Chapter Seven
Claire
I’ve made some rash decisions since Jamison asked me on a friend date, or so he calls it. A date with someone like Jamison seems like so much more, and it terrifies me.
With my recent boldness and rash decisions, what I wear tonight isn’t one of them. I start with a hundred options and finally settle on soft denim jeans and a cashmere sweater.
I straighten my long blonde hair, then curl it. The curls I brush into a wave. I try a peony-colored gloss, then firecracker red. Then I wipe that off and go back to peony, which is deeper than before because the firecracker red stained my lips some.
The cap of my lipstick slams on the counter as I level my breathing. Never in the last twenty-six years of my life can I remember doing something that held so much adventure, that put me out there in such a risky way. Going on a date with Jamison is a risk to my heart. I like him...a lot.
The few dates I’ve been on in my life were a disaster. The need to curl up and hide somewhere is overpowering. I don’t know what Jamison has planned for us. What if there are a ton of people? Maybe my lipstick is too dark. Now my sweater is itchy. Last night was spontaneous and fun with his friends. This time it’s a date, and that makes me fidget. I’m epically bad at dating.
I want to crawl into bed. The lights flash, so I turn toward the bedroom door. Dad is leaning on the doorjamb.
I can tell him to go away. Dad looks sad at the thought. Even though Maddie usually pushed me to be more social, Dad helped along the way too. Mom is a bit more socially awkward like me. He was never a dad who told me not to put myself out there. He always swore if I did, they would love me. Mom understood better.
My face falls, and everything drains from my body. It’s not in relief, I quickly realize, but sadness. I want my father to tell Jamison to stay, but I also want him to leave. I’m not ready.
With a hand on my forehead, I nod. Yeah, I’m not feeling well at all. I’m sick to my stomach. And what if he takes me to a restaurant I don’t like? Or tries to take me to a movie. I had that happen once. It’s a classic date option. Oftentimes, hearing people forget things like I can’t hear the movie. I sat through the entire movie unable to actually know what was happening.
Dad just nods, a solemn look on his face as he turns to leave. I’m disappointed in myself too. I angrily swipe the lipstick away from my lips with my hand and tear my cashmere sweater over my head. I have to get the itchy thing off me.
The moment my eyes are exposed, I find Jamison looming in my doorway. His eyes flare as they take in my chest, but he pivots quickly, giving me his back instead. Such a gentleman. I quickly slip a t-shirt from my bag on as the tingling wave of desire crashes against me. A date with Jamison is too complicated with how much he works up my emotions.
When I turn back from grabbing my shirt, he’s still blocking my doorway, but I get an impressive view of his gorgeous backside. His hand, currently clutching the back of his neck, tenses.
Since he’s blocking the doorway, I can’t go around to get his attention, so I’m left with two choices—speak or touch him. Both are equally terrifying right now. I walk over and pray he is sensitive enough to hear my footsteps across my carpeted room, and I’m never so lucky.
I glide my hand across his shoulder. It tenses beneath by fingertips as I graze the soft fabric of his shirt. God, he’s so firm, and the scent of him engulfs me when he turns quickly, the breeze carrying it even stronger. My hand slips away. His mouth opens, the red blush apparent as his hands move.
I’m so sorry. Sorry. I...His movements are less fluid than any previous attempts to communicate with me.
I raise my palm toward him. You’reokay. I’m sick, so I can’t go out today. I place the back of my hand on my forehead to emphasize.
He’s recovered from catching a glimpse of my chest and smirks like he knows what I’m up to. His large hand lands on my forehead as he closes the space between us. I shiver from the contact. I don’t let people touch me. The way he touches overstimulates my body.
No fever, he declares, and his smile remains.
I point to my stomach. I’m sick. Don’t want to go to a restaurant. I’m not hungry.
Okay, we won’t, he signs.
I don’t understand. You said it’s a date.
It is.
I don’t want to do anything.I don’t want to get ready for a date. I don’t want to feel this way, unprepared with variables that I don’t know or understand. I can’t figure out Jamison or my emotions. Why does he want to be my friend and go on dates with me? Why does the thought of him wanting to be more get my stomach in knots?
He grabs his phone from his pocket and begins typing. It’s a long message, so I wait, watching his fingers glide across the keyboard. He hands it over.
