Chapter Thirty-Four
111 days until graduation
There are some moments that even me, a certifiable genius, would never come to expect, and it is safe to say that going on a date with Jameson Beaumont is one of them.
“You cannot tell anyone about this,” I grit through my teeth as I point a finger at Gwen.
We’re standing by the front door, waiting for Jameson’s Uber to get here. Occasionally, Gwen or I will peek out of the windows before quickly retreating.
Our mom has even caught glimpses of the spectacle and is waiting in the kitchen for me to leave.
“Why not?” She asks. “It’s not like any of your friends would care. They’d probably love this.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I respond as I look through my bag—the Chanel one Logan got me for my birthday last year—making sure that I have everything. “The only reason you found out was because you saw me standing here, and I couldn’t come up with a lie quick enough.” A weak moment in the Genevieve Alderidge secret dating handbook.
“And because your bedroom walls are not thick enough for me not to hear the two of you talking on the phone every night,” she points out mischievously. “By the way, if you ever think of doing anything else in your bedroom with him, please take the thin walls into consideration.”
I grimace. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind, Gwen.”
“Oh! Oh!” She points toward the floors of the entryway that are being illuminated by headlights through the window. “He’s here!”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and the only feeling coursing through my body is a slight twinge of worry.
“I have nothing to worry about, right?” I look toward my mom, who has just reemerged from the kitchen.
I’m not sure why I even ask her. She barely knows Jameson.
She walks over and begins quickly smoothing her hands over my hair as she says, “No, of course not. He already likes you, Genny.”
I let out a calming sigh as I watch the shadow of Jameson’s frame approach the door. “You’re right.”
“Okay, let’s go to the kitchen,” Mom says, leaving the entryway with Gwen.
I mouth a quick ‘thank you’ right as the doorbell rings through the house. I wait a beat before opening the door.
“Well, don’t you look dapper.” I grin as I step onto the porch. Jameson’s wearing black slacks and a white button down, with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
“As do you, love.” He hands me the bouquet of tulips he was holding, which I hold up against my chest as we walk back down the driveway toward the Uber.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I pry as Jameson opens the car door.
“We may need to update your brain’s definition of the word surprise,” he says simply before shutting my door and walking to the other side of the car.
“Right, I might need a factory reset,” I joke.
We’re sitting in the backseat, me more toward the middle so our thighs are touching. Jameson has my hand on his lap almost the entire ride, toying with my fingers.
While I’d never openly admit it, the idea of a boyfriend has always scared me. I grew up with parents who were never around for long periods of time and put me on the backburner, which caused me to spend a lot of my childhood worried that I drove people away.
The theory was proven over and over again; every boy who ever saw me as anything more than an uptight authoritarian usually went running for the hills within a few weeks of talking.
Then I lost my virginity, thinking I was giving it to a boy who was different, one who cared. He left just like everyone else, but not without inflicting a series of blows on his way out.
Since then, I never considered trying to force someone to open their heart to me again.
This though, sitting in the back of a car with Jameson on our way to some secret date location, almost makes me think I could be okay with this.
I would be content—happy, even—doing this with Jameson for the foreseeable future.
“Mini golf?” I ask as we get out of the car. “Jameson, you have no idea the competitive monster you’re about to unleash.”
Jameson’s trailing closely behind while he keeps hold of my wrist. “I think I may have the slightest idea.”
I look back at him as we continue up the path. “Okay, who told you about the BINGO incident?”
A laugh bursts from his throat. “What?”
“No one ever told you about that?” I ask. “I thought I was being set up!”
He looks at me with an amused expression. “Genevieve, I’ve been competing against you all year. I think I have a good idea of how this is going to go.”
“There’s one slight difference,” I tell him as we both grab a putter and a golf ball. “There won’t be a tie this time.”
“There could be.”
We make eye contact as I set my ball on the start of the first hole. “There won’t be.”
My putter connects with the ball, and it immediately hits the wall, then ricochets right back toward me.
“I think you might be right.” Jameson smirks. “There will definitely not be a tie.”
“Ha ha,” I say in a deadpan tone.
As it turns out, Jameson is amazing at mini golf, and I am awful.
“Genova, wait.” He stops me before I can take my shot at the last hole and steps behind me, leveling out my hands on the putter, and setting his chin on my shoulder. “Now, a nice and easy swing will send the ball straight down the line.”
And it does, because as soon as mine and Jameson’s hands swing the putter—perfectly in sync—the ball rolls down the faux grass and dips into the hole.
My hands shoot up in shock, the putter almost hitting Jameson when I do. “Hole in one!” I shout through my excitement.
