Page 62 of Steel

Lifting off the doorframe, the floorboard creaks beneath me, and Jameson catches me wiping a tear from the underside of my lashes when he looks my way.

Luckily, Austin doesn’t seem to notice as he flies off the couch and runs for me.

“Tempe.”

“Hey, kiddo.” I crouch down and give him a hug. “Pearl said it’s dinnertime.”

“Yes!” He bounces up and down. “I’m hungry.”

Austin lets me go and darts from the room as Jameson lifts off the couch.

He always takes his cut off when he walks into the house, and it’s obscene how this man wears jeans and a simple gray T-shirt. It’s no wonder the club girls fight over him.

Glancing away, I swallow that thought.

“Tempe—”

“Dinner’s ready,” I cut him off, forcing a smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I leave the room before he can stop me. Every second alone with him lately has my mind spiraling, and the more I give in, the harder it’s going to be to leave.

Jameson’s helping us out to save his club. That’s it. That’s all this can be.

Pearl’s tired when we finish dinner, so I offer to clear the table and do the dishes. It’s the least I can do to help when we’re staying here.

Pausing halfway through cleanup, I finish Austin’s bedtime routine with him. Except tonight, since Jameson is here, he wants him to read him his story, and Jameson surprises me by agreeing to it.

I’m finishing drying the final dish when Jameson’s footsteps sound from above, and he makes his way back downstairs.

Glancing up from the dishes, I spot Jameson walking down the steps.

“Austin likes you.” I turn to face him.

“Against better judgment.” Jameson sets Austin’s cape over one of the chairs in the kitchen.

“I need to start working with him on taking the cape off.”

“If he likes it, who cares?” Jameson shrugs.

“He starts kindergarten this fall, and kids are mean.”

“I guess you’re right.” Jameson holds the counter, leaning against it. “Why’s he always wearing it anyway?”

“Superheroes make him feel safe. He didn’t have much of that growing up.”

“He has that now.” Jameson tips his chin up. “He has you.”

“I guess.” I make my way over to the couch and sink onto it.

Jameson grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass out of the cabinet and meets me on the couch, pouring two fingers and taking a sip.

“Want some?” He holds his glass out, and even if I’m not usually a whiskey drinker, I take it.

The energy is different when I’m alone with Jameson. The air is thicker, and I can’t deny the tension. Taking a small sip, I let the whiskey settle my nerves before handing it back to him.

“Thanks.”

Jameson nods, taking the glass. “How’s Austin doing with everything?”

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