Mixed Connection (Cypress Lake Reunion #1)

7. Chapter 7

7

Babes at Benny’s Group Chat

J-babe

Don’t forget to spray perfume on your ankles.

Lo

IYKYK *devil smiley emoji*

Oh and I know! Can’t forget the ankles. *laughing emoji*

B

When did I get added to this group chat? *eyes emoji* Fill me in about the ankles thing.

Lo

Are you complaining? Cause I can remove you.

B

No nooo. Don’t get sassy!

You know. You spray perfume on your ankles just in case they’ll be in the air later.

J-babe

YASSS!!! Put em up, put em up!

Last night was busy for us, which is surprising as it normally doesn’t pick up until later in the week when ladies’ night and book club events take place. I’m not going to complain, though. With wanting to build out the library area in the back and hire someone else full-time, we need the extra money for it all to be more than a concept. Anderson and I may be good friends, but I pay the same rate as everyone else. Crews is hardworking and always provides top-notch work, which means he is worth every penny. Rubbing circles with my thumbs into my temples, I take a deep breath because that process will be a whole thing. That’s tomorrow’s trouble.

Seeing Jameson last night was also something I didn’t expect, but he was a welcome sight nonetheless. If I hadn’t seen him at the bar I wouldn’t have figured out why bourbon and citrus have been haunting my dreams. Haunt may not be the right word, considering I wake up with the sheets twisted between my thighs and hot with a need I can’t fulfill.

Either way, after missing our chance during our teens, and apparently again when I remodeled Shaken Tropes, it was a mixed connection that I don’t plan on losing out on again. I chuckle to myself at my play on words. Are you even funny if you don’t find yourself hilarious? “I don’t think so,” I say out loud, as I point the hairbrush at the mirror and laugh at myself again.

Spraying my curls with a refresher, I work the product through. I switch on the diffuser and the soft hum starts, tuning out the afrobeats playing over the speakers. I make quick work of drying my curls before putting everything away and heading to the kitchen. Coffee is a must after the night I had.

Slight buzzing pulls my attention and I search the countertop, moving things out of the way or picking up papers. That’s when I notice my cell phone is precariously perched halfway on the granite. Almost tripping over my own feet, I lunge for it and miss it completely as it slips through my fingers and my eyes widen at the thought of breaking yet another phone. Thank God it was plugged into its charger. I ball my fist as my phone slips through my fingers, gripping the charging cord before the device gets a chance to connect with the floor.

Plopping myself up onto the same counter, I finally open the notifications that almost ended the life of my barely dinged-up device. Rolling my eyes in frustration, I blow out a breath. I am on a mission to make this phone last. It’s my second one since upgrading and I refuse to break another phone. I rub my thumb on the already cracked screen and click the message, ignoring the thought of maybe ordering myself a new phone.

Jameson

Wanted to be sure I texted you so you wouldn’t think I ran off with my girl.

LOL. The jury is still out on that.

Jameson

Shaken Tropes was really great! I’m glad I got to see you.

Are you free Saturday?

I could be, what do you have in mind?

Jameson

I’d like to take you out.

Not a question, but a statement. Kicking my feet, I lean back and squeal at how direct he is. Finding a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to take the lead—an excited chill races over the surface of my skin—it’s a characteristic I find sexy in every facet of the word. I was so used to being the pursuer and chasing after what or who I wanted, that at some point I stopped trying to date. I wasn’t against going after the person I desired but I wanted it to be reciprocated, to be someone’s first and only choice because they simply chose me.

Where are you thinking?

Maybe lunch?

Almost as though he was sitting waiting for my reply, his response comes instantly.

Jameson

If you want to do lunch, we can do that too. But the place I have in mind is dinner only. *winky face*

Even through text, this reads as if he wants me all to himself. I bite down gently on my thumbnail, a little pressure keeping me in this moment instead of imagining being alone with a man like Jameson.

Oh.

Oh. OH! That’s all I could come up with. Jameson makes me feel like a schoolgirl again, getting tongue-tied and losing the ability to form true sentences.

