Page 11 of Returning Your Love
A corner of my lips quirked up. “I’d rather have a six-pack of beer.”
“You got it, brother.” Jamie grasped my hand tight, lingering long enough my heart skipped a beat.
He left without another word, and it hurt like fuck not to watch him walk away.
I shouldn’t be happy that Jamie was back in Pippen Creek so soon, but I couldn’t help myself. Would he hate me if he knew I wasn’t all that upset over his injury that had forced him to give up his dream? What would he think about my lack of apology? Everyone else offered condolences. Sure, it sucked. I had really wanted Jamie to hit his goals, but I couldn’t be sad about his return a decade or two earlier than I’d expected.
Guilt churned in my guts, but my thoughts weren’t something Jamie ever needed to know, no matter how close we became again.
I doubted the three of us would pick up where we’d left off, at least. Shelly hadn’t shown much interest in him other than the initial greeting she’d offered, so I expected the three musketeers had disbanded.
Thank fuck.
I wasn’t above claiming him as my best friend and hoarding him all to myself. He was myonlyfriend, really, even though years and distance had separated us. Between work and attempting to keep Shelly happy, I hadn’t had much time for socializing over the years, so no one had taken his place.
No one ever could, either.
Would he and I still fit seamlessly even though so many seasons had shifted between us, forcing maturity and responsibilities I hated to acknowledge?
Jamie was been the only reason I hadn’t ended up repeating tenth grade and missing out on graduating with him. I’d been on the brink of failing and had been scared shitless Dad would whip my ass when he saw my report card. My best friend had caught me crying after tanking my geometry midterm.
Numbers and I hadn’t ever gotten along. Hell, reading and I weren’t best friends either. I realized later that I had difficultylearning the way other book-smart kids did, but put me in a place where I could use my hands to figure shit out, and I succeeded.
Jamie saw me through the rest of high school, then I pursued a future in mechanics because cars made sense more than numbers had since tenth grade when I’d started working in the shop.
Dad wasn’t too happy with me for not choosing to become an accountant and eventually taking over his office on Main Street, but I would have been nothing but a liability to the family business my grandfather had started. Dad called my attempts at making a living lazy, but with the hours I put in and how exhausted I was every night, dragging my ass home after twelve-hour days, I knew better.
Still stung like a bitch though when he pointed out his disappointment in me. At least it wasn’t outright these days but more in a passive-aggressive way that some might overhear and not catch onto unless they knew our history.
Jamie would recognize my dad’s bullshit for what it was. He always had and been right there to hug me when I needed it while Shelly had been too consumed with her own trauma to see mine.
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give for another few seconds wrapped up tight in Jamie’s arms. The memory of their strength sent shivers down my spine and intensified a yearning I hadn’t forgotten over the years.
He’d used a different soap or cologne from the last time I’d seen him, but beneath lay his usual scent, a warmth I’d never been able to name. I wondered if his sweat and musk was the same as when we’d been teens.
My groin actually fucking twitched at the thought, and I closed my eyes against the mass of people packing outFrenchie’s. The noise wasn’t as easy to shut down, however, and my head started to pound.
Shelly hung on her girlfriend—couldn’t remember her name—their laughter loud and annoying as fuck.
“Shell!” I hollered over the voices and music surrounding us.
She didn’t hear or rather, probably ignored me.
“Shell!” I yelled, placing my hand against her lower back to get her attention.
Her head spun my way, but it took a while before her eyes focused on my face. “What?” She slurred a reply, more than three sheets to the wind.
I leaned closer, and the scent of booze on her breath made me want to vomit. “Are you about ready to go home? I’m beat and have a headache.”
“We just got here!”
More like she’d been spending my hard-earned cash on Frenchie’s liquor for close to two hours, but I wasn’t going to argue.
“I’ve had enough and am heading out.”
“Have fun!” she shot back, sarcastic as fuck.
“I’m your ride,” I reminded her.
