“Good. Then sit down and get out your calendar.”
“For what?”
“I win, which means I’m going to pin you to the mat and you’re going to like it, so we need to pick a date.” Her mouth falls open, incredulous. “Now sit back down and do your homework, Jimmy.”
Sebastian
I don’t know how I find myself outside Jameson’s house, on her street. On her lawn. On her front porch, knocking. But by the grace of God, the universe decided to grant me a favor, and for the first time in my collegiate years, my classes were done by late morning.
Practice ended early. I don’t have to work.
The team bus doesn’t leave until late.
So here I stand on Jameson’s porch, fist raised to knock.
I give it a few brisk raps and wait. Footpads approach the door and I straighten to my full height, paste a smile on my mouth, and wait for the deadbolts to slide free. The knob turns. Door gets cracked open a sliver and a giddy twitter emerges.
It’s not Jameson.
My smile falters, but I quickly recover. “Hey Sydney. What’s up?”
I stuff my hands inside the pockets of my lightweight winter jacket and bounce on the balls of my feet.
“Oz! Hi!” Sydney exclaims, all blonde hair, tits, and excitement. “Did you get my text? I texted you!”
Yeah, no shit. Ten texts, all of them annoying and unanswered. I try to act startled by this revelation. “You texted me! Weird. None of them came through.”
Lies, lies, lies, and they roll off my tongue like honey.
She screws up her heavily made-up face into a pout. “Really? Shoot. There must be something wrong with my phone. I’ll have to take it in to have it looked at.”
“Yeah, good idea. So…” I cut to the chase. “Is Jameson home?”
“Jameson?”
“We didn’t have plans but I thought we’d hit the library or something.”
Mostly or something.
Anything.
“She’s not here and I don’t know when she’ll be back, but I happen to be free.” Sydney coyly twirls a blonde tendril then flicks the entire curl over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get ice cream. Lucky you! It’ll be fun.”
Yay, lucky me.
I stand idle, debating about whether I should go for ice cream or not while Sydney slips back inside, emerging a few seconds later with a jacket and purse as if the whole thing was settled.
Shit.
She spins on her heels, calling back into the house before shutting the door behind her and stepping out onto the porch. “Allison, Oz and I are going for ice cream! If James comes back, tell her we’ll be back whenever!”
Or don’t, I almost groan out.
Cause the last thing I fucking want is Jameson finding out I went out with her damn roommate again. I don’t know jack shit about women, but I do know she’s going to hear about this and get the wrong impression.
Sydney hauls me to my truck—the truck I worked my ass off to own and paid off in full last month—hopping into the passenger seat with delight.
In a hurry to end this ice cream social as soon as possible, I make short work of the trip. Order a cone—chocolate, hold the sprinkles. Grab it to-go. Get back in the truck. Drive back to Jameson’s place at warp speed with Jameson’s roommate blathering nonstop beside me.
Touching my leg. Giggling. Trying her damnedest to be funny and engage me in conversation.
Instead of drawing out the excursion, I dump Sydney off in her front yard before reaching the bottom of my cone.
If she notices the hustle, she’s too polite to let on, smiling brightly the entire, hideous time, until the very moment we pull back in front of the house.
“Oh look! James is back!”
Oh, goody.
Sydney is out before I can object and yanks open the driver’s side door, yanks on my arm, and drags me out. “Come inside and say hello.”
Every step up the walkway is like being marched to my execution with cement blocks chained to my ankles. A pit forms in my stomach, and I feel…
I attempt to pinpoint how I actually fucking feel, and…it’s shitty.
I feel shitty.
Kind of sick.
We’re on the stoop now and Sydney is marching through the front door, chatting away. I hesitate, feet rooted to the concrete steps on their covered porch, not wanting to proceed any farther.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Sydney asks, holding the screen door open when she notices I haven’t stepped into the house behind her.
I shake my head. Negative. “I should get going.”
“But…” Pause. “Should I get James for you?”
No. “Sure.”
Her disappearance into the dimly lit living room is followed by voices, a few doors opening and closing, and the appearance of—
“Jim.”
She’s standing under the entry, hand braced against the doorjamb. “Hi.”
The first thing I notice about Jameson is that her hair is down, hanging around her shoulders, kind of windblown and messy, like she’s just been driving with the windows down. It’s sexy.
The second thing I notice is that she’s not wearing a cardigan, a sweater, or a cardigan sweater. Snug jeans hug her curvy hips, and I can’t help but linger on the threadbare V-neck shirt with the plunging neckline.
“Hi.”
Jameson rolls her eyes, nothing but passive aggression etched across her pretty face. “What’s up?”
“I came by earlier to see you.”