Jameson

Yeah, oh. *devil smiley emoji* Can you be ready by 7pm?

I can! See you then. Can you pick me up at the bar?

My apartment is the upstairs loft.

Jameson

I’ll see you there. *winky face*

Babes at Benny’s Group Chat

Lo

Bitch you better send us a picture!

J-babe

Yeah, we want to see how hot you look too! Jameson can’t be stingy.

You guys are terrible! I promise I’ll send you a pic but I gotta finish getting ready.

Getting together with the girls soon is a top priority since we haven’t gotten a chance to spend any time together since we had brunch almost a week ago. With Janelle leaving soon, we want to have a girls’ night in, which is perfect, considering I’m going out with Jameson tonight and I want to share all the details with Janelle and Lo. I put my phone down, rolling my eyes playfully at Lo and Janelle.

“Fuck, I’m so glad this week is over,” I sigh to no one but myself. Owning my own business can be incredible given I truly love what I do, my weeks never drag. I want to be at the bar, serving up mafia romance indulgences in cocktails to my customers, but this week was “as slow as molasses”, as my grandma would say. All I could focus on was my date with Jameson, the excitement and anxiousness of being out with someone I’m getting to know.

That’s a lie. It’s him.

I’ve gone on plenty of dates, but I don’t recall ever being this thrilled. Plucking a gold chunky hoop from my bathroom vanity, I take a cleansing breath and make an attempt to lessen the grin that’s permanently plastered on my face. But as I watch myself put the other earring in, I give up the fight. This is such a full body feeling of intrigue, I don’t want to let it go or hide it. And why should I? I pump myself up even more exclaiming, “Tonight’s the night you see if your crush was everything you dreamt it was.”

Butterflies in my stomach overwhelm my senses as I finish getting ready for our date. I expected to be nervous, but all I feel is excitement in seeing him tonight along with not knowing where we’re going.

Smoothing my hands down my curves, the dark-red satin dress lays effortlessly against me. Two tiny straps hold the top up on hope alone, showcasing my ample cleavage, draping around my waist. I brace myself against the door frame and slide my feet into my open-toed, black strappy heels I set next to my mirror once I decided on my outfit. I wiggle my lilac-polished toes to get the right fit; I’m so glad to have gotten a pedicure this week.

I round the corner of my bathroom to fluff my hair and apply the matching red lipstick that has become my signature color over the last few years.

Red lipstick makes me feel powerful and feminine, it gives me that extra bit of confidence I searched for when I was younger, whether I needed it or not. I purse my lips, rub them together, and spray a fine mist of my favorite perfume. Warm vanilla and sandalwood fill the air around me.

No matter where this night ends, I’m ready for it. Just as I reach for my phone to check the time, I hear the doorbell signaling someone is at the front door of Shaken Tropes. Before I can see who it is, a notification appears on my phone screen.

I answer the incoming call and his deep voice comes through the line. “Hey, beautiful, I’m here. I thought I would walk to your door, but I’m not sure which one it is.” He chuckles and I can tell he’s smiling.

“I will be down in just a moment. Promise.” Checking that my phone location is on, I text the girls to let them know I’m heading out on my date. I shake my hands, trying to breathe through the excited anxiousness that I’m feeling. I haven’t been this excited for a date in a long time.

Turning, I lock my door and make my way down the stairs. Jameson is leaning against his SUV with a sly smile on his face as he watches me, before pushing himself off the side of the vehicle to meet me at the bottom of the stairs. Taking my hand in his, he extends our linked hands in the air and nods his head; I give him a quick twirl as the pink in my cheeks grows darker with how his eyes follow my curves.

“Hmm.” It’s the only audible noise he makes as he steps back to look me over once more and I preen under his gaze. Jameson’s actions make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, like there couldn’t possibly be anyone else in the room if we were standing in one. “You are absolutely stunning.”

I step closer to him and drop my eyes to his feet and slowly raise them to his lips for a moment, before looking him in the eyes. His hair is down and pulled over to one side to hang down his back and over his shoulder. “You clean up very well yourself.”

