Page 62 of Home in Nevada

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning.

“Yeah. As in, you’re mine. You’re not allowed to be with anyone else while I’m back in L.A. Or… ever.” My eyes drop to his perfect, round ass, and I can’t resist giving it another firm smack, grabbing him hard enough to make him squirm. “Do you understand that?”

Jamie’s mouth falls open, and he tries not to laugh, but I can see the corners of his lips twitching. I smack him again, failing to bite back an ear-to-ear grin, and he playfully shoves me off the couch, sending me crashing to the floor.

“Ow—damn!” I yelp, rubbing my shoulder.

Jamie leans over the edge, staring down at me. “Jeffrey. Seriously... Be crystal clear. Are you my boyfriend?”

I look up at him, unable to stop the goofy smile spreading across my face as I lay butt-naked on the floor looking up at him. “Yeah, I am.”

“You’re fucking sure about that?”

“I’ve never been more fucking sure of anything in my entire goddamn life.”

Jamie laughs and slides off the couch, joining me on the floor. He pulls me into a deep, slow kiss that leaves me completely breathless, and I let myself sink into it, the world around us melting away.

It’s only when I catch a glimpse of the TV over his shoulder that I notice it—both of our video game characters sprawled out on the floor, the screen flashing a big, boldGame Over.Somber, overly dramatic music plays as the camera pans slowly over the carnage, trying way too hard to make us care.

I smile against Jamie’s mouth, and he does the same, his laugh vibrating against my lips. “Guess we both lost,” I murmur.

“Did we though?” he whispers back, his voice low and full of warmth.

I don’t care what we do for the rest of the night. Right now, I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy. My heart feels free—free of guilt, shame, and worry. All that’s left is love and gratitude for the man who’s always been the other half of me.

Chapter 16

The one where Jeff learns the power of tailored clothing.

Jamieiseverything.

The way he pours milk before cereal, like it’s the only logical way of living his life. The way he never bothers to do anything with his blonde hair, completely unaware of how effortlessly good it already looks. The fact that he’s used the same bar of soap for the past ten years, even though his vanity is cluttered with twenty different lotions and skincare products he never touches. The way he drives too fast but somehow takes turns painfully slow.

And God, the way he bosses me around in bed, like he owns me. I fucking love that.

He makes me feel like someone—like I used to feel back in high school, before everything in my life went sideways. Back when people saw something in me.

I’ve known for a while now that I’m obsessing over him, but this trip has cranked it up to a whole new level. Jamie’s completely consuming me, and I honestly don’t know if I should be happy or a little worried about my mental state these past few days.

"Dude, why are you always wearing these?" I ask, hooking a finger under the waistband of Jamie’s sweatpants and giving it a playful tug.

We’re here because we ran out of soda after a full day of doing absolutely nothing—Jamie’s fault, of course. But I’ve been soaking up every minute we have together, knowing he’s back to work after the weekend.

It’s freezing out tonight, the kind of cold that bites deep, no matter how many layers you pile on. The road beneath our boots is cracked and uneven, stretching endlessly into the desert like it’s trying to outrun civilization. Darkness presses in on all sides, broken only by the faint glow of the convenience store ahead—an old, standalone building with flickering fluorescent lights and a faded sign that looks like it hasn’t been touched since the '90s.

The lot’s empty except for a beat-up pickup truck parked off to the side. The neon "OPEN" sign in the window buzzes faintly, casting a soft pinkish-red glow on the frost-covered ground. Beyond the store, it’s just miles of sagebrush and distant mountains under a sky full of stars. The whole place has the vibe of a ghost story setting, but to us, it’s just another pit stop on a freezing, quiet night.

And Jamie? He’s still rocking sweatpants and boots like he owns the place, totally unfazed by the cold or the emptiness around us. The guy practically lives in sweatpants. I’m convinced he has them in every color imaginable. It’s his thing, I guess, the same way this middle-of-nowhere store is ours.

"Fuck off, they’re comfortable," Jamie mutters, giving me that annoyed-but-not-really look, the one that always makes me grin.

"Admit it," I say, grinning wider. "You know your ass looks good in them. This is a calculated move. I’m on to you."

Jamie snorts, but his cheeks tint a little pink. "Shut up."

I’m laughing now, but right before we head inside the store, I can’t help myself—I cop a quick feel, just for half a second. Enough to make him yelp my name in that perfect mock-annoyed tone and shove me away like I’m the most insufferable human alive.

I’m grinning the whole way inside, warmth buzzing under my skin despite the cold. God, I love him. Even when he’s annoyed with me. Maybe especially then.

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