Page 35 of Courageous Hearts

“I know I’m no saint,” I spit out. “I have a whole lotta regrets. I regret standin’ by your side, bullyin’ Will and any other kid in school who was the least bit different. I regret lettin’ myself go along with it for so damn long when I knew it wasn’t right. All the punches, all the kicks, all the hurt that could’ve been avoided. I regret not sayin’ no sooner. And”—I puff out a breath—“I regret ever lettin’ a single homophobic slur leave my lips.”

The cold aches in my lungs as my chest heaves. Cars pass nearby, the steady roll of their wheels barely audible over my own heartbeat in my ears. Slowly, I blow out my breath.

“But, Diesel, the moment y’all turned that f-word onto me, I became the enemy. It’s what I expected, but one thing I won’t ever regret—not then, not now—is standin’ on the right side of that line you yourself drew.”

I expect some retort. Some justification for his actions. But there is none. There’s just the barely there sound of breathing, and then nothing. I pull the phone away from my ear, shocked to discover he hung up. It’s not until after I shove the device into my backpack that I realize not once did my brother call me “Bobby.” I don’t know what that means, or the fact that he left the call without a goodbye, but I refuse to dwell on it.

A door opens not far off down the alley, and with a groan, I turn to see Jameson stepping outside, a bag of trash in his hands. He goes still when he notices me, and I try to wipe away the evidence of my tears.

“We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like this,” I say, attempting a rueful smile.

Jameson walks to the trash bin, throwing the bag inside before stepping my way. He’s wearing a vest over his dress shirt tonight, and his eyes are hooded from the streetlight overhead, irises dark. But the expression on his face is soft. Worried.

I should be ashamed he’s finding me like this again. Vulnerable. A mess. But all I feel, as he lifts his hands and drags his thumbs underneath my eyes, is happiness. Comfort. Exhilaration.

Jameson is gentle, his movements unhurried as he brushes the moisture from my skin. He’s nearly up against me, as if the proximity doesn’t bother him. His eyes trail over my cheeks, my lips, my hair as he brushes it back from my face. My heart pounds, my breath becoming short as that stare lingers, as he makes no move to step away.

Having him so near, feeling his fingers on my skin, it’s making me long for those things I told myself were off limits. It’s making me want more. Friends—that’s what we’re supposed to be.

But Jameson’s gaze drops to my lips again. And ever so quietly, he whispers, “Bo.”

I don’t think about it. I don’t second-guess what I’m seeing on Jameson’s face. I don’t wonder at the affection in his tone. I surge forward, catching his lips with my own. And from one beat to the next, Jameson is kissing me back.

His fingers thread into my hair, holding tight as he inhales sharply through his nose. His lips are soft, but that short stubble along his jaw is sharp, prickling against me like electricity. I’m lit up, rising to my tiptoes as that arcing current travels from Jameson to me. His body is pressed flush against my own, chest to chest, and I never want it to stop. I never want to let go.

But then Jameson pulls back an inch, and our lips smack apart.

No.

“Please,” I say, grabbing his arms and locking us together. I don’t even know what I’m begging for. That he kiss me again? That his hands never leave my body? That he hold me tight for just one more minute? For so much longer than that?

Jameson cases my face—lips to eyes, lips to eyes—before that crooked smirk pops his dimple. Hope flutters anew, and that smirk is the last thing I see before Jameson pushes forward, bumping me into the brick wall at my back as his mouth fits seamlessly to my own.

He takes my breath away. Absolutely devours it as those lips dance against mine again and again. There’s no tongue. No ownership. Just reverence. A careful worship as his gently parted mouth explores my own. Fitting to me. Molding to me in slow, heavy drags. The suck of a lip. The whisper of teeth. The hard press of Jameson’s erection against my hip.

I sink against the wall, head back, hands grasping tight to Jameson’s biceps as he steps closer, one leg sliding between my own. I let out a gasp as he presses that leg upwards. He knows exactly what he’s doing with that move, and before I can stop myself, I ride his thigh, just one roll of my hips against the pressure he’s offering.

But then I come to my senses. We’re in the alley behind the bar. In broad sight of anyone walking by.

I’m not sure Jameson cares. I’m not sure I care.

But I force my hips still, despite my body urging me to do otherwise, and the little sound that leaves Jameson’s lips tells me he’s not happy about that either. His hand drops to my ass, grabbing where my cheek meets my thigh, and he tugs, as if trying to encourage my movements on. As if he wants me wrapping my leg around him.

God, how I want to wrap my leg around him.

“Jamie,” I groan, hand at his chest. I splay my fingers against his vest, dimpling into rough fabric over firm muscle. He drops his forehead against mine, mouth a hair’s breadth from my own, his thumb running along the curve of my ass almost absentmindedly.

It’s enough to have me shivering.

Finally, he groans—a sound full of the same resignation I feel—and steps back. Giving me a few feet of space, he rubs his hand over his mouth, eyes flitting along my face and body, as if he’s taking me in. As if he’s in awe. He pauses near my crotch, and even without looking, I have no doubt Jameson has found the outline of my cock through my soft pants. For a second, I can’t quite decipher what it is I’m witnessing on his face.

I worry he’s seeing something he doesn’t want to see.

But then his eyes raise to mine once more, and he rasps out, “Fuck, Bo. You’re a goddamn sight, you know that? Sexy. So fucking sexy.”

His words are spoken almost in wonder, and my breath whooshes out of me. I can’t stop my eyes from flitting away, and my heart pounds as my face burns hot, but my mind jumps to the words Bridget spoke to me just earlier today. I think about what she said—not to run away from praise.

Lifting my gaze back to Jameson, I see that fire in his eyes. That want. And it’s not hard to believe that it’s true. That he finds me sexy.

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