Taking in my blatant ogling he pulls me slightly, welcoming me into his space as a grin widens on his face. “Are you ready for our date?”

“So ready.” So. Very. Ready.

He opens his car’s front seat passenger door wide, offering me his arm as I slide into the soft, camel-colored leather seats. Leaning into me, his lips are but a breath away. I release a small gasp at his proximity, looking into his eyes that hold a glimmer of the same excitement that has me giddy. Without realizing it, I must have leaned in closer to him. My gaze dips down to his mouth and I watch him pull his bottom lip with his teeth, his tongue running over it before he sucks in a breath. His presence is intoxicating. I don’t think I will ever get over how good this man smells. I’m so drawn into whatever this moment is I don’t realize what he’s doing until I hear the seatbelt click into place. He nods more to himself, before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side.

Soft music plays in the background as we make our way to our destination, one I’m still not privy to, but my focus is more on the man sitting next to me than on where we are going. He wears a pair of olive green, tailored dress pants that taper just above his ankle with an off-white button-up shirt which is folded at the widest part of his biceps. A brown leather belt matches his laced-up dress boots, completing his outfit; and it takes every bit of effort not to take a peek at his face after I have been ogling him. Before my eyes take their chance, I watch as his hand strains against his lap, it’s not hard to imagine those hand necklaces I read so much about.

“So where are we heading?” I need to break this tension before I climb over the gear shifter, straight into his lap.

Turning his head toward me, his eyes peek over before returning back to the road. “There is this place, right outside of town, that I want to take you to, The Republic. Have you heard of it?”

Tucking my hair behind my ear to relieve a bit of nervous jitters, I ask, “How did you even get into that place with such short notice?” My surprise is more than evident.

The Republic isn’t a place people are able to get into within a week. He’d either have to have a connection or have made the reservation months in advance. His knowing smile is one that tells me he isn’t going to tell me, at least not yet, but if he wanted to impress me, it’s definitely working.

Allowing the music playing through the car speakers to take the lead, I go silent for a beat and let the content feeling fill me as my shoulders relax. I twist my hands in my dress, quite literally twiddling my thumbs as I peer at the town from the window, appreciating the beauty of the place I’ve grown up in and have gotten so used to—I tend to forget how special it is. I peek at him from under my lashes, wanting to enjoy the view of the man who has stolen my breath away, and I suddenly let out a gasp as an ornate building comes into view.

He pulls his SUV to the front of our destination. A valet attendant opens his door, then Jameson makes his way around the front of the vehicle. Opening my door, he extends his hand and I intertwine my fingers with his as I step out. His hand is warmly wrapped around mine, and I can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. I welcome the delicious shivers trailing up my arms from the contact of his skin on mine.

Holding my hand, Jameson leads me up the steps to the entrance of the restaurant where I finally notice the twinkling lights along the trees that frame the doors. The Republic is beautiful. Tall, white columns, with vines wrapped around each one, welcome us. My eyes follow the vines to the ceiling composed of low-hanging lanterns from different points all over the restaurant. Making an effort to close my mouth, I listen to my heels clicking against the floor. Pale wood planks stained a cool gray are set in a chevron pattern—even the floor is stunning.

The body of water the restaurant is situated by allows for the perfect scene for a romantic dinner. The inside is lit with wall sconces that flicker with a faux flame, giving off a warm and intimate vibe that I really appreciate. Small candles flicker at the center of each table, all the lighting working together to create a space for everyone to feel as though they are in a world of their own.

“Mr. Bennette, it has been some time.” The hostess’ smile is bright as she welcomes us inside and steps behind her stand to grab a couple of menus. Everyone Jameson interacts with seems to be just as welcoming as he is. Her eyes drift to my hand locked in his before looking back up at me—her gaze is a warm hug and she ushers us into the dining area.

