Page 11 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
“Because I asked.”
I sniffed, eying him then. “Doesn’t mean I had to answer.”
Jamie lifted his hand from my thigh, his thumb wiping away a tear I’d missed as it ran along my jawline. I leaned into his touch, closed my eyes, and let out a shaky breath.
“I’m glad you did.”
I chewed my bottom lip, his hand still on my face, and I tried not to feel guilty.
But this time, I did.
“Thanks for the ride, Jamie,” I said quietly, breaking our contact and pulling on the door handle.
“Hey,” he stopped me as I stepped out. I shut the door but leaned in through the window, waiting. “My passenger seat is yours until your car gets fixed. If you want it.”
He was watching me closely — too closely — and I let my eyes fall. “I think we both know that’s a bad idea.”
Jamie started to speak, but it was too soft for me to hear and he trailed off, not finishing his thought. I used my wrist to wipe at my nose and offered him a weak smile.
“See you at school.”
Jenna showed up thirty minutes later, which was just enough time for me to wash my face and change into an oversized t-shirt and spandex shorts. We ate gummy bears and watched MTV while she gushed about how incredible Jamie was. I nodded along, smiling and commenting where appropriate, knowing all too well what she meant.
She’d just fallen asleep when my phone pinged with a text from him.
— I meant what I said earlier. Let me drive you until your car is fixed. We can be friends, B. —
I didn’t answer, but took my phone with me into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. I chugged the entire thing and then my phone screen lit up again.
— Please. Let me be your friend. —
I knew it was a bad idea. There wasn’t just a red flag, there was a warning bell and alarms and whistles and neon lights with DON’T DO IT in all capital letters. But sometimes, even when we know something is bad for us, we do it anyway. Maybe for the thrill, maybe to cure our curiosity, or maybe just to lie to ourselves a little longer.
I’d like to tell you I told him no, that I deleted his number and turned off my phone and crawled into bed with my best friend who was dating him. But instead, I curled up on our old couch, laid there alone for what felt like hours, and finally responded with just one word.
— Okay. —
FALL FADED SLOWLY INTO winter, the weather not really changing much in the process, blurring the seasons together in my mind. Jamie drove me to and from school every day, even when basketball practices picked up, and he never complained when I shared yet another unfavorable update on the status of my car.
It worked out, actually, because he stayed for practice while I volunteered with Interact or stayed after to help the Debate Club. We would meet in the parking lot, him dripping in sweat that somehow made him more attractive rather than less and I dripping in sarcastic remarks geared toward the drama on his team.
Sometimes, when he could, he would drive me to work or pick me up after a late shift at the grocery store. He would drive me to the football games, too, and we’d sit side-by-side, drinking slushies and watching Jenna cheer. We talked more and stared at each other less, which made my conscience feel better. When we both had time, he would even drive us out to the beach to catch the surf, both of our boards fitting easily on top of his Jeep.
So as the seasons changed, we fell into a routine. And he and Jenna fell in love.
I had an up close and personal seat to watch it happen, and I was genuinely happy for them. Jamie was hands down the best guy I knew and Jenna was my best friend. I couldn’t have picked a better match.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
My car was finally fixed on December fourth, a whopping three months after my dad had taken it into the shop. When I’d told Jamie, he seemed happy — not necessarily relieved, but happy — and that upset me. There was a part of me that hoped he might be disappointed, that he might miss our drives spent talking and listening to music, too.
And when I realized that was how I felt, I was even more upset. Because I didn’t have the right to wish those things any more than he had the right to feel them.
When fall semester ended, Jenna left town for her family’s annual ski trip in Colorado. I didn’t expect to hear from Jamie over break, since Jenna was out of town, and I didn’t — until Christmas Eve.