Jameson lets out a whoop of excitement, and before I can register what’s happening, his hands are around my waist and he’s lifting me in the air.
This type of overjoyed feeling seems scarce in life, and yet, with Jameson’s help I got a hole in one in mini-golf, and don’t think I could ever feel happier.
Usually, I would have avoided his help at all costs, but this feels much too romantic and much too surreal for me to do anything but let it happen.
“Well, now we have to celebrate,” I laugh as he sets me back down.
“I’m thinking…” He trails off, pulling my face between his hands.
Standing in the middle of the mini golf course, Jameson kisses me. While it’s not the first time he’s done it, it feels like the start of something more, like we’re both making sense of the fact.
This is real, and it”s staring us straight in the face.
“I really love mini golf.” Maybe it’s not what I truly intended to say, but I think it gets my point across.
Jameson’s smile grows as he pulls away from me. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my hand.
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Of course, it is.
“Do you think there’s a chance Logan and the rest of our friends have already guessed we’ve been sneaking around?” I ask as I take another spoonful of ice cream in my mouth.
Jameson shrugs. “It’s possible.”
“What if they’re making bets on us?”
“Then, they better be splitting the profit with us.” He pulls another napkin from the holder in the center of the table, wiping the ice cream off his face.
After the whirlwind of a mini golf game, we decided against dinner and opted for the ice cream shop located a town over from Fairwood.
“How do you think our speech is coming along?” I ask, trying to fill the small moment of silence.
“I think it’s pretty good,” he replies. “There’s not much that the two of us can’t accomplish together.”
“Probably because we’ve had so much experience working together,” I say sarcastically.
“Maybe we haven’t, but we work in the same ways. Our brains do, at least.”
“I’m glad.” I probably wouldn’t be able to stand him otherwise.
“Can you be honest with me for a minute?” He asks.
I lean forward. “I’m always honest.”
“How do you truly feel about this?” He motions between us. “Is it hard for you?”
My brows furrow at his obscure question. “No,” I say plainly.
“Care to explain?”
“I don’t think this was something I ever expected to happen between us, but being with you like this has made me feel more like myself.”
“You don’t think you were yourself before?”
“When you first got here, I was angry.” That much is obvious. “I had never felt like that before, so resentful. It was hard for me to process how you being here changed everything for me, and I turned into what felt like a completely different person.”
Jameson sucks his lower lip between his teeth. “So, you weren’t always that exasperated?”
“I was always serious, and a bit too independent for my own good.” I shrug. “But I was never that…indignant.”
“I’m sorry that I made you feel like that.” His sincerity is palpable.
“It wasn’t so much you as it was the situation,” I say. “Plus, there’s nothing we can do about it now, so why bother trying?”
“It’s all working out now.” Leave it to Jameson to be so complacent.
“Can I try that?” I feel the urge to ask as I watch Jameson take bites of his ice cream.
He holds the cup out to me, allowing me to take a spoonful and try it. He waits for my reaction, seeing if I want more, before retracting the cup.
“You don’t like it?” He asks when I don’t take more.
“I like it, I just like mine more.” I hold out my cup, letting him take a bite. His is pistachio, mine is chocolate peanut butter.
“Mm.” He sighs in approval, like he’s attempting to give a professional review.
“I told you.” I nod, tucking my lips in to avoid smiling like an idiot.
He smiles while he runs his thumb across my chin, pretending I have something there when I know I don’t. “I’d be a fool not to believe you.”
“I’ll walk you to your door.” Jameson tells me, getting out of the car after me.
I would tell him he doesn’t have to, but I not-so-secretly don’t want to let him out of my sight yet.
While I desperately tried to save his white button down with my stain remover stick when he spilled pistachio ice cream on himself, there is still the hint of a green stain right over his right clavicle.
I’m just glad I didn’t stain my clothes.
Jameson carries the tulips he got me as we walk up the driveway, while I’m trying to focus in on the windows near the door to make sure Gwen isn’t standing there when I walk inside.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Jameson asks.
I take the steps up to my porch and stop in front of the door. He does the same, and we’re standing with only a few feet between us—our frames illuminated by the porch light.
“I did,” I reply easily. “Thank you, Jameson.”
“I’m happy to be in your company anytime, Genova.”
I almost blush, but I keep my composure.“Well,” I turn to open the front door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
He turns to walk back toward the Uber, but I stop him. “Jameson?”
He turns back. “Yeah?”
“How did you know tulips are my favorite?” I’m gripping the door frame as I stand in the entryway of my house.
“Call it a lucky guess.”
He’s smiling when he turns back to the steps, and I’m smiling as I shut the front door behind me.