Page 35 of Home in Nevada

“Okay then.”

Later that night, after inhaling way too many pizza rolls, I stand under the shower, the hot water pounding against my skin. But my mind is stuck on Jamie—on the way he laughed, the way he talked about our past without anger or bitterness. His voice… His smell. His smile, still following me everywhere.

Memories of us making out flash through my mind. I think about Jamie’s question earlier—“Do you remember what you did to my neck?”—and it hits me like a freight train.

I want him. I want more than we’ve ever allowed ourselves to have.

For the first time, I let myself feel it, without pushing it away.

It’s not just some random thing.

It’s always been more than that.

I wonder what might’ve happened if things had been different—if we’d both been single on Thanksgiving. Would Jamie have let me take things further? Would we have finally stopped pretending?

The water streams over my back, but my body refuses to relax. I’m starting to get hard, and my mind can’t stop replaying the way he had me straddled on his couch back in Nevada.

My hand moves instinctively, wrapping around my thickening length as my thoughts circle back to Jamie—his face, his scent, his laugh, the sound of his teasing voice, and the way his body felt pressed against mine. The memory sharpens: the feel of his hips under my fingertips, his solid thighs wrapped around my waist, the unexpected confidence in his eyes as he starts grinding against me.

Fuck.

I grip myself tighter, my rhythm quickening as my thoughts spiral into something deeper, something hungrier. I imagine how it would feel to actually be inside him. I want to take him like no one has ever taken him before... Would he want that? Would he be okay with doing... that? Would he ride me like that, on the couch, if I ever came over again?

The questions dissolve into heat as my fantasy takes over. My hand moves faster, stroking hard and desperate, the water cascading down my chest and pooling at my feet. I’m completely lost in him now, replaying the dream I had back in my bedroom on a relentless loop—the vivid flashes of him taking control, having his way with me.

When I come, my thighs tremble, and his name escapes my lips, barely audible over the pounding water. I lean against the cold tiles, gasping for breath as the steam thickens around me, fogging up the shower like the haze in my mind.

A month until I see Jamie feels impossibly long—easily the longest month of my life.

Chapter 10

The one where Jeff learns patience (maybe?).

TheendofDecemberdrags on just as slowly as I imagine it will.

I call Jamie every single day, without fail. It becomes as ingrained in my routine as brushing my teeth or pouring my morning coffee. He even starts to expect it, always knowing I’ll call after dinner.

Each call feels like fulfilling a promise, a chance to hear his voice and remind him how much I care about him.

I want him to know I’m not the guy I used to be… the one who pushed him away and acted like I didn’t feel anything. I want him to see how much I like him, how much I think about him, and yeah, maybe even how much I’m trying to be better than the selfish, fucking prick I’ve been for most of my life.

And I want to make one thing crystal clear: I am single. Not just single, butsingle single.No lingering ties, no hesitation. I’m not just calling to chat; I’m calling to prove something… to him, to myself, to whatever part of me still thinks I don’t deserve this.

Because the truth is, I’m Jamie’s. And maybe, on some level, I always have been.

Finally, the day comes to pick Jamie up at the airport, and I couldn’t be more relieved. I get there early, eager and impatient, ignoring the lane attendant reminding me I can’t park there. Like hell I’m going to miss seeing Jamie the second he steps outside.

I circle the airport three times, each lap testing my patience. But on the fourth pass, I spot him.

Jamie, standing at the curb with his bag slung over his shoulder, looking just as perfect as I remember… no, even better. His blonde hair catches the light from the overhead lamps, a little messy in that effortlessly cool way he always manages to pull off. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, the kind of casual look that somehow still manages to feel stylish on him, like he belongs in a photoshoot instead of standing on a cold, busy sidewalk.

His brown eyes scan the sea of cars, soft and warm even in the chaos of the pickup lane. When he spots me, his face lights up, and that grin, the one I’ve been picturing every damn night since Thanksgiving, breaks across his face.

My heart races, my stomach flips, and for a moment, I can’t move.

Seeing him in person after weeks of waiting is overwhelming in a way I’m not prepared for. Pictures, calls, and texts don’t even come close to capturing what it feels like to see him standing there, real and within reach.

I’m so caught up in the sight of him, in the way his hoodie stretches just enough over his chest to hint at how fit he still is, even if he doesn’t work out these days, that I completely forget to unlock the car for him.

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