I glance at the screen, expecting an apology for being late, but Jamison’s message simply reads—
Look outside your door.
I frown and glance uncertainly at the apartment’s front door. Did Lucy leave the bakery’s back staff entrance unlocked? Did Jamison let himself in?
If so, why wouldn’t he just knock?
Why the weird message?
“Jamison?” I call, but there’s no answer and no sound from beyond the door. “Jamison?”
Still nothing, not even the creak of a floorboard. Finally, my curiosity gets the better of me. I tiptoe across the apartment, open the door, and peek out, but there’s no one there.
I’m about to reply to the text—and ask Jamison where the heck he is and what I’m looking for out here—when something on the ground catches my eye.
There, beside the doorstop sits a folded piece of white paper with my name on it and a shot glass full of amber liquid.
I kneel, claiming both the glass and the note before standing up to scan the stairs. Still no sign of Jamison.
I flip the note open to read—Roses are red, violets are blue, I always have fun when I drink whiskey with you. (Enjoy your shot and look for another surprise at the bottom of the stairs.) -J
Any other night, I would take the shot and enjoy the fun surprise, but tonight isn’t a night for fun surprises.
And it certainly isn’t a night for whiskey.
I set the shot back on the ground untouched and start down the stairs.
At the bottom, there’s still no sign of Jamison, only another note resting atop a puddle of black fabric on a table for two in the corner.
Roses are red, this blindfold is black, cover those pretty eyes before you meet me out back.
I run my fingers over the silky fabric, momentarily tempted.
I have no doubt that whatever Jamison is up to will lead to us both having an amazing time—we’ve proven that Jamison + Maddie + whiskey = mind-blowing sex, and I bet the blindfold would only sweeten the equation.
But in the end, I leave the blindfold and the note on the table before making my way through the kitchen to the back door.
Sure, it would be easier to get swept up in whatever sexy adventure Jamison has planned, but tonight I need to talk more than I need to come.
Roses are red, Maddie is vexing, my mental voice pipes up. Why waste time talking when you could be sexing?
“Oh, shut up,” I mumble as I push through the door to see Jamison’s red Mustang idling in the delivery van’s usual spot near the dumpster.
I spot Jamison in the driver’s seat and watch his smile fade as he realizes I’m not playing along.
A moment later, he shuts off the engine and swings out of the car.
In a white dress shirt that emphasizes his bronze skin, dark wash jeans, and a fresh shave, he looks good enough to eat and smells even better. Even over the faintly sour trash funk drifting from the dumpster, I still catch his Jamison smell and it makes me ache, my traitorous body refusing to acknowledge that my heart is having major qualms.
“Trouble tying the blindfold?” He stops in front of me, an uncertain note in his voice.
“No.” My gaze drops to the pavement as I pull in a breath. I won’t be able to resist the urge to lean into his arms if I keep staring into his eyes. “I think we should talk.”
He sighs. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Sorry,” I say, trying to remember how I planned to start this conversation and coming up empty.
Now that he’s standing in front of me, it’s hard to concentrate on anything but how much I want to be closer to him, to rest my cheek on his chest and inhale his addictive scent, to feel his hands moving over my skin, banishing my ability to think about anything but how amazing he makes me feel.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “If you want to talk, let’s talk.” He shifts from one foot to the other and back again. “Do you want to go inside? Maybe get some coffee? Or let me toss back that whiskey shot I’m guessing you didn’t drink. If you’re going to end it, I might need a shot of whiskey.”
My eyes fly to meet his. “I’m not going to end it,” I say. “I’m just…confused.”
“Confused about what?”
“About where this is going, about what I want,” I say, my fingers twining anxiously together. “About what I feel and what…you feel.”
He nods but his expression remains guarded. “I’m guessing this has something to do with what I said on the roof.”
I nod.
“So, what? It was too soon for you?” he asks, his gaze shifting uncomfortably to the wall behind me. “I mean, if so, that’s fine because I was… I was just—” He breaks off with a shake of his head. “No, you know what? It’s not fine. You’ve always called me on my bullshit, and now I’m calling you on yours.” He frowns down at me. “I thought everything was good. Better than good. I thought we were having fun.”