Chapter Nineteen — Vinny
A week had passed, and I was healing. At least physically.
Emotionally, I felt like I was in a war zone. I kept thinking about what she said. What she'd done for me. We didn't talk about it anymore. Or what was developing between us. We'd danced around it. Kept it surface-level.
But the air between us was heavy with unspoken words that were driving me nuts. On top of the fact that she had to touch me to help me, changing my bandages. It felt like she was always touching me.
She was waiting outside the bathroom now, wearing a simple t-shirt and nothing else. She had the thickest, longest runner's legs. I sighed and willed my dick not to rise. Being trapped in a house with someone who looked like her was torture.
The moment I stood up, pain flashed through my ribs and my knee buckled. I grunted, catching myself on the edge of the tub, but I still went down hard. My back hit cold tile. Everything went white for a second.
"What happened?" she yelled.
"I'm good," I called through the door.
I wasn't good.
I hurt all over.
The door swung open.
"Vinny. Shit." Jamie rushed in, dropping to her knees beside me. The towel hit the floor, forgotten.
"I said I was fine," I muttered through gritted teeth.
"You're not fine. You're going to split your fucking stitches," she snapped, gripping my arm.
She was close. Too close. I wanted to grab her and kiss her.
She helped me sit up, her palm pressing into my chest, steadying me. I was naked, bruised, bandaged. She smelled like soap and garlic and something sweet.
And she was looking at me—really looking at me, hard.
I ran my tongue across my teeth. Watching her watch me.
I let my gaze slide down her collarbone, watched her throat work as she swallowed. I saw her pulse flutter at her neck.
After spending so much time with her, I started to realize she was stunning in a different way than Sophia. I started noticing the differences.
She didn't try to be beautiful—she just was. No makeup. No expensive clothes. No teasing tones. She was just… Jamie. She didn't play soft to make herself palatable.
Both made me feel like a man for different reasons.
Sophia needed me. She looked at me like I hung the stars. She needed me to protect her.
Jamie didn't need a damn thing from me. She challenged me. Matched me. She didn't make me feel like a hero—she made me feel seen.
With Jamie, I wanted to prove myself.
Sophia wouldn't like the man I'd become. I would understand that. But Jamie would have liked both versions of me. She had said as much. It did something to me.
Something I didn't have words for yet.
She was affected too. How deep it went, I didn't know. She was hard to read. But in the moment, I could tell there was something there. Her pupils were blown open, and she kept running the tip of her tongue over her lips. Her eyes kept falling to my dick, which was half-mast now.
It pissed me off how much I wanted to touch her. And she would probably let me again. But I couldn't. Our situation was already too complicated.
"Are you going to keep staring at me or let me help you up off the floor?" she suddenly snapped, looking away.
She helped me up, steadying me with her body. Guided me back to bed. When I was settled, she handed me two pills and a bottle of water. I took them without a word, watching her the entire time.
"You want clothes?" I watched her eyes drift down to my dick. I almost smirked.
"No."
She nodded, forcing her eyes back to my face. "You should get some sleep," she said, backing toward the door.
"Don't go to the couch," I said. "You've been sleeping out there uncomfortable. We can share the bed."
"I'm fine on the couch."
"You're not," I said. "The bed's big. Just sleep."
She paused.
I could see the tug-of-war in her eyes.
"I don't think that's a good idea," she muttered.
"I won't touch you," I said quietly, locking eyes with her. "Not even if you let me."
She took a step back. A single step, as if she needed to put more distance between us.
Her lips parted like she might speak, but nothing came.
I saw it. She was reliving the memory of letting me do it.
My dick started to throb thinking about her thinking about it. My eyes stayed on her hardening nipples. I could have eased my pain if I looked away. I shifted my body, but my eyes stayed put. I was a glutton for punishment.
She narrowed her eyes.
I gave her a slow smirk. "Unless breathing too close counts." I eased the tension.
She rolled her eyes, but there was no venom behind it.
Then, to my surprise, she made her way back to the bed, her steps slow and deliberate, like she was giving herself time to think her decision through.
She clicked the bedside lamp off before she pulled back the blanket and slid in next to me.
Her entire body was stiff at first, facing me.
I shifted just enough to close the space between us.
Not touching her. But close enough that we were sharing breath.
Close enough to feel the heat of her body bleed into mine.
She stayed still for a while.
Just stared at me in the dark.
Long enough to make my heart kick up.
Long enough to make me wonder if she'd lean in and put us both out of our misery.
But she didn't.
She exhaled and closed her eyes.
Still facing me.