Page 55 of Courageous Hearts

“Maybe soon. If it works,” he says.

“All right. As long as it’s safe?” I make sure to check.

Damian nods quickly. “It is.”

“Well, in that case, good luck,” I tell him. I’m curious, but I’m not about to pry. Not as long as Damian isn’t planning on getting into trouble. “See ya soon?”

“Yeah,” Damian says with a nod. “Bye. And uh, thanks again for coming.” He gives me a somewhat stilted smile before turning and heading toward the school.

Feeling like I’ve shed a small weight I didn’t realize I was carrying, I make my way toward home, walking the handful of blocks to the train station and then grabbing the blue line into Wicker Park. It’s early evening by the time I arrive outside of my building, the delicious smell of bagels assaulting me. My stomach rumbles as I take the three flights up to my apartment, and I start mentally combing through what groceries I have left in the fridge. But the truth is I don’t want to attempt to cook for one. I really want to be with Jameson.

Is it too soon to see him again? Will I seem desperate if I call?

I’m still wrestling with it when my phone rings. Seeing Jameson’s name on my screen, my pulse spikes, and a wary but hopeful smile takes over my face.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hey, Bo. Any chance you’re hungry?”

My heart straight up trips.

“Famished.”

“Awesome. Want to make pizza?” he asks.

“Like from scratch?”

Jameson’s chuckle has my smile stretching wide. “Yeah, homemade pizza.”

“God, yes,” I all but groan.

“Good. Your place or mine?”

“Yours.” No question. Not only because, at Jameson’s, we’ll have more privacy, but because his kitchen is way better than mine. I don’t think there’s even enough counter space here to roll out dough.

“Great, I’ll pick you up,” he says.

“Are you sure? I can ride the L.”

“I’m sure,” Jameson replies. “It’ll take less time for me to come get you anyways. And I want to see you.”

Shit. Butterflies.

I’m already in too deep. I can feel it. This is moving way too fast, and I’m letting myself get too attached.

Yet am I going to stop? No way. Even though a part of me is terrified of having the rug pulled out from under me, being with Jameson—being wanted by Jameson—feels much too good to give up willingly.

I’ll hold on as long as I can.

“See ya soon, then,” I say, already heading toward my bedroom to get a bag ready.

“It’s a date,” Jameson promises before ending the call.

I grab my backpack, stuffing a change of clothes inside, and I’m about to zip it up when I pause. Opening my top dresser drawer, I sift through my neatly folded piles of lace. Picking out a set I haven’t yet had the chance to wear for anyone but myself, I finish packing.

And with another flutter inside my belly, I wait for Jameson to arrive.

Chapter 17

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