Page 45 of Mom-Com
Not much was said on the way home, at least not with words. We’d said everything we needed to say at dinner. God willing, the rest of the evening would be about feeling, touching, fucking. Please, please, please let there be fucking.
By the time we reached my house, I was ready to strip down there in the carriage for all our neighbors to see. Everything was on fire and I’d lost all inhibitions.
Jameson pulled away and stood up, hitting his head on the carriage. I giggled, giddy to see his tented suit pants, knowing he was just as turned on as I was. He lifted an eyebrow at my laughter and even that was working for me.
We practically ran out of the carriage and up to my house, not even saying thank you to our sweet driver. I sure hoped Jameson would tip him well.
“Hold on, let me take off my heels.” I tugged on his hand to get him to slow down.
“Nope. I have visions of those on my shoulders. Here.” Dipping down, Jameson ignored my yelp and scooped me up in a princess carry, proceeding to race to my front door and open it with my keys.
See what I meant about Don Juan? He just said he wanted my stilettos on his shoulders and I was ready to combust with lust. How did a nerdy science teacher learn to talk so perfectly raunchy?
“How many women have you been with?” I asked in wonder.
Jameson got us inside, slammed the door shut, and flipped the lock. I could just make out his face in the light from the porch.
“Are you sure you want to ask that right now?”
I realized his meaning and shook my head. “Nope, pretty sure I don’t care. Just wanted to know how you learned to talk like that.”
He smiled, more than a hint of wickedness in it. “You like when I talk dirty, huh?”
“I fucking love it.”
“Tsk, tsk. Such a mouth for a princess.”
I laid my hand on his cheek, loving the rough stubble that scraped my skin. “I love princess movies and I know I’ve always wanted to be swept off my feet, but I realized I don’t actually need that. I’m no princess, stuck in some ridiculous fairy tale with unrealistic expectations.” My heart lurched in my chest. “Wait! Do you still have my papers?”
I’d completely forgotten my intent from this morning: to write an essay showing Jameson that I loved him back. He kept walking, moving us through my living room and up the stairs.
“They’re in my jacket pocket. Which way?” He nodded down the hall.
“Oh, the door at the end.” I pushed aside his jacket lapel and fished around for a pocket in the lining. His muscles jumped as I felt him up. I almost abandoned my mission for more feeling up, but the maturity gained by being in my thirties slowed me down and helped me focus.
“Aha!” I pulled it out right as he dumped me on my bed. I went with the bounce and then scrambled up to my elbows.
I looked up from my papers to see him take off his suit jacket and throw it on a chair. His eyes were hooded with desire, which just fed mine. “As much as I love what’s happening right now, I need to read this to you first.”
His jaw twitched, but he nodded. “Better make it quick.”
I gulped. This alpha male thing he had going on was unbelievably hot. Unexpected, even after our make-out session. Then he unhooked his belt and slid it out of the loops ever so slowly. His look was clear: say what I needed to say while he stripped for me. I wasn’t sure that was even humanly possible. How could I read this stupid essay when my eyes had better things to do?
I cleared my throat. “Okay, so this seemed more important this morning, but I wrote you an essay.” He didn’t say a thing, just toed off his shoes.
“Here goes.” I proceeded in a wavering voice to read all the scientific findings about love and where scientists said it came from. I paused to hazard a glance up, which rewarded me with the sight of his shirt completely unbuttoned. Then he whipped it off his shoulders, pulling at the cuffs, his muscles bunching and flexing in the dim light from the small bedside lamp.
I sucked in a deep breath and decided to rush through the rest and get to the point. “So, basically, they say the symptoms of being in love are breathlessness, a tugging sensation in the chest, exhilaration, euphoria, a racing heart, increased energy, and sleeplessness. All of which I’ve experienced in regards to you.” I fluttered my eyes back up to him, his hands frozen on his waistband, suspended in the act of taking them off.
We stared at each other for several long beats. “Say something, please,” I whispered. I could barely get the words past my throat. I was scared. I was ashamed. Had he felt like this when he told me he loved me? I just ran out on him. I had no idea how he was able to survive my callousness.
If he turned me down right now, I might just disintegrate into the air. Cease to exist without his affirmation. Refuse to stay here on this plane of reality where he didn’t love me back. What kind of heartless bitch was I the other day?
“Are you saying you love me?” His words came out slow and measured. His body didn’t move. I wasn’t sure he even breathed.
I swallowed. “Yes. I know so. I love you, Jameson.”
He unfroze, lunging toward me, his hands digging into my hair to frame my face.
