It’s after three in the morning when I pull into my garage.
After Noah was born, I saved every penny I could and bought the three-bedroom brick ranch. For years, Noah, Georgia, and I lived here together. She only moved out a few years ago.
Now, it’s just me and my mini-me.
I texted Jamie a few times throughout the night to check on Noah and make sure she was okay with staying so late. Around nine thirty, she told me Noah passed out on the couch, and she was putting him to bed.
Never in a million years would I have thought Jamie would be in my house, watching Noah while I worked.
I hear the TV when I walk into the house, but there’s no sign of life in the living room. I circle the couch to find Jamie sleeping with a Spider-Man blanket wrapped around her.
Staring down at her in curiosity, not creepiness, I absorb her beauty. We haven’t seen each other since the night she came over when Noah was sick.
It’s better that way.
I kept my distance to avoid what I’m doing now—drinking her in as if she were the best drink I’d ever poured. Her golden-brown hair spills over the edge of the pillow and covers half of her tan face. Even in Jamie’s dorky days, she was cute. Her lips are pouty, and I know she has two dimples that pop through her cheeks when she bursts into laughter. Her green eyes light up any room.
There’s more to Jamie than her looks.
She has the warmest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.
I dip down and whisper her name, and her eyes slowly open, one at a time.
“Sorry.” A deep yawn leaves her. “I dozed off.”
I shove my hands into my pants pockets and chuckle. “He can be a handful.”
She snorts, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Oh, he’s nothing.”
I retreat a step when she rises and stretches out her arms. My eyes are on her when she stands, grabs the blanket, folds it into a neat square, and settles it on the end of the couch. Without a word and with another yawn, she snags a mug with the bar’s logo from the table, and her fuzzy-socked feet pad through the living room to the kitchen.
My gaze is on her, my eyes taking in every inch of her ass, which makes me a rude bastard. Her black yoga pants hug her body, accentuating her plump ass, and I love how casual she looks tonight and how comfortable she seems in my home. Sure, seeing her in that black dress was nice, but this is so much more.
The kitchen is quiet as she rinses out her mug and places it in the dishwasher as if she owned the place.
My mouth turns dry as I rest my back against the cabinets and search for the right words. “How’s life going?”
How’s life?
Lamest fucking question.
When did I lose my game?
“Life is living at the hospital while playing Let’s See How Many Coffees Jamie Can Drink Before She Has an Anxiety Attack.”
My eyes return to her ass when she crouches down to shut the dishwasher.
“I get you on the coffee.” I chuckle as I take the few steps to the kitchen table and collapse into a chair. I grab the pizza box, sliding it to me, and cringe when I open it. “What’s this trash?”
She arches a brow. “Pizza.”
“Did you torture my son with this pizza?”
“Uh … yeah.”
“Listen, there’s a lot of shit I’ll take, but feeding my son this pineapple demon of a pizza is where I draw the line.”
“He loved it, thank you very much.” She smirks and surprisingly sits across from me. “Have you ever tried Hawaiian pizza?”
“Nope, nor do I care to.”
“What is it Noah said you tell him?” She taps the side of her cheek, thinking. “You have to try foods before you decide you don’t like them. Practice what you preach, Fox.”
Nausea turns in my stomach when she slides the pizza box closer to me.
I push it back. “Nasty-ass pizza. Hard pass.”
“Cohen, try the damn pizza.”
“Look, I don’t want to be a dick and make you clean up my vomit after I eat this garbage. Plus, I don’t want my house to smell.”
“For a guy, you’re dramatic as fuck.”
I chuckle. “Oh, really?”
“Really.”
“It’s weird, hearing you cuss.”
The Jamie I knew was shy, timid, definitely not this outspoken.
This Jamie is confident, funny, and a fucking smart-ass.
She scrunches up that cute nose of hers. “Why?”
“You hardly muttered a curse word in high school.”
“Well, I didn’t think you were dramatic as fuck then.” A smirk plays at her lips, her dimples slightly making an appearance. “Had I, I would’ve told you the same.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “There’s always been a little rebel inside you.”
She rolls a hairband off her wrist, smooths her hair into a ponytail, and ties it back, stray strands framing her face. “Puh-lease. The most rebellious thing I did in high school was go to that stupid party.” Her cheeks redden before she buries her face in her hands, speaking through them, “Oh my God. I can’t believe I brought that up.”
Our conversation is about to grow more interesting than a damn pineapple pizza debate.
I straighten my shoulders, a cocky smile crossing my face. “I was your first kiss, wasn’t I?”
When she uncovers her face, she’s glaring at me. “You don’t know that.”
“I was,” I state, matter-of-factly.
“Oh, piss off.” Her hand waves through the air. “It sucked, by the way.”
Leaning back in the chair, I’m already enjoying every word of this, knowing it’ll just get better. “I don’t doubt that. You cornered me in a bathroom and drunkenly stuck your tongue down my throat.”
My breathing slows at the memory. Heather lost her shit when she spotted Jamie at that party, but I made her chill out. Jamie didn’t have much of a social life, and I was happy that she was finally enjoying her teenage years. I plowed through the crowd and made it clear that she could only take drinks from me. Later, when I went to take a piss, Jamie shoved herself into the bathroom behind me and locked the door. Before I could stop her and ask when she’d lost her mind, she pushed me against the door and attempted to suck my face off.
It was bad.
She was so inexperienced.
I turned her down, she cried, and then I drove her home.
We never brought up that night … until now.
“That’s why I don’t drink cheap vodka anymore,” she says.
“Oh, really?” I lean back in my chair. “What’s your drink of choice now? Pineapple juice to match your pineapple pizza?”
“Wine, thank you very much. It’s never convinced me to stick my tongue down someone’s throat where it doesn’t belong.” The blush on her cheeks hasn’t disappeared.
“Does it make you stick your tongue down throats you should?”
She bites into the edge of her lip. “Can we stop talking about me, and you eat the damn pizza?”
I’d much rather talk about her sticking her tongue down throats.
And other places.
Well, not anyone’s throat.
Maybe talk about her sticking her tongue down my throat.
Or vice versa.
I shake my head, mentally slapping my forehead. “If it’s gross, you owe me fifteen mushroom pizzas.”
“Ew.” A fake gagging sound falls from her mouth. “I don’t trust people who eat fungus on their pizza.”
“Fruit on it is better?”
“Quit delaying and eat the damn pizza.”
My stomach growls, but not because I’m hungry. It’s tightening, gearing itself up to ingest something disgusting. Jamie’s eyes are pinned to me, and she’s nearly bouncing in her chair. My upper lip snarls when I pick up a slice, bite off the corner, and chew it as slow as Noah does his broccoli.
I’m making the same disgusted face.
“So?” she asks eagerly when I swallow it.
“Just as I suspected.” I clasp my fingers together in a fist, hold it over my mouth, and make a choking noise. “Nasty as hell.”
She rips off an edge of crust from a slice and tosses it at me. “You suck.”
We’re in need of a subject change. I can’t have her asking me to try any more nasty shit.
“You know,” I say, “I never told Heather about that night.”