I promise tonight we won’t do anything you don’t want to do. If you get uncomfortable at all, I’ll bring you home. But we had fun last night. And I want to spend some time with you tonight. Please. I don’t even care if you get sick on me. But if you don’t feel good enough, I’ll leave too.
I worry my lip and glance down at the t-shirt I’ve switched into. I’ve angrily wiped some of my makeup away.
I’m not ready anymore, I type back.
He reads my words and shakes his head with a smile.
When he hands the phone back, there’s a brief hesitation. I grab the phone and read the message.
You look perfect. Why don’t you change into more comfy pants like you did with the shirt? And don’t worry about your hair or makeup. Seriously, you look perfect.
I glance up. He’s persistent. And sweet. I’m close to caving in.
Fine. I hand the phone back, and he slips it into his back pocket. He looks quite pleased with himself.
I reach for the button on my jeans. They’re driving me crazy. I raise a brow when Jamison remains looking in my direction, a hazy look in his eyes. What I wouldn’t give to read his mind right now. Without thought, I lick my lips and wait.
He shakes it off and points over his shoulder, then turns and walks from my bedroom, shutting the door behind him. I can’t help but chuckle. I strip my pants off and change into a comfier pair, then tie my hair back. My stomach is easing some now that I’ve seen Jamison. And seen his promises.
I find Jamison at the kitchen table with Dad and Mom when I step from the bedroom. Jamison turns over his shoulder when Mom glances my way.
Ready? I ask.
Jamison nods and rises from the table. He says goodbye to my parents and follows me outside. The evening air helps a bit to calm me, but it’s not enough to fully loosen the knot forming in my throat.
Last night was spontaneous. And he’s right, I had so much fun meeting his friends. They’re sweet and a little ornery, sure, but so nice to me. I was working on pure adrenaline and impulsiveness, but this evening is different. I’ve spent too long going over scenarios and mishaps that could happen when we’re together.
Jamison walks to the passenger door and opens it for me. This time, I’m less playful and climb inside instead. That gets me a sadder, more drawn look from him. He likes when I give him a bit more trouble, I suppose.
He starts the Jeep and drives into town. Not that the town of Casper has much to offer for date-night festivities, but he said I didn’t have to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. My stomach rolls as he parks. He reaches for the handle but holds up his finger for me to wait.
I’ll be a moment. You wait.
He jumps out, and I frown. Shouldn’t I be following him inside? I place my hand on the handle and pause. His words seem sure, so I remove my hand and wait. Jamison returns a few minutes later with a pizza box in his hand.
He climbs in and offers me the box with a reassuring grin. I nod and take the box to hold while giving him a smile in return.
The pizza smell infuses into his Jeep. I take a breath and lift the box to sneak a peek at the kind he ordered. I’m certain he’s gotten my favorite. A playful smack hits the back of my hand, and I gasp. Did he seriously just smack me? My mouth is hanging open.
No eating without me. He winks.
I wasn’t,I sign back with narrowed eyes, but the way the humor dances in his, I can’t keep the smile contained or pretend.
Okay. He shoots me a playful look and tucks the box closed. I’m sure there’s pineapple on the pizza, and I can’t believe it because I swear everyone else in the world hates pineapple on their pizzas. But I love it.
Jamison heads toward his house, and my brows lower when he pulls into the driveway.
He grabs the pizza and jumps down, then comes to my side.
I thought we were going on a date?
He smiles and has me follow him inside. Once we reach the kitchen and the box lands on the table, he pulls his phone out. After typing, he passes it over, then steps away to grab drinks.
I thought you’d like this better. I’m kind of a homebody myself, and you said you didn’t feel well, so I thought we could do pizza and watch a movie here.
The refrigerator door opens and closes as his heavy boots cross back to me. The very last of the tension leaves my body. I don’t have to worry about food because he got my favorite. I don’t have to worry about ordering. I don’t have to worry about our date because Jamison is having us stay in and relax. He’s taken all the concerns I had about a first date and solved them.
Thank you.
He passes a water bottle over. He doesn’t offer a beer. I appreciate that he realizes I don’t drink and doesn’t push me. Jamison encourages me to just be myself around him.
Hope you like it.He opens the box and grabs a slice for himself, then passes me one. He had to have asked one of my parents, I’m assuming.
It’s my favorite. Thank you. Do you like it?
My favorite.
We spend the rest of dinner shoving pizza into our mouths and smiling to each other. I’m so happy I decided to do this. Even my stomach feels better with some food in it.