THIS HAS BEEN the most awkward dinner ever.
We’re sitting in the dim bar on Main Street, within walking distance of the apartment. It’s a speakeasy with a secret entrance disguised like a seventies accountant’s office, but the inside is all lush maroon velvet, bizarre and fascinating artwork, and a bright, hedonistic mural of people lounging around naked in nature.
I sip my chai whiskey sour and glance at the back hallway, where the washrooms are. There’s probably a back door I could sneak out of.
I’m still buzzing from what Jamie and I did back in the apartment, and every time I think of it, my face feels warm. Beside me, Jamie’s back to his glowering self. I know we shouldn’t have messed around again, but the second he touches me, all the thoughts just fall out of my head. It’s too electric between us. Too intense, too good.
God, his fingers inside me… A shudder rolls through me.
“Pippa.” Rory leans back in his hair. “What’s this I hear about you playing guitar for everyone?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s just for fun.”
Beside me, Jamie makes a low noise of disapproval in his throat.
“It is,” I tell him with an indulgent smile, and he frowns down at me. “She’s good,” he tells Rory. They’re the first words he’s said to him
since we got here. “If she wanted to, she could work in the music industry.” A block of ice forms in my stomach. “It’s not just about talent.”
“No, it’s not.” Jamie’s gaze is hard. “It’s about hard work and believing in yourself. You’re just missing the last one.”
An ugly, hesitant feeling rises in me, and my hands twist in my lap. I’m about to change the subject when Rory cuts in.
“Sounds like you have a fan,” he says, flicking a grin at Jamie. No teasing. No overconfident smirk. Just a smile.
“Her biggest fan.” Jamie’s words don’t have the bite they usually do when he speaks to Rory.
They look at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. Alright, enough of this.
“Why aren’t you guys friends anymore?” I blurt out.
Jamie just glares at Rory, who shifts in his chair. There’s a flash of vulnerability in his eyes before he blinks it away.
“He’s the guy I’m scoring against.” Rory’s smile is sardonic. “Why would I be friends with a guy like that?”
Jamie folds his arms over his chest. “Sounds like a lesson from the Rick Miller school of hockey.”
“Yep.” Rory’s eyebrows bob once, and there’s a humorless slant to his lips as he surveys the bar.
There’s a long moment where it feels like they both want to say more. “Your dad is Rick Miller?” I ask Rory, eyebrows rising to my hairline.
Rick Miller is one of the greats in Canadian hockey. He’d be one of my dad’s favorite players if he didn’t have such a reputation for being an asshole to the press and to fans.
Rory levels me with a dry look. “The one and only.” “Wow.”
He shrugs. “Don’t be impressed, Pippa. He’s just a regular guy.”
I think about Jamie and how intimidated I was by him back in high school, and even a few months ago, and how kind, sweet, and protective he is beneath his surly exterior.
Something tells me Rick Miller isn’t kind and sweet, though.
“We should get going.” Jamie glances down at me. “I have early training, and your interview is tomorrow.”
My stomach knots. Right, the interview for the marketing position. I’ve been preparing for it for two weeks, going over all my school notes, rehearsing with Hazel, and fending off excited phone calls from my parents asking if I’m ready.
“Songbird.” Jamie’s using the voice he only uses when we’re together, like he’s forgotten Rory is sitting on the other side of the table. “You’ll kill it, if that’s what you want.”
That’s not what I’m worried about, but I don’t see any other path. Any other options are—
No. Just no.
I force a quick smile, and across the table, Rory’s watching us with a curious look. The server passes behind him, and Jamie lifts a hand to get her attention.
“Can we have the bill, please?” he asks her.
She smiles. “It’s already settled up. Have a good night.” She leaves, and we look to Rory, who just winks at me.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “You didn’t have to get our dinner.” He lifts a shoulder, getting up. “It was the least I could do.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, and I wonder if it has something to do with the way things ended with him and Jamie.
Jamie clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with Rory paying for anything for him. “Thanks,” he mutters, and I hide my grin as we leave.
Outside the bar, Rory tips his head down the street. “My hotel is this way.”
“Okay.” I smile at him. “Thanks for the fun hang.”
He gives me a warm squeeze and a quick kiss on the cheek. I don’t have a brother but I’m pretty sure this is what it would feel like.
“Let’s do it again, okay?” He pulls away and grins down at me. I nod. “You bet.”
He turns to Jamie, who’s staring with irritation. “And Streicher, you were there too, I guess.”
Jamie’s nostrils flare. I roll my eyes, say good night to Rory, and pull Jamie with me. We walk through the streets to the apartment in silence until he glances down at me.
“Thanks for letting me crash your hangout,” he says. My smile is teasing. “You didn’t ask.”
He snorts, and I know he’s thinking about when he demanded I move in with him.
“And it wasn’t a hangout. It was a date.” I turn away from him, smothering a smile as he makes an unhappy noise in his throat.
“Not. A. Date.”
I chuckle. I love teasing him.
We pass the guitar store, and a sigh slips out of me as my gaze lands on my dream guitar. I pause as I admire it.
Jamie stops at my side, folding his arms as he studies it through the window. “You love this guitar.”
“I do.” I gaze at it, memorizing the details of the wood. I can imagine just how the strings would feel.
“Next time we pass it, you should go in and play it.”
I shake my head with a smile. “If I play it, I’ll want it even more,” I admit.
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Yes, because then I’ll want other things even more. I’ll start picturing things. I’ll start dreaming again, and the last time I did that, it didn’t end well.
“In another life, maybe, but not this one. Come on. Let’s go home.”
When we open the front door, Daisy sprints over, and Jamie reaches down to give her scratches.
“I’m going to walk her,” he says, lifting her into his arms.
Our gazes meet, and my mind is on what we did hours ago against the door. His eyes darken, and I know he’s thinking about the same thing. A pulse of heat hits me low in my belly.
I’m tempted. I’m so fucking tempted.
The night Donna had a panic attack, though, after Jamie used the toy on me, he was about to let me down gently, and I quickly cut in because I couldn’t bear to be rejected again.
I bet that’s the expression he’ll wear when he tells me we can’t do this anymore. It’s only a matter of time. He’d never dump me the way Zach did, I realize. He’d do it the right way. He’d do it to my face, with care and respect.
I flinch, picturing it. Why does that feel worse?
Because that’s exactly the reason I like him. He’s kind, and he would never hurt someone on purpose, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt me without meaning to.
“I can’t do casual,” I tell him.
My words hang in the air, and my message is clear. We need to stop this. Even if it’s fun. Even if he’s giving me the best orgasms I’ve ever had. Even if we can’t keep our hands off each other.
He stares at me for a moment before his Adam’s apple bobs. “Yeah.” My chest feels funny, tight and strained, with an unwelcome pressure.
“Good night.”
He nods, looking so serious. “Good night, Pippa.”
In another life, I said to him about the guitar. Maybe that applies to him, too.