Jameson gives my hand a small squeeze as we follow her deep into the restaurant where the walls are made of glass overlooking the sun setting on the lake. It is an incredible sight and reminds me of a serene backdrop I’d see in a nature documentary. The grounds just outside the window appear untouched and ripples appear on the surface of the lake from what I assume are fish swimming to the surface, along with a deer making its way to the water’s edge to take a drink. The hostess leads us into a corner where we have ample privacy to enjoy our time together.

“Jenny, thank you,” Jameson says, before she departs with a gentle nod after letting us know our waiter will be with us shortly. Jameson pulls out my chair, allowing me to sit and get adjusted before taking his own seat.

“Spill it, Mr. Bennette,” I mock, shimmying in my seat with a matching, mischievous smirk.

“I think I kind of like you calling me by my last name, I may have to get used to that.” A low chuckle leaves him and he leans on to the table, my body hums in appreciation of him. “I helped the owner close on this location and we have been friends since.”

The waiter arrives and Jameson looks at me from across the table, “Do you trust me?” he asks, and I shrug my shoulders, feigning doubt.

“Hmm, well, that depends… but I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I state, gazing up at him for a moment before my eyes return to the menu, smiling to myself at my playful indifference.

“Challenge accepted.” He requests a bottle of sweet red wine I’m not familiar with and asks the waiter to give us a few more moments to look over the menu.

“Tell me, how did you go about helping the owner get into what is now, The Republic? Who are you, Jameson Bennette?” I ask him, as I prop my elbow up on the table and rest my chin on my hand.

The waiter is back in no time, bringing the deep-red, almost purple wine, and pouring each of us a glass before taking our orders, and then quickly disappearing to wherever he came from. Picking up his glass, Jameson takes a heavy drink of his wine. My eyes follow the path of his tongue, swiping at the corner of his mouth. I do the same and my eyes widen as the flavors of ripe blackberry, plum, and strawberry burst on my tongue. “Wow, okay, you can order me wine any day of the week!” I exclaim, taking another sip from my glass.

“I’m really glad you like it, it’s one of my favorites here. Not many places have it, but any time I come to visit the owners, I make sure to order at least one glass.” He beams at my clear love for my new favorite wine. I make a mental note to search for it through my vendor list.

“Please continue…” I urge him on, wanting to know as much about him as he will share.

“The Republic, or rather the building it’s in now, just so happened to be a property I was looking into but it didn’t feel right, at least not for me and not in that moment. The current owners are friends of previous clients, they were looking to open a restaurant and I simply connected the investors of the property with them. It’s really done well here.” He wets his lips in thought and continues, “I would have never been in the position to introduce them had it not been for working with my best friend, who you already know” —he smirks, raising one eyebrow up—“we grew up together.”

“We’ve basically spent our entire lives together, from tots to university. His dad and grandfather worked on a lot of houses and I picked up a lot of renovation skills from spending the summers with him. I started flipping houses roughly six years ago, while Anders got everything in order for Crews Construction. We could have gone right into flipping houses but he was adamant about getting his general contractor’s license so he could not just work on the projects, but be in charge of them as well, not needing someone to be an overseer is a privilege we both enjoy. Once the business was ready and he realized how profitable flipping was, he asked me to come on as his partner. It was a no-brainer for me to agree.”

I huff a small laugh in disbelief. The man sitting in front of me right now can’t possibly be real. He has to be a dream I created in my head. Everything about him seems to be what I truly want in a man. He’s quick-witted and smart, his drive alone in creating something for himself is incredibly sexy. I don’t think there has been a time where I laughed or smiled as much as I do with him, not to mention his confidence alone is sexy as hell. Jameson seems to be the kind of man who truly cares for those around him, he’s not hard on the eyes either. Who am I kidding? He is easily one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. From his wide shoulders and trim waist, it’s like I’m stuck in a movie from the eighties creating the perfect man, and if that’s the case, I’m never leaving. I could have never dreamed that I would be sitting across from Jameson Bennette, my first major crush. I thought this entire situation would feel weird, and obviously new—but in reality, it feels normal and comfortable, like we just click .

