Page 67 of Courageous Hearts

“Yeah,” Grant says softly, stepping with me toward the door.

“It’ll be okay,” I remind him, hoping like hell that’s true.

Grant nods. “I know. I already have a wonderful family. Anything extra will just be a bonus. Besides,” he says, glancing at me with a wicked gleam in his eye, “I know just how to cheer Sophia up.”

“Wha—”

He disappears through the door before I can finish my question, and a moment later, Sophia’s loud gasp rings through the air.

“James!” she shouts, appearing in the doorway, her smile wide and her curly hair floating around her face like a halo. “When do we get to meet this Bo of yours?”

I groan, hanging my head back as a few drops of water hit my forehead. But as I join the rest of my family, there’s a smile on my face.

Chapter 20

Bo

“Remind me when you’ll be back?” Jameson asks, nuzzling his scruffy face against my bare neck.

“Mm. Next Tuesday,” I answer, even though he well knows.

He groans against my skin. “That’s so far away.”

“It’ll be over before you know it.”

Jameson hums unhappily, but he doesn’t disentangle himself, and I’m glad for it. I’m not quite ready to say goodbye myself, even though I’ll need to head inside the airport soon enough to catch my plane. But, for now, hanging in the parking lot inside Jameson’s car with his face buried against my skin isn’t a bad way to while away the time.

Part of me still questions how easy this feels—being with Jameson. We’ve been dating less than a month, but since that very first kiss out in the alley behind Gertie’s, Jameson has felt like mine. It was as if this big switch flipped, like one of those massive power breakers being turned on where a whole city block lights up.

His lips touched mine, and that was it. Power on. All systems go.

Maybe I simply had crappy boyfriends in the past, but no one from my limited repertoire has compared to Jameson. He’s like a comforting, weighted blanket, and I want his presence around me always.

That’s kind of…terrifying if I stop to think about it. I can’t even imagine the kind of withdrawals I’ll have when—if?—this relationship ends.

Ugh, maybe this week away will be good. Maybe it’ll give Jameson and me some of that space I seem incapable of putting between us. I’ll go back to my hometown, see my friends and family, take care of some unfinished business, and who knows, maybe when I get back to Chicago, I’ll be better equipped to look at this situation more objectively. Maybe I won’t feel so desperate for Jameson all the time. I probably have new relationship goggles. That’s it. The man is wonderful to look at, after all. It’s no surprise he’s blinded me to anything else just a little.

Jameson shifts against my neck, bringing his lips to the line of my jaw. I moan, fidgeting on my seat and cursing the console between us. His stubble rasps against my skin, and part of me wants him to latch on and suck his mark into my flesh. The other part doesn’t want to show up in Plum Valley with an obvious hickey. At least the bruises on my thighs aren’t visible.

“Jamie,” I mumble, halfheartedly at best.

His lips find my mouth, and all protest ceases. I’m never getting out of this car.

Jameson kisses me the way he always does, with a smooth sort of passion, all coaxing lips and teasing tongue. He kisses me in a way that leaves me wanting more, and maybe that’s his secret. Maybe that’s why I feel like an addict, always coming back for another hit.

“You’re bad news,” I mumble against his lips.

He chuckles, breath fanning over my face. He smells like pumpkin spice from the latte he grabbed at the bagel shop before we left. ’Tis the season and all.

He presses his lips to mine again slowly, the smallest hint of a touch, and winds his hands up into my hair. “This is getting long,” he comments, sifting his fingers through the strands and tugging gently. I’ve been meaning to get it trimmed, but Jameson adds, “I like it.”

“You really do seem to like everythin’ about me,” I say before slamming my mouth shut.

But Jameson, not protesting that claim in the least, leans back and says, “I do.” He maps me with his eyes, thumbs following his gaze and skimming over my reddened cheeks. “I like this. The way your face tells me when you’re feeling shy.”

My pulse picks up, and Jameson’s hands slide down to my shoulders and then over my chest, one of his thumbs catching my nipple through my shirt. I inhale sharply, but he continues on, his palm traveling downwards until he’s cupping me lightly through my pants.

“I like this,” he says, squeezing my cock. “I had no clue how much I’d like this.”

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