need to make a few things clear. I mentally face-palm. This is going to be so awkward.
“Yup.” I pull Jameson to a stop in an alcove near the bratwurst stand we have been making our way to for a quick dinner. We—okay, I —have already gorged myself on movie snacks and don’t want too much more. Jameson, though, insists that dinner must take place, as it’s a key element to a real date.
“Look, I—” I roll my shoulders, preparing myself for the awkwardness that is undoubtedly about to come out of my mouth—“I would’ve told you this before today, but, while I’m really glad this is a date, I definitely didn’t come into it thinking it was a date.” FUUUCK. Why am I so bad at this?
Jameson rubs his thumb over the back of my hand, a slight frown of confusion on his face. “Okay. I know. But it is a date, right?”
“Yup. Totally a date.” I nod. “We are dating.” He starts to say something, but I hold up a hand. “And, as I would’ve usually mentioned to a guy—via a well-thought-out text, I might add…” I look into his eyes then, making sure he knows I’m blaming him for not letting me do this via text as I would’ve preferred. “I’m a little old school and don’t believe in sleeping with someone or, I suppose, welcoming their cock into my mouth.”
His thumb stops moving. “Wait, you don’t…you’re like…you’re waiting until…marriage?”
Oh no. This . This is why I need to be able to send this via text, so I can proofread! “Shit. No.” I can feel the look of slight terror on my face. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t finish my thought. Got distracted by including the part about your penis, which felt…big.” I smirk.
He chuckles, dropping my hand to run his through his hair. “Bryn, can you please tell me what you’re trying to tell me? Because I’m both very confused and slightly turned on right now, and I’m not sure how to handle that.”
“Oh.” My cheeks burn with embarrassment for making this so f-ing hard. “I was just trying to say that I need to take this slow. Not wait-until-we-are-married slow.” My eyes widen. “No, no! Not that I’m saying we are going to get married. Ugh. I promise I am not a stage-five clinger. Shit.” I cover my face with my hands. “I just want to take things slow and see how they go. If that’s not cool with you, I totally get it, and we can go back to friends. Or”—and I will fully admit I’m rambling now—“since we aren’t actually friends, just maybe friendly acquaintances who may or may not be dating. But if you’re interested in someone…easier? And I don’t mean that in a bad way. To each their own. Different strokes for different folks and all.” The amusement is back in his dark green eyes, his hands stuck casually in his pockets while he takes in this embarrassing monologue. “So I guess what I’m trying to say—in an obviously very clear way—is that if you’re looking for someone to sleep with tonight, we can definitely call off this whole dating thing. I can even be your wingwoman for the night. Help you find someone else.”
He’s scowling now. “You…you want to help set me up with someone else?”
Fuck. I definitely do not want to help him find some other girl. “Um. No. That was an insincere offer. I was just trying to give you an out.”
“Why would I want an out? I was the one who wanted this to be a real date.”
I nod. “True, but you wouldn’t be the first guy who decided to take me up on the offer of an easy out when he found out that I wanted to take things slow. Honestly, you’d be the fifth, though most of those guys were from dating apps, which are their own circle of hell.”
He grabs my hand again and starts walking us toward the brat cart on the corner. “Okay, well, those guys are shitty humans, and I am not one of them. I promise I have no expectations, though definitely have some aspirations, about a future sex life. I want to date you, whatever that looks like for us.”
I smile, still embarrassed, but so pleased by his answer.
An hour later, the Uber pulls back into my hotel. Jameson opens his door and hops out, sticking his head back in to ask the Uber to wait a minute while he says goodbye.
“Thanks for a great day, Jameo.”
“Best date I’ve had in a long time, Bryn.” He smiles at me sweetly and grabs my arm, tugging me into a hug.
He feels so good wrapped around me. I bask in his warmth and strong arms, subtly breathing in his cologne—some manly scent that reminds me of rainy days and trees.
I tilt my head back, a grin splitting my face as he reaches out and runs his thumb tenderly down my jaw. He leans in, his dark gaze focused on my lips, but stops before he kisses me, giving me the option of going the last few centimeters or not.
But it’s not really an option. Not when I feel so right in his arms, when his smile makes me light up from within. He may be asking for permission, but there is no way I’m not granting it.
I tilt my head up a little further and lean into his kiss, a jolt of desire pulsing through me as our lips meet and his hand moves to the small of my back, lightly stroking the skin right above the waistband of my joggers.
I pull away slowly, noting the lust in Jameo’s eyes and the grin spreading across his face.
I smile back and head toward the door to the hotel, turning back to offer a small wave. “Night, Jameo.”