His lips draw up in a crooked grin, tilting his head in my direction as if to tell me that it’s my turn to entertain him with who I am now. High school felt like yesterday. I would see him in the hallways, and on occasion, with my own friends. It’s not that I didn’t want to be friends with him, it’s just that somehow, our paths never had the chance to cross. But by the way he talks and looks at me I feel like he already knew who I was.

What in the Lifetime-movie is wrong with me right now?

High school was never a fun place for me, I was the fat girl, dealing with finding myself. Figuring out who I was, but without anyone to tell me that I was perfectly fine just the way I was. I’ve always had wide hips and a large chest which left me feeling hyper-sexualized my entire teen life, except I also felt incredibly withdrawn from it, trying my best to cover up a plus-size body I was learning to love. I was used to being spoken about, but not to. My body and my weight were picked apart or I was given back-handed compliments about how pretty my face was. A comment every fat girl has heard at least once in their lifetime, because how could they possibly consider complementing more than my face. I felt like more of an object for onlookers than a teen girl trying to find her footing in a sea of hormones and growing responsibilities.

When I did date, during high school and college, I was never the first choice. Always coming in second best or not being a choice at all. Only being good enough for quick touches and anticlimactic thrusts which left me feeling ashamed for even wanting that kind of contact with someone.

Cypress Lake High was a place I wanted to remove from my memory altogether, but out of that disappointment, I found true friends. I kept the loss of my parents and my body image struggles to myself. From everyone really, except Paloma and Janelle. They’ve always been the only ones who know the real me.

My chosen family.

Between laughs with the girls, terrible lunch food that somehow I still find myself craving—nostalgia at its finest, that breakfast pizza was so good—and boring classes, I remember seeing Jameson and thinking he was such a cutie. I’d find myself catching glances from him when I was trying to sneak away from crowds, but I allowed my insecurity to brush it off, thinking he couldn’t be showing any interest in me. He was this bright spot among all his friend groups; I know this because where he seemed to be, laughter followed, and I so badly wanted to be a part of that. Our paths just never crossed at the right time.

“What’s got that beautiful smile on your face?” His deep baritone pulls me from my thoughts.

“I’m having a really good time with you, that’s all. Thinking about those passing glances I may have taken.”

“Tell me more.” His encouraging head nod keeps me going.

“It’s funny that we were finally introduced at the reunion,” I say, twisting the dainty gold band on my forefinger, a sudden thirst hits me with the small confession I’m about to give to him and I take a sip of water. “I may have seen you around school and I may have had a tiny crush on you.”

The waiter arrives just as I finish my confession, placing a steak with fluffy chive potatoes and bacon-wrapped asparagus in front of Jameson. For just a moment, I’m jealous of his plate. The truffle garlic butter is puddled on the steak and smells incredible, that is until the waiter places my order on the table. I almost lose my composure from the sex-on-the-plate that’s now set in front of me. Piled high in a twisted nest covered in a creamy white sauce, is my carbonara. The smell of browned butter and bacon creates a divinely delicious scent, and I twirl my fork into the pasta and take my first bite. The flavors burst on my tongue and I let out a moan of pure unadulterated pleasure. I almost forget that I’ve just confessed my crush to Jameson until he coughs slightly under his breath and I dart my gaze back up to him.

“I don’t know what’s sexier, hearing you confess that you had a crush on me too or hearing that moan after you said it.” He looks down to my mouth and back up to my eyes.

Grabbing my napkin, I dab my mouth to gather myself, did he say what I think he said? “You had a crush on me too?” My question is hesitant, I want to be sure I heard him right.

“I did and I’m glad to know you felt the same, even if we didn’t know it then.” He brushes his fingers on the side of my wrist and then I feel his thumb rub the top of my wrist back and forth, before he pulls back to take another bite of steak. “Tell me how you and Paloma started Shaken Tropes.”

“My inheritance became available after I turned twenty. I was fortunate to be left plenty to establish myself in a way that felt true to who I was, who I am. I realize an inheritance is a privilege not many get and I didn’t want to squander it away, you know? I kept it in savings for a while, only using it for emergencies, or books while in college.”

