Chapter 8
James
This woman is going to be the death of me.
The phone call from my mom was nothing I hadn’t heard before.
That I wasn’t around enough. That I should try more.
That I should be preparing myself. She didn’t believe me when I said I couldn’t make it out to see her and my dad this weekend.
All she’d have to do is turn on a weather channel, but obviously that won’t do.
I’ve clearly bribed mother nature to trap me here.
The calls, which used to be less tense, less frequent, have been getting more persistent these days. It’s like the walls are closing in on me and the writing on them is that I can’t escape what’s coming for much longer.
I have no desire to talk about it.
But then there’s Stella. Her perseverance would be admirable if it wasn’t making her a pain in my ass right now.
“I’m fine, sunshine.” I just want her to leave me alone with my misery.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“‘Cause you don’t seem it…”
“Stella.”
“You’ve got this one vein right here,” she says as she reaches up and bops me on the forehead pensively with a finger.
“Can you not poke me?”
“I thought you only wanted me to not do that in the sexy way.”
“Well, let’s just say don’t poke me in any way and save ourselves some time.”
“Ooooh I think I just poked the bear.”
“Are you calling me a bear?”
“If the shoe fits.” Well, at least she’s honest.
What is it with people comparing me to wildlife?
“Come oooooon James. Tell me, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could hear me.” She just stares at me, mouth closed, and brows raised, waiting expectantly.
Ugh. I’m not going to win this. And I am stuck with her for the foreseeable future.
“I’m supposed to start working for my dad.” I aim for as little emotion as possible, staring at the blank wall across from me. I really need to hang something up there for moments like this.
It’s not so much working for him, as taking over the entire company, but she doesn’t need the nitty gritty details.
I don’t like talking about my dad’s company.
He owns a construction giant that’s notorious for taking bad deals, cutting corners, and putting people in harm’s way.
And with all that, they still manage to keep their name bright and shiny and expensive while they line their designer pockets.
It’s a fucking disgrace, but you’d never guess from the outside. One of their foremen got his legs crushed and they ensured that he wouldn’t get worker’s comp so that their name wouldn’t be sullied, and they wouldn’t get fined. They can afford it, but the optics would be bad.
The fucking optics. It still makes me seethe when I think about what they did to Kurt.
“Is it something you want to do?” Stella’s voice is gentle, like she doesn’t want to scare me off.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that.”
“Has anyone ever gotten a straight answer out of you? Because I get the sense that no one’s ever done that either.” She’s chastising me, but her eyes are laughing. Her prying is soft. It’s sincere enough to make me actually want to open up to her.
“It doesn’t matter. Some things are set in stone.”
“Well, like the saying goes, rivers cut through rock, not with power, but persistence.”
“What are you, a fortune cookie?”
“Yes, I see you spilling your guts to a cute, perky blonde in the near future.” I roll my eyes, rubbing my face, the stubble I’ve let grow longer than normal scratching my palm.
“No.”
“No, you won’t tell me? It’s rude to defy the universe.”
“I mean no, I don’t want to work for him.”
She pauses for a beat. “Why not?”
“Jesus, woman. Are you going to stop asking questions or do you need my social insurance number too?”
“Nah, identity theft isn’t my thing. If you don’t want to work there, what do you want to do? Keep touring with the band?” I hesitate. It’s the right answer to give. The easy answer. When I look at her, however, there’s no expectation in her eyes. Just curiosity and an illegal amount of patience.
“No,” I say quietly. “I don’t know what’s next for me.”
“I understand that. Most people go to university, and I skipped it. Decided to see where the wind takes me instead. You get a lot of condemnation for it, not doing what people expect of you. But I find it makes me so much more fulfilled than the relief of their approval.”
I gape at her.
“You sure you’re only nineteen and not eighty-seven? ‘Cause that was some old-person wisdom.”
“What can I say? I’m wise beyond my years,” she giggles.
She sips her beer before setting it down, twirling the ends of her hair between her fingers. It looks so soft, it makes me want to reach out and run my hands through it.
“Do your folks have any expectations of you? Any siblings to live up to?” I’m tired of talking about me, and it’s made me realize how little I know about her.
“Nope! Just me.”
“And your parents?”
She hesitates, weighing her words. “I know they’ve always wanted me to be happy, live life to the fullest. And that’s what I’m doing. I think they’re proud.”
