Page 39 of Home in Nevada

For Jamie, I’d do absolutely anything.

Chapter 11

The one where Jeff faces the unexpected.

IhatedrivingJamiearound the city of Los Angeles in my crappy car.

I’ll admit it—I’m embarrassed. Jamie’s so well-off… way more well-off than me, and probably more than I’ll ever be.

I joked earlier about picking the restaurant because Jamie’s high-maintenance, but the truth? He’s probably the least high-maintenance person I know. Even here, at this fancy spot, he’s rocking black sweatpants, boots, a fitted white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. His hair’s messy as hell. What even is this outfit? I wear slacks and a dress shirt to work every day, so I don’t mind dressing up a bit for dinner. Jamie, though? He doesn’t care.

It's his first time in this city, but he walks in like he owns the place. Jamie doesn’t just fit in, he embodies the vibe in a way I never could, even if I tried. Honestly, it’d make way more sense to see him roll up in his shiny Mercedes, stepping into the restaurant solo in that getup, rather than climbing out of my beat-up high school car and walking in next to… me.

Was I feeling insecure?

Totally. And it fucking sucks.

I’ve never felt this way before—not on a date, at least. But with Jamie, I can’t stop comparing myself. For the first time, it hits me that maybe he’s the better catch. Like, maybe he’slightyearsout of my league. And now I can’t unsee it.

Why the hell did he even fly out here for me?

I try to bury the thought, straightening my dress shirt as we follow the host. The restaurant’s packed, almost every table full, but we’re led to a quieter spot near the back.

“Hey, check it out.” Jamie grins, pointing to the center of the table. “There are real flowers in this vase.”

I watch as he settles into the chair across from me, all effortless confidence. His grin stretches wider, lighting up his whole face.

“Why do most restaurants put fake flowers and fake candles on the table?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It looks so bad.”

I laugh. “Honestly, I never thought much of it… Pretty sure only crazy people care about that stuff.” I mean it as a joke, but it comes out sharp, harsher than I intended.

Jamie gives me that look—the one that always hits me right in the chest. The one that makes me feel like my heart’s beating in my throat.

“I’m just saying, dude,” he grins, leaning back, “that’s how you know this place is expensive. You know?”

God, why am I so fucking nervous?

Everything feels off. Not because I’m here or because this is a date with a guy. It’s Los Angeles. Nobody cares. What’s weird is that it’s Jamie.

Dates are for people trying to get to know each other, trying to impress someone. But Jamie? Jamie’s been my best friend forever. Since Kindergarten. If I didn’t already know him, there’s no way I’d be sitting across from him right now. No way he’d have agreed to go on a date with me if I were just some stranger walking up to him for his number.

Does he realize that? Does he see how out of my element I am at this table? Is that why he’s so calm, so relaxed?

Jamie greets the waiter like he’s done it a thousand times before, listening patiently as the guy rattles off the specials. He compliments the waiter’s watch to make him smile—of course he does—and then casually orders a bottle of wine. I tell him I probably shouldn’t drink much since I’m driving us home, but Jamie just waves me off, flashing that easy grin.

“If we don’t finish it, no big deal,” he says, like money’s never crossed his mind as something to stress about.

Must be nice.

Meanwhile, my head is spinning, my chest is tight, and I’m panicking internally, trying to keep it together.

Jamie orders one of the most expensive wines on the list, not that any of them are cheap. I sip one glass, keeping my mouth shut while Jamie does most of the talking. He’s already on his third glass by the time he starts venting about work—something about a new guy who keeps messing up—and then, somehow, he transitions to photography.

“Wait,” I interrupt, blinking at him. “Photography?”

Jamie nods, launching into a detailed rundown of the equipment he’s been investing in.

I sit back, watching him with this weird mix of surprise and admiration. I’ve never heard him talk about photography before.

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