One night, my best friend and I were sitting together at her place, her business degree going nowhere and my marketing degree collecting dust. We were tipsy, having been sipping on a pitcher of our favorite sangria, when we came up with the idea of books and booze. We brainstormed and planned it out that very night. I don’t think we slept a wink, pumped up on the excitement of creating something that was ours. The wine gave us the confidence to finally put ourselves out there, and my family’s financial legacy made the pursuit of one of our dreams a lot easier.“ I grin, remembering that night like it was yesterday.

“I can understand that. Shaken Tropes is a great investment, and it’s something you truly love. Having worked on as many remodels as I have, and owning a business of my own, I get it,” he says, acknowledging the hard work I’ve put in. God, I love a man who listens.

“After early morning therapy sessions, I’d meet with Lo and we’d work towards our dream. We opened Shaken Tropes almost four years ago and it’s been incredible!” I reply, excited to share with someone who understands how hard it is to be a business owner.

“The lights in your eyes are like fireworks when you talk about Shaken Tropes. Seeing you love what you do is attractive as hell, if I’m being honest with you,” he says, as his eyes are fixed on me, listening to every single word I say. “What makes you say ‘therapy?’”

“The inheritance I spoke of really helped me get on my feet, but it came with the loss of my parents. They passed when we were in high school and it left me with troubles that I really needed to work through, amongst other things. Therapy got me to a place where I could see my worth and that changed a lot for me,” I explain, leaving out deeper bits of the story that wouldn’t suit a romantic dinner.

Jameson’s smile never leaves his face as I tell him more about our bar, in fact, it only grows bigger as I talk about my passion. I explain the concept we created and how we visited bars that were similar in other cities. Between Paloma and my love of cocktails and romance books, our dream was born.

I scoot closer to him as I talk more about the romance aspect of the bar and when my thigh presses against his leg, his grin turns downright mischievous. My pulse quickens, I chance a glance at him and am met with his lingering gaze while he sips his drink. A blush darkens my cheeks as heat travels up my spine. I dangerously want to be that wine.

As chatter around the restaurant begins to taper off from people coming and going, we stay nestled in our corner. I’m enjoying myself far too much to consider leaving just yet. Reaching my hand out to his, I brush my fingertips against the top of his hand. Hands like his need to be touched, and those thoughts pull me to the stories he shared about his childhood, and then university days with Anderson, culminating into Triple C.

I watch his features grow more animated as he speaks. Talking with his hands, smiling, or shaking his head at the foolishness that ensued when he and Anderson were around one another.

“One particularly exhausting summer, working with his grandad, we decided it was time to cool down. Anders and I had been working all day. Punishment for breaking a window while playing ball in the backyard when we were supposed to be getting ready for dinner.” He shakes his head, looking lost in the memory. “We couldn’t go inside because we weren’t allowed in yet, so we headed down to the lake on his grandad’s property. Wearing nothing but my boxers, I climb up the rope and give myself a good swing—we had to be fourteen or fifteen at this time. Anyway, I push myself off the hill, and just as I’m about to let go of the rope, my underwear gets caught on something. Don’t ask me what.” He looks at me then, urging me not to ask him the question. “My drawers get stuck and all but ripped from my body as I’m dangling for dear life on the rope before I eventually tumble into the water head first. I won’t lie to you, I was screaming and I have never heard a scream so high-pitched leave my mouth since. Let’s leave it to pre-puberty, and now Anders won’t let me live it down.”

He reaches his hand around mine that’s leaving feather-light touches on his own and grabs his water with the other, taking a sip as he finishes his story. I try to hold in the bark of laughter, but at this point, my eyes brim with tears and as my smile grows further, my cheeks begin to hurt.

“Oh my God! So involuntary skinny dipping?” I say before snorting, bringing both my hands up to cover my mouth as my eyes widen.

“That was so damn cute.” His lip twitches before he reaches over, grasping my hand back in his before sharing more bits of his life with me.