“They sound really nice,” I say, analyzing the brief expression that crosses her face.
“Yeah.” She smiles thinly at me before looking out the window behind her. “This snow is never going to let up, is it? It’s going to be Day After Tomorrow out there soon!”
“Well, the whole city is shut down, so at least you don’t need to worry about getting anywhere.”
“True, but this is your apartment, your space. I’ve already overstayed my welcome.” She shifts in her seat, drawing my attention to her perfect ass.
She thinks she’s overstayed? The more I talk to her, the more I’m praying the snow keeps coming, giving me a little more time with her before I need to let her go for good and figure my shit out.
The weight of my inescapable future doesn’t feel as all-consuming after talking to her.
I assumed she would be judgemental, but she just…
listened. I don’t know that I’ve ever had someone pay me that kind of attention.
It’s simply who she is. I saw her at brunch, making sure everyone felt seen, including me in the conversation, the way everyone who walks through the café door falls in love with her.
She’s someone I could become addicted to.
I shake off the thought, reminding myself that she doesn’t need a boyfriend ten years her senior who’s having an early mid-life crisis.
She needs someone fun. Someone who will go on adventures with her and grow with her, not some idiot who’s stuck in his ways.
But until the weather clears, I get her all to myself.
“You know you’re more than welcome here, sunshine. Why don’t I throw in another one of those frozen pizzas and you can pick a movie or something?”
“Ugh, I don’t think I have the attention span for a movie. What about a card game?”
“A card game?”
“Yes, are you losing your hearing too? Apparently, that’s one of the first things to go in old age.”
“Watch it,” I growl half-heartedly with my head halfway in my freezer. “Cards are in the hall closet.”
I hear her shuffle around as I fiddle with my oven and grab us some more drinks from the fridge. When I get back to the table, she’s laid out Skip-Bo, one of the few card games I own.
She looks so at home at my dining room table, like I can picture a whole future that starts with her at that table. With me.
Probably irritating the shit out of me.
“Why are you smiling?” I pull myself out of my own head to focus on the gorgeous woman in front of me.
Really look at her. The way her honey-coloured hair sweeps over her shoulder, blue eyes clear and sweet, unruined by life’s disappointments.
The way my clothes drape her slim frame, barely grazing over curves and dips I’m aching to explore again.
“Nothing. Alright, you dealt. I get to go first.”
She kicked my ass.
Several rounds later, after as many hours, I can’t wrap my head around how she wins every time. I’ve been dealt good cards, I have a strategy, and she still manages to pummel me into the ground.
“I win again!” she says, giggling and throwing the last of her cards down. Her brightness is blinding, like she’s lit from the inside, spilling joy everywhere. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, it’s a jovialness she seems to bring with her no matter where she goes.
I can’t let it get to me, though.
“Alright, that’s it. I’m done.” I push away from the table, littered in beer cans, chip bags, and pizza crusts. This tiny little thing next to me ate nearly as much as I did, and I have almost a foot of height on her.
“Oh, come on, James! Don’t be a sore loser!
” she calls after me. I’m not a sore loser.
I’m annoyed. No one likes to lose, especially in their own house.
In front of a beautiful woman. How did she beat me?
Did she cheat? I’ll bet she rigged the cards when she dealt them.
I did go to the bathroom that one time… that has to be it. That’s the only explanation for why—
Oh shit, I am a sore loser.
I quickly chuck the trash and move to the couch, pushing that thought out of my mind, and grabbing the remote. She said she didn’t want to watch a movie. That’s fine. She doesn’t have to.
This is my apartment, I’ll watch what I want, I think to myself in a huff, flipping through options. I hover over my favourite show, debating putting it on. I normally watch by myself, but something tells me she won’t care either way.
The voice of Lady Whistledown fills the space as Stella joins me, sitting far closer than she was before. She wraps herself in the deep green throw blanket on the back of the couch Nessa said I ‘absolutely needed’.
“Ooh I haven’t seen this yet! Which season are you on?” There’s no judgement in her voice, though I knew there wouldn’t be. The regency romance theme song plays in the background as she sets her entire focus on the screen.
“The latest.”
“Well, you’ll have to catch me up, I’ve been meaning to watch it!” Her voice is earnest as she leans further into my arm.