He continues telling me about his love of flipping houses, and his friendship with Anderson—the amount of trouble two teen boys can get into is insanity. Jameson and Ander’s relationship seems so similar to mine with my girls and I love that for him.

Their friendship is reminiscent of the long weekends I spent at Janelle’s house. We always stayed up too late dancing and singing around her room, gossiping, doing what teenage girls do when they get a chance to hang with their friends.

Any time her mom had her own girls’ day by the pool she would make mango margaritas. She’d make them early to allow all the ingredients to meld together, at least that’s what she told us. After staying up much too late and singing ourselves hoarse, we’d sneak down to the kitchen and sip the sweet nectar mixed drink.

I’ve never been more glad to have my group of girls back together. It was incredibly hard losing my parents and then, not even two years later, Janelle enlisted—it felt like I lost her too. Now that I have her back, however brief, it feels as though she never left.

“Your stories with Anders remind me so much of my own.” I smile. “The weekends, especially during the summer, were always so much fun. Janelle, Paloma, and I would spend time at each other’s houses, sometimes switching midway through the weekend. But during the summer, oh sweet sunshine, that was our favorite time. Janelle’s mom would always make her famous mango margaritas.”

“Famous huh?” he says.

“Don’t ask me why they were famous but they were so damn good, I own a bar, that should tell you something about the glory of them. One night we found out what exactly she had mixed up in the fridge when we snuck downstairs and poured ourselves each a glass. We were drunkenly bumping into each other, dancing around the room, giggling like the fools we were. Her mom caught us red-handed and asked what was wrong with us? It was way too late to have the music up as loud as we did. I hiccuped. Paloma giggled and then burped like a full grown man, before Janelle ratted us all out. Too nervous about not telling her mom the truth.”

“You guys must have been in so much trouble,” he states, his eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“Oh yeah! She was pissed that we drank all the mango and lime concentrate.” I chuff a laugh before I continue, recalling the most blasphemous part of the whole thing. “But get this? It was completely virgin, no alcohol at all. I think we were so excited to be drinking margaritas, we fed off each other’s energy. She made us walk to the store to pick up more ingredients the next morning before the pool party.”

“Virgins!” His deep laugh falls from his mouth as he throws his head back. “Ya’ll weren’t even drunk?”

“We certainly wanted to believe we were.”

Jameson shakes his head right before the server comes back with our bill and wishes us a good night.

By the time we finish our last bites of dinner, we are both exhausted from laughing and very ready for dessert. One that we can’t order from any menu.

The car ride is made up of easy conversation about tonight’s dinner and the reunion. Some time between leaving the restaurant and pulling into the parking lot of my building, his warm hand found its way to my exposed leg and I find myself reveling in the feel of his calloused thumb rubbing the inner part of my thigh. We pull into the parking lot far too soon and I’m not ready for him to stop touching me.

Opening the door, he helps me step out of the SUV before pressing the door closed behind us. He is so close to me now that I can’t help but be enveloped in the scent of him. My breathing picks up at his closeness as I lean my back against the door of the SUV, not wanting to go upstairs and end our night. But maybe I don’t need to end it. Maybe just this once, I can let go of my rules and invite him up.

I walk my fingers up his corded arms and flick my gaze up through my lashes. Fucking hell, I want this man in more ways than one and I know without a doubt that he wants me too. Before I have the chance to invite him inside, he pulls me into him while threading one of his hands in my hair. Firmly he tilts my head back and watches me, his eyes asking for permission that I willingly give by pressing myself deeper into him. Jameson dips his head low, inhaling the perfume that I sprayed on my neck earlier.

“You smell heavenly.” He all but groans before pressing a light kiss near the pulse point behind my ear, his beard is soft as it tickles my neck. I want to run my fingers through it, and I do. Jameson hums his appreciation from my touch and trails his tongue up the column of my neck, nibbling his way to my jaw, toying everywhere but where I want him. My skin heats as I fully give in to his grip on my hair and lean my head back, giving him better access.

I can feel his breath on my skin as his mouth leaves urgent kisses along my jaw. Every spot his lips touch sets my skin on fire, nothing could have prepared me for how delicious this moment feels and my body begs for more.

He licks the seam of my mouth and gently tugs my bottom lip between his teeth. I can’t hold back the moan as he presses into me, opening my mouth for just a moment, he sweeps his tongue between my lips, and my skin flushes as a chill runs down my back. Giving into the urge, I trail my hands up his chest and nip at his lips, before resting my arms around his neck, needing to be closer.

I pull him closer, Jameson kisses me in a way that feels like he is making up for whatever lost time we missed out on. There’s no rushed urgency, just full unobstructed desire, and it sets my body ablaze. Jameson makes me feel like I am the only air he needs to breathe and I want to drown in this sensation.

His grip on my hair grows more intense and I delight in being feasted on by this man. He continues his exploration, stroking his other hand down my curves, he slides it around my back and down to my ass, filling his hands as he grips it. Our breaths mingle in hot bursts as his fingers dig into my tender flesh and hope blooms, wanting to have a bruise in the morning. He breaks our connection with quick kisses down my neck and I try my best to slow my breathing down.

He presses his forehead to mine and says, “Let me walk you to the door.” His voice holds a raspy quality to it that says he would much rather bend me over the backseat of his car and God, do I want to let him.

“Mm, yes, please.” I let out a deep breath, looking up into his eyes as he lowers his head, giving me one soft, lingering kiss to end what we so quickly started, before brushing his lips against my forehead. Taking a grounding breath, a lust-filled laugh escapes me as I adjust my dress after being twisted about by Jameson’s explorations.

I know if I invite him in he will say yes. We would grab another drink inside; one drink would turn into two, maybe three, and neither of us have the control over the chemistry we both feel. And I want that, I want all of it. I also know that I refuse to be a one night wonder. I want to be his choice for more than a good time. For him to pick me for who I am, what we could be together. There is something here, and I want to see more of it. Turning my key in the door to unlock it, I spin around to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. I turn back to face him, finding a shit-eating grin on his face; even with my racing heartbeat I’m breathless looking at him.

“Goodnight Jameson, thank you so much for tonight.” He bends down slightly to meet me, even with heels, I’m nowhere near as tall as him.

“Goodnight, Cassidy.” He leans into me and presses his lips to mine, pulling me to him as he grips my hips in a bruising hold, savoring the night within this lasting kiss. I can’t imagine the night being over as we say our goodbyes, and though I know our evening needs to end, I need my fill of him more.

I wrap my arms around his neck, standing on my tiptoes to gain better purchase with his lips. I press my lips harder to his as his hands coasts around my waist and he holds me close. The lingering taste of plums is still on his tongue from the wine as I deepen the kiss. My core throbs from the feel of his hand running up the side of my thigh before pulling it up higher. His fingers against my bare skin sends tingles right where I want him. Here, in this moment, there is nothing but Jameson, and I breathe his name out in a wanton sigh.

Between quicker kisses he says, “You will have me on my knees woman, if you keep that up.” My panties are liquid lava hearing him utter those words and I loosen another breathy moan. A giggle intermingles with my moan, because fuck , if I didn’t just picture him on his knees in front of me. He breaks the kiss and leans his head down, pressing his forehead to mine as our heated breaths mingle together in the cool night air. The moon is our only witness to the feverish need we have for one another. He tucks a curl behind my ear before he inclines his head towards my door.

“I’m supposed to ensure you make it inside safely,” he says, his voice is deep and raspy, the sound of desire coating every single word.

“Mm, yes, yes you are. I think I’m plenty safe.” That pulls a chuckle from him and I press my hands to his chest. I give him a chaste kiss before turning the door handle behind me. “Goodnight, Bulldozer,” I say, rubbing my lips together before stepping through the doorway.

“Goodnight, Beautiful,” he all but whispers, glancing down once more. I give him a suggestive smirk before closing the door.

Resting my back against the door, I turn the lock and flick the light switch to turn on a lamp. If anyone were in here with me, they’d see exactly how flushed my skin is, but they’d also see the lazy smile